Oak Street 


UNCLASSIFIED 


V. 7-8 


\EX LIBRIS] 


4, 


4 ay 
ve 


ee CHAMBERS’S 


7 ‘> 

CxyelLOPrpA DIA 

: : B: OF . 
A HISTORY, CRITICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL; OF BRITISH 
AND AMERICAN AUTHORS, WITH SPECIMENS 
OF THEIR WRITINGS, 
- ORIGINALLY EDITED BY ROBERT CHAMBERS, LL.D. 
ec: tert Pit De ht ELON; 
REVISED DY ROBERT CARRUTHERS, LL.D. 


IN EIGHT VOLUMES. 


VOL, Vil. 


ee Westie NEW YORK 
ae WM. L. ALLISON, 
No. 191 FuLtron 81., cor. OF CHuscH, 


s : TRAVELLERS. 


ond Macartney (1737-1806):.......... 1 
Sir George Staunton. (1737-1801)...... 1! 
- James Bruce (1730-1794).........2.... 1 | 
Supposed Source of the Nile....... 2 
Maun eO Park (1171-1805). 2... 55..0. 8 4 
Ae Compassionate African Matron.... 4 
 -hé Traveller’s Pious Fortitude.... 5 
. apt. Hugh Clapperton (1788-1827).... 6 
& ~ Richard Lander (1804-1834).......... 8 
"Rev. J pe Campbell, Missionary (1766- ‘ 
TESTE SE fae oa Eo Suc are pe 
John L. *Parckbardt (1784-1817)...... 9 
~ John B. Belzoni (1788-1823)............. 9 
é = pete leis ab. NEDCS ak x.) Jami. oe 0's 10 
_.~ Opening a Tomb at Thebes......... 10 
aa ‘Dr E. D. Clarke (1769-1822)........... 11 
Es Description of the Ties Pen oases 12 
se Joseph Forsyth (1163-1815). ......50... 14 
Pee he Ltaliaiy Vintapeces. fe. osca ss 15 
eee PE OOUSECUMN! 6 oas2. 5 Fisted es Sek 15 
_ Other Classic Travellers: Eustace, W. 
~~. $tewart. Rose, Keppel Craven, 
i H. Matthews. Lady Morgan, W. 
Sas ee LOCKEUODY GOCE o's bick tists sevens 16 
--- Funeral Ceremony at Rome........ 16 
e Statue of the Venus de’ Medici..... 17 
"> A Morning in Venice........ ...... 17 
=_ ~~ Description_of Pompeii.....-...- 18 
EArctic Discovery : Ross, Parry, Frank- 
= Mny-beechey, WoC. s. hs ote « » 19 
er Description of the Esquimaux..... 20 
~  <fastern Travellers: W. Rae Wilson— 
Ps _ Claudius J. Rich—J. 8. Buck- 
wee ingham—Dr. Madden—Carne— 
- ~~ Richardson—Sir John Malcolm 
E. ~—Sir W. Ouseley—Sir Robert 
722" op Sd Oy 2) aay" ae eC a 24. 
View of Society i MAP aad. nasa « 25 
Indian and Chinese Travellers: Moor- 
: croft—J. Baillie Fraser—Colonel 
<> Tod—Sir A. Burnes—Henry 
cs Loi as Se Seo a ae 
e ae Ricanoeat Ole Waste ea ese ee wk 27 
Poeceptain Basil Hall 30.2.6. st 2... 28 
_- Henry David Inglis (1795-1835)... 29 
ep eEpiIe SIMONE) ovale s f.5 S55). . ee e 30 
a _ Swiss Mountain and Avalanche..... 30 
rs PUMABORIT: Sake ys sak os se'tt's Sat ees 31 
Zz “ce Oe Tyee Te) er iia Bean cee pera 32 


PAGB, 
ENCYCLOPDIAS AND SERIAL WORKS. 
Encyclopedia Britannica — Cham- 
bers’s Encyclopeedia—Lardner’s 
Cyclopsedia—Constable’s Mis- 
cellany—Family Library, &c.. 


HIGHTH PHRIOD. 


1830—1876; REIGNS OF GEORGE IV., 
WILLTAM IV., AND QUEEN VIC- 
VLA. 


POETS. 
Hartley, Derwent, and Sara Cole- 

BUG [ee ectse grape 2s Coe ire ee Pace a 39 
Sonnet] by Hartley Coleridge.....-.- 40 
LO SDORSPERTO Ss soos poh d Rode ng team 40 
Address to Certain Gold Fishes..... 41 
History and Biography...-......... 41 
The Opposing Armies on Marston 

TM OOS a cntec es OWE wane 210s Fxeoee 41 
Discernment of Characier.......... 42 

J. A. Heraud (born in 1799)—W. B. 

COTE Nos oes ea els Sma 

Mrs. Southey (1787-1854).........2.065 48 
PLATTE TS ASDA avs gaat ta ote ces ha ad 44 
Once npon A LIME ssc ewes oe cee oe 44 
The Pauper’s: Death-bed............2% 45 

John Edinund Reade.:......../....8. 45 

Winthrop. Mackworth Praed a802- 

SBD so hac Eviar ois ian Saad Sel dals ae 46 
(JUEAGORE S26 ox maT arate slernm es nioee 46 

Thomas Hood (1798-1845)...........-. 48 
Mareweil Life divave bier wiec <eses 49 


Lament for the Decline of wehbe de 50 


Extract from Ode to the Moon...... 50 
Parental Ode to my Son........+. alee Oo 
The Sotietof thesShirts. 3.) Feces dave 52 
Dire ySabhiq DOC skc saga totes cation 53 
David Macheth Moir (1798-1-51)....... 53 
When Thou at Eve art Roaming.... 54 
RGVe Onn =MO UEC is. ok oe coed ccs ots 5 
My: Brothers Graver. od sew. acne tices 55 
The Hons Mrs. NOrtOnic aes oe ee 2 56 
To the Duchess of Sutherland...... 57 
From ‘he Winter’s Walk’........ 59° 
Picture Ole bwilioht. s2% ccm saree’ 59 
Not Lost but Gone Before........+: 60 


iv 
PAGE, 
Thomas K. Hervey (1804-1859)....... a 
TNE/CONVICL SHIDs ee os Vestn ee teletiles 


Alaric A. Watts Ma T99ci Spaceman 
Darley—Sir Aubrey de Vere, &c 61 


ASchbishow. Trench (born in 1807).... 62 
MVenIN GEV Y MAR ss ot ee se Sa ate . 62 
Souie Murmur when their Sky is 

LORE 35 ae hale alcle eee ewes ee a 62 

Thomas Aird (1802-1876).............. 63 

The Devil’s Dream on Mount Aks- 
DOCK ead are eres aie ee elie 63 

dames Hedderwick. bette de relethets tate enshiss 63 
MIGdleAwac gt rents: hanes hae ee 65 

Lord Mean (1800-1859)....... 2... 65 
Lines written 1m August.1847........ 69 
Epitaph on a Jacobite... ~..0....... 70 
Extracts from ‘ Horatius’ in ‘Lays 

OfsAncient: ROMes, a aeons 71 

EVD Y Ae oss dist at aan ee ee Mee 72 
W. EH. Aytoun (1813-1865)—Theodore .- 
Martin (born in 1816).....:....3 73 

The Burial March of Dundee....... 74 
HOUNEL AO BYiPA: oi som ceases oeieincne 76 

Frances Brown (born in 1816) ..... yeas 
Khe: Last Mriends)..:2 2:0. ..c0.0 econ ee {Ws 

Lord Houghton (born in 1809)... TT 
St Mark’s at Venice.....:....00.0-- 78 
Me mMfen? OF~Old ike seen ce eee (fs) 
From ‘The Long Ago’.. rte) 

Fitzereene Halleck (i 790-1867 v4 AMte ns Ce 
Marco Bozzaris....s.3...00ve00 0008 80 

Edgar Allen Poe (1809-1849) ... ...... 81 
The Raven oh votes sve ewhendeie, 82 

William Cullen Bryant (born in 1794) 8&4 


Lines written at the Age of Thirteen 84 
Prony * TRAangstOpsis’.: sho vigow sedate 85 
The Wind-flower....-..0e.c.0adses-. 86 
The Disinterred Warrior ......5.... 86 
An Indian at the Burying-place of his 
Mathets on. tees aetna phtoms $j 


Richard H. Dana—N. P. Willis (1806- 
1867)—Oliver Wendell Holmes 


COOTI HR ESO9) Sie Sree oe eens 87 
The Buccaneer’s Island, by Dana... 89 
Thirty-Five, by Willis. , 89 
The American Spring, by “Holmes.. 90 


Henry W. Longfellow (born in 1807) 


Exeelsior—A Psalm of Life........ 92 
The Ladder of St. re dodge . 93 
Gods Acree 8 eed Og 
Antumn in ‘America JER ap cease ede 94 
A Rainy Day......... 0s. eeeeeeeee es 94 
Charles Swain (1808+1874)............. 95 
The Death of the Warrior Fae 7 Br eat) 5) 
Sydney Dobell (1824-1874)... wen OD 
The-ttalian Brothers... sot eestor. 96 
‘Ihe Ruins' of Ancient Rome...... 96 
Alexander Smith (1880-1867).......... at 
Autumn—Unrest and Childhood.... 98 
Gerald Massey (born in 1828)......... 99) 


TABLE OF CONTENTS. Ss 


PAGE. 
Conclusion of ‘Babe Christabel ’. |. 99 


David Gray (1838-1861) ......... Sa 160 
A Winter-Scenesnnnwcenaseee sewn ahs 
An Autumal Day........ Sd aie aksuttatls 102 - 
Three Sonnets; .cssg seca eyes 102 
Thomas Ragg (born in 1808).......... 103. 
The Hartt full of Loves. .i:...s...> 104 — 
Thomas Cooper....ja- deme eememnecec ae i 
A. Christmas Scenes% 42/23 -acaeieca as 104 
Lord Jobn Manners—Hon. Mr. ~ 
Suiythe.2 2h aoe ee ees 105 
Charles Mackay (bornin 1814)......-. 105° 
Apologue from ‘ Egeria’............106 — 
Love New and Old— ‘ubal Cain.. .. 107. 
Philip James Bailey (born in 1816)....108 - 
Extracts from ‘ Westus’............. . 109), 
Richard Henry Horne (born in 1868)..119 
The Progress of Mankind.—From_ 
© Onion”. . sie. ogee wrL 
Willism Allimeham (born in 1828).....111 — 
To the Nightingales PM oabg lab velerine 112 
Alfred T ennyson (born in 1810).......412 ° - 
Extracts from ‘ Locksley Hall’... 318° & 
From ‘The Talking Oak’.......... 115 
God ivas ..20:.07 coast ee eee 116 
The Lotos-eaters aki, ct ee see ee 
Song, ‘ The Splendour Falls’....--.. Lisi 
In Memoriam. IX., XXIL, CVL..109 
The Funeral of the Great Duke..... IL 8 
Extracts from *Maud’..... ek eae! oe 
From ‘The Passing of ‘Arthur’.....122 
Elizabeth Barrett Brownlng (died in ‘a 
1S6L eh BGC ee oe beso 
To Flush; my Doge... 5 eee alot oe 
Extracts from ‘A Vision of Poets ?.126 
The Cry of the Childreiy. 232.3%... 12s 
Sonnet,.225 $65 aes Sage ae ee 128— 
An English Landscape. Sergi 2 cbs PEs J“£9 “f 
Cowper's Gravevinans. tecteuin Sea 130 5) 
Robert Browning (born in 1812)......4381 © 
Picture of the Grape-harvest.......134 
The Pied Piper of Hamelin A eRe 15s 
A Parting Sceneéi./i2%, .aeoderneeias 140> 
From ‘ My Last- Duchess? Br 9s bade eaters 141 
Coventry Patmore (born in 1823)......142 © 
The Joyful Wisdom: ts .2.. 5.0% oy. ages 
- Counsel to the Young Husband..... TAS eee 
Edward Robert, Lord Lytion (born in 
1831) 4 sca. cele ice ee 
The Chess Board—Changes........144 _ 
Rev. H. F. Lyte (died in 1847)..... see 140 oe 
The Sailor’s' Graves 22. ica eee gee 145 4 
| Abide with Me till Eventide........145 
Charles Kent (born in 1823)........... M45. 
Love’s Calendar. cai setts sae eee 146 .. 
Mrs Sigourney (1791-1865). ........... 146 
The Early Blue-Bird..........- Co 146 
“Midnight Thoughts at Sea.......... 146 
John G. Whittier (born in-1808),.....147 | 4 
The Rovin....50 ose cceeeu e's caseuned AT ie 
= 


c 44 


~ 
* 


Hume—Miss Procter—Isa Graig- 
Knox — Jean Ingelow— Mrs. 


OVBLEL oe Sen eh. sees ai eedele oak 109 
Oid Songs, by Miss Cook........... 169 
Robin Hood, by Miss Parkes.. alit 


A Doubting Heart, by Miss Procter.171 
Going Out and Coming In, by Isa 


POLO ISMOK partis oars Mike Sens dae 172 
When Sparrows Build, by Miss In- 
ENO Wy Poti Revers trdclsl odeog O5-9% 6 aches 112 


The Gift, by Mrs. Augusta Webster.174 
Lord Neaves (born in 1800)—Fred. 
Locker—A. Dobson..-.......... 173 
How to Make a Novel............. -.174 
VGRIEY: EBM sea S cites Sie% Par ee 
Poet Translators-—-Bowring, Blackie, 


&C 
_ The Theoiogy of Homer,...:......1.6 


+ i 

TABLE CF CONTENTS. Vv 
iM PAGE, SCOTTISH POETS. PAGE. 
Barbara Fritchie. ic co... seed. oe oe 147 | Wittiam Thom (1789-1 Gaby. seo 1i7 
Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861)......148 | The Mitheriess Beit 0. o.. PoP 
Autumn in the Highlands.........4 149°) David Vedder (1790-1854)........0....- 178 
Morning in the City................ 149 The Temple of WNaturo’. . 5.00. 25.06% 178 
Tn a_Gondola on the Grand Canal, George Outram (1805-1856)........++++ 179 
MEISE ee iiss cos ae cmos were ot 48 0 5G Aanityos52 she doa back twee 179 

William Wetmore Story (born im 1819)159 | 4 Maclagan—James Ballantine—A. 

Suppos.d Appearance of the Savi- Park—J. Crawford—H. Scott 

@urcomenarth i sins s.teed ys ss) 151 } Riddell—_F. Bennoch—W. Glen 
James Russell Lowell (born in 1819). ..151 Rode BUM kn poe dako cn 38 oes oe 480 

On Popular Applause....5.......... 162 From. ‘The W ‘dow,’ by A. Maclag- 
Hints to Statesmen.. nieces cet saddest se pe Ag eae LON, ar Oe ORS 1s 

_* What Mr. Robinson Thinks........ 153 Tika pie o? Grass Keps its te 
Invocation to Peace....-.--.-..++ +. 13 Drap 0’ Dew, by J. Ballantinc...181 

Phe Courtii?.c. <5... ea eS Lite ge 155 When the Glen allis Still, ly H. 8. 

- Matthew Arnold (born in 1822)........ ie Bindele cS oko ns eee 182 
Mycerinus Sb e reco se teem eoassedscive 56 Fl ce Nighti gale, b ¥F, Be ~ 
Children Asleep........ ee rer aa 156 Bodh urate ee ee = 20 pais "189 
Lines written in Kensington Gar- 5S Wae’s Me for Prince Charlie, by W. 

CMS ee eraser eee reser ses eeee cee 7 3s aie ae ig bE en a i 182 
Dante G. Rossetti—Christina G. Ros- The Wee Pair 0? Shoon, by J 
Ss RS et ere eer rye oe 158 SeETELY Cit os eRe ee a ee -¢..188 
From ‘The Blessed Damozel’...... 158 j 
PEL MCPS CH SALTINI ER Safe aio elo viele eratv'e 3 c'e <u 158 DRAMATISTS, 
Algernon Charles Swinburne (born in Thomas Noon Talfourd (1795-1854), ..184 
Bl) ree 159 | © Description of Ion................. 186 
Extract from ‘ Atalanta in Calydou’160 | Joxtract from ‘Ton’.............006- 136 
f Chorus... 00.00.20. seeeeeeer es eees 161 | Sir Henry Taylor (born 1900)......... 18 
Parting of Bothwell and Queen The Death of Launoy............+. 190 
Mary. neces eres cece eee ee ees Lal: ("Ip ha Eay Of Mletta.: 3. Pe ard fuel aeoee. a 
Mary leaves Scotland......- ses... 163 | On the Ethics of Potitics........... 192 
Robert Buchanan (born in-1841).......16£) Of Wisdom,......2...2c0ccceee eens 192 
The Curse of Gtencoe .............. 164 | Douglas Jerrold (1803-1857) ....2..... 193 
Youth 20.5.0 .5 2c ence rrseeesscer ones 166.1 — Waney Watr. 00 A, oo RN as 95 
~The Seasons in the Highlands...... 163 | Companies tor Leasing Mount Vesu- 
William Morris (born in 1834)......... 167 WHEE fo Pt re, eae SY Sa ckta ton oe 195 
510 \ enn eee ee 163 Time’s Changes—Retired from Busi- 
Song from ‘ The Love of Alcestis’..1€3 eR gE IES OP RN cle 198 
_ Francis Bret Harte (born in 1831)..... 163)) ° Winter'in: London 2.7004. cet ek. 196 
A Sanitary Message............4... 169} ‘The Emigrant Ship........ i erctokea 197 
Eliza Cook—Mrs. Parkes Belloe—Miss Puns and 8: ‘yings of Jerrold....... 198 


Gilbert Abbot A Becket--Mark Lemon : 
—Shirley Brooks—Tom Taylor.198 
Portrait of Douglas Jerrold, by 


SSCORER eto Vie gabe. ae 199 
Westland Marston (born in 1820)..... 201 
NOVELISTS. 

James Fenimore Cooper (1789-1851), . 201 
Ae Virgin Wilderness ot. secu 202 


Death of Lon 
Richard Harris Barham (1 ea 204. 
Capt. Frederick Marryat (1792-1948) .v04 

A Prudent Sea Captain............5 £20T 
Capialns Glasscock and Chamier—Mr. 

Howard — Michael Scott (1789- 
1835)—-James Hannay (1827-1873). a 
Wights:at Sea. to. 525 Si sin aeha 5 ack pu 


Detached Similes.. Raph niPaneethe oe 


A“ 


€©harles James Ley er (1806-1872)... 8 


Death of Muriel, the Blind Child.. 317 


oi % = ? e 
Vi TABLE OF CONTENTS. os ry 
: PAGE, PAGE. * ~ 
Mrs. Catherine G. F. Gore Re Dispeneins Charity among the Trish ; 
SOL) Sees tu cen hie) eisle.c aan ete ee OOT. Suds bere Bayne w elockia tan ae Se nS 
Character of a Prudent Wortdiy Safiuel Lover “(1798-1868)—Leiteh ~ 
LIALY i watt eek gy ah hn aie encom Mies Ritchie (1800-1865) ........... » 280 we 
Excinsive-London: Lite: ot. ag<ss oh The Angels’ W hisper..... ss ..05.3-281 eae 
Mrs. Francis Trollope (1778-1868), ...212 | Thomas Hughes (born in 1823)........284 aes 
Countess of Blessington (1790-1849). .213 The: Browns? )i.:-4.5+t a ueee aoe ee 28t ba 
Mrs. S.-C. Hall (born in 1802) ........ 214:| Mrs.: Crowe. wey osc emg eee eee PBS Pa as 
Depending Upon Others........... 216 Stages in the History of Crime..... 283 “ see 
G. P. Rainsford James (1801-1860)...217 | Miss Pardoe (1806-1862)........... Ho LOE Sate 
Edward, Lord Lytton (1805-1873). . 7.218 | Miss Marsh—Lady Fullerton ...... LAB SSS 
- Admiration of Genius.........+.--. 921} Miss Kavanagh--Mrs. Gaskell (sii- a a 
Death of Gawtrey, the eels tn okie 223 1865) 2. :- sca. 5 hs Saw 5,5 otra ele NS ‘ 
Talent and Genius.. Soiethe = BOA. Picture of Grcea Heys Fields, Man- : =? 
Peetical Sketch of Guizot...... 227 chester 2.24") Decay a eee . 286 ia 
Imagination on Canvas and in Yorkshiremen of the West Riding. 4: Seen ee 
Books.25 et ee 29 | William Wilkie Collins (born in 1824). 289 itso: 
Power fag Genius—Idols of Imagin-— Capt. Mayne Reid (born in 1818). ..... 289 Ro. ee 
ION: pe tad £2 tee ek de eae Samuel Phillips (1815-1854)—Angus ie 
William Maviadh Aisworth (born in B. Reach  (1821-1856)—Albert ae 
LESH SSS Sone Soll ee re eee Smith (1816-1860) as. s Stes Po Sere eae Ts 
Benjamin Disracli (born in 1804) ....28 The South of France... 2025555 5..29% sien 
The Principle Of Utility 2.6 cox bee 934 JAVITS. HUIS «95 cic’: ..+:» < eis ter eal eae 292 =>} 
SPOLUSHENY |. posree ely Bite cite cone one es 235 | Miss C. M. Yonge—Miss Sewell—Miss pat 
Whe Hebrew Race.c. vcwies oot tees 237 JOWSDULY: | .\054 Res See a ea292 rion 
Pictures of Swiss Scenery, and of Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864).....: 293 na 
the City of Venice...........6. 238 The Capitolat Rome.....2....200. 294 a 
Samuel Warren (born in 1807)........ 289 A Socialist Experiment........2..4. 20528 i se 
IIIB 8) Agate Re er Aaa ee eee oO ah SS Aho 239 Autumn at Concord, Massachusetts.295 
Thomas Crofton Croker (1798-1854). .240 The English Lake Country......... “96 ~ o 
~The Last of the Irish Serpents...,. 240 | Mrs, Harriet Beecher Stowe........... 296 ay 
Charles Dickens (1812-1870) ...2. 24... 241 English Trees—Warwiek Castle ... 297 “Fs 
Death and Funeral of a Pauper. 2. 245 A Moonlight Scene......2..05. 22. aa aa 
A Man from the Brown Forests of LOVG ia sree nents Banger tie col muse eaeee yee Ry :: 
thée-Mississippise 2. os c oes ack 249 | Mrs. Lynn Linton—Mrs envy Woods299 34 28 
The Bustling, Affectionate Little | Mrs. Anne Manning—Miss- Rhoda = == « | 
American Woman ...........:. 250 Broughton WG owe eee 800 Goes 
Warewen to Uiay-. seen ees ae 251 | Charles Reade (born in 1814).. WO 2 ae 
William Makepeace Thackeray (1811- Newhaven Fisherwomen............302 FEY 
1863)... eee. sete eees eevee £03 | G. Ry Gleig—W.-H. Maxwell—James = mod 
Car-Travelling in Ireland........... 255 Grant. f.2) ae eee CUS) ays oe 
Decay of Matrimonial Love........ 260 | George MecDonald (born in 1824)... 0. BOAT Ah te og 
Lady Clara Newcomb....>....0.... 260 Death of the Drinking, Fiddling Sou- Pee 
Recollections of Youthful Beauty. .262 TALS 55.53. cei eans Soe enn BORD ree 
Indifference of the World.......... 263 | Bible Class in the Fisher Village. ...306 aes 
Lackeys and Footmen in the Last "she Old Churchyard’... +i... 9 8. o.e0term ae ne 
SIO LOLY vice ys tds Ss ove eee 263 Love Dreams of a Peasant Youth.,.308 = 
The English Country Gentleman.. ..263 Edmund TT. Yates (born in-1831)...02. 809 eg 
— Death of Ge orge the Third....... “1964 wiiss Braddon—Louise De La Ramé. -BQO SS yee 4 
The Ballad of Bouillabaisse ........ 264 | Gcorge Hot, yo Ge caus semen ene 310.77 ae 
Rev. Charles Kingsley (1819-1875)... .26 | Description of Adam Bede Pee hoe 310 Sa5e8s 
Three Fishers went Saillng.........268| Hetty Sorrel........ceceieceveseeees 311 ses 
' Scene in the Indian Forest.......-.. 269 Dialogue on Matrimony............ 312 awa 
Charl lotte Bronté (1796-1855).......... 272 Spring—Bright February Days..... 314 
Description of Yorkshire Moors.. 272 Ruined Castles on the Rhine........ 314 
Emily Bronté and her Dog‘ Keeper’.274 | Saint Theresa—Unfulfilled Aspira- — 
Death of Emily and Ann Bronté... O76 HOUB.c acct oat ee et ee Sibea 
Protest Soper Pharisaism......... fi Detached Thoughts...... sages. PI tise, 
The Orphan, Childs .t ea. ean swent ‘ Mrs. Craik (Miss Mulock), piano eens 816 


- 


ARS aa Fe % Ha € % 
A Sas ey >. = 
; 7 Der fj - ait x > a ‘ - 
J a 
- é ~TABLE.OF CONTENTS. vii 
aD: es N PAGR, PAGE. 
‘| The Chateau of La Garaye...... ....513| Ancient Egyptian Repast........... 357 
. The Jast look of Hngland.......... 319 | Chevalier Bunsen (1790-1860) — S. 
Mrs: Oliphant.........00csen00 uses -B20 o BDOERE tio. t eo a arse Liew eee 359 
_An Engiish Rector and Rectory... .321.| Sir Francis Palgrave (178S-1861)...... 360 
~ ~-Fiction and Biography............. 822 The Battle of Hastings.......5....., 361 
Anthony Trollope (born in 1815).....823 | George Ticknor (1791-1862)... 6s... 364 
“The Archdeacon’s Sanctum and the Goethe at Weimar in 1816........:. 364 
UNG RECT Se) 0 te AN a IR arene 524 Sir Walter Scott (1819)... 865 
_A Low-Church Chaplain.:...°..... 325 Sunday Dinner in Trinity Hall, ‘Cam- 
“Tke Humanity of the Age.......... 326 WIRE arcane = vate pie Tapes 8 Uisom tunel 265 
Leiter Writing—Early Days—Lov- Jobn L. Motley (born-in \1E814)y.. 2s 366 
BUSY Wl Be acts Sots eS <> as bree 327 The Image-breaking at Antwerp... .3€6 
Thomas. Adolphus Trollope.......... 828 | George Bancroft (born in:1800). 7.0. 368 
Puta aey LSE Y osonrcg sale d Junto ae Sead « 328 Massacre of English Colonists by In- 
‘The Great. Bar n and the Sheep shear- GANG Co: Hae iosictagermass faxes 369 
irate sus ee « Stier Bap Godee ess 323 The Town of Boston in the Last 
oA ara BROLMIs ardas Aine bce (OOO. CERRY Fone Lees ck ge oe ere ek 
Esher tOEe ot Pace. osc uso b ween es 332 | W. C. Bryant and Sydney H. Gay....371 
A Snow-storm in the California Si- Three Periods in American History Vedi 
“AT A ee 332 | Daniel Webster (1782-1852)... 2... FBC 
Death and Destruction at the Dig- Eloquent Apostrophe to Eng'and...372 
ren) Pe I 2 33 Adams and Jdefferson.............4. 72 
POUR CHindMan sy os 428 saws s bas B54 WLASMINGTON serv eo. bee co Gomes aes 374 
PPPSN RT: DAAC 5 cnc ce. et cess eel dees Sate award. Bing. <= socks 45s teres “6 Ges 37 
eee iM ENE-TLODIICES: . 2.80. o. <0 a 335 Condition of the Southern States. ..375 
Edinburgh on a Summer Night..... 337 | Lord Macaulay (1800-1859) ..........4 37 
Miss PRNCKCTAY Sw 5.5 5.5 gcc. oo. ce 337 Exordinum to History of England. ..376 
An English Country Sunday....... 338 The Battle of Sedgeti oor........... 378 
Old Kensington ...2+..........24.. *, 339 Execution of Movmouth......... , 380 
Fishing village in Normandy...... ",340 The Revolution of 1868-9........... 382 
_ Mrs. Macquoid—Hesba ginatton ae ca 3a) The Valley.of Glencoe.: .2. 040 jse.. 383 ~ 
Florence baer Hlizabeth Wethe- The English Country Gentle man of 
BEAD Nanton cia Sesiaiccn seb cieaie serge 841 DBRS FL nes tale wioNgy dlaane > «ah hieee ee 3 
RD. es SER W. M, Lockhart. 341 The Roman Catholic Church....... 385 
_ George A. Sala, E. Jenkins, W. Thorn- Lenry Thomas Buckle (1822-1662)... .387 
| NERCa  ok Sie a  eee, Ce rane er oer 341 Pe Causes of the French A 
E 5 CVOMMION 05% cea niewte tee eens 3e 
= ere ee oe cy see aes a The Three Great. Movers of Society.s8S 
Sir irchibald Alison (1792-1867)......343 | tomas Carlyle (born in 1795)........ 389 - 
~ The French epee nary eens Se Men- Of: Glenitisy otk on ee a 390 
Pe ee He eI etrOL- CIT OL. cc. =< = coe ep aes Picture of a Retired, Happy, Litera- 
“Ww, H. Prescott (1796-1859) +... ..-04. o47 ee viite eee Ke pees 391 
VEG W Ole MEXICO ads coc. ap et awisind OFS Pieeehal Appearance of Cromwe!]..894 
Storming the Temple of Mexico... .349 Portrait of Coleridge.....:......... 3S5 
Fatal Visit cf the Inca to Pizarro... -350 Frederick the Grest............6.2,397 
Dr. Arnold (1795-1849).........:...-.852 | / Charlotte Corday——Death of Marat-,399 
Character of Scipio... .. se rere en 3541 Death of Marie Antoinette......... 400 
Character of Nannibal.............- 355 A wait the Issues icc. cos..cc seco dees 401 
te eae during the Siege of Ge- Sir George Cornewall Lewis (1806- 
test ceeerens ea o2tcn 528 BOB ice Cee een ety PIRES 
Sir Jona Gardiner Wilkinson (1797-_ Niebuhbr’s Ballad Theory.+..%...35. 402 
US ) 855 | Rev.-C. Merivale.....c.cseecetduceees 403 
Moral Superiority of the Ancient ANUBIS CHSAT. 506 cscs once 8s wees 404 


ee eo rae 


Egyptians..... ats 


= 
25%. 


CYCLOPADIA 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


——e 


SEVENTH PERIOD. 
GEORGE II. AND GEORGE III. 


(Continued.) 


TRAVELLERS. 


MACARTNEY—STAUNTON—BRUCE—MUNGO PARK. 


~ The growing importance of our trade with China suggested a mis- 
gion to the imperial court, in- order to obtain some extension of the 
limits within which the traffic was confined. In 1792 an embassy 
was formed on a liberal scale, Lonp Macartney (17387-1806) being 
placed at its head, and Sir Grorer L. Sraunron (1737-1801) being 
secretary of legation or envoy-extraordinary. These two able diplo- 
matists and travellers had served together in India, Macartney as 
governor of Madras, and Staunton as his secretary. The latter nego- 
tiated the peace with Tippoo Sahib in 1784, for which he was elevated 
to the baronetcy, and received from the Hast India Company a pen- 
sion of £500 a-year. The mission to China did not result in secur- 


‘ing the commercial advantages anticipated, but the ‘Journal’ pub- 


lished by Lord Macartney, and the ‘Authentic Account of the Em- 
bassy’ by Sir George Staunton, added greatly to our knowledge of 
the empire and people of China. Sir George’s work was in two vol- 
umes quarto, and formed one of the most interesting and novel books 
of travels in the language. It was read with great avidity, and 
translated into French and German. 

One of the most romantic and persevering of our travellers was 
JAMES Bruce of Kinnaird, a Scottish gentleman of ancient family 
and property, who devoted several years to a journey into Abyssinia 


_to discover the sources of the river Nile. - The fountains of cele- 


brated rivers have led to some of our most interesting exploratory 
expeditions. Superstition has hallowed the sources of the Nile and 


or CYCLOP.EDIA OF ~- = = fro ae 


the Ganges, and the mysterious Niger long wooed our aeons ee 
travellers into the sultry plains of ‘Atrica. ‘The inhabitants of moun- Fede 
tainous countries still look with veneration on their principal streams, 


and as they roll on before them, connect them in imagination with ; £5 
the ancient glories or traditional legends of their native land. Bruce 
partook largely of this feeling, and was a man of an ardent enthusi- —_- 


astic temperament, He was born at Kinnaird House, in the county 
of Stirling, on the 14th of December 1780, and was intended for thie “=< 
legal profession. He was averse, however, to the study of thelaw, ~~ 
and entered into business as a wineanerchant in London. Being leds > 
to visit Spain and Portugal, he was struck with, the architectural eye 
ruins and chivalrous tales of the Moorish dominion, andappliedhim- 
self diligently to the study of Eastern antiquities andlanguages. On 
his return to England he became known to the government, and it~ ~ 
was proposed that he should make a journey to Barbary, which had — 
been partially explored by Dr. Shaw.. At the same time, the consul- 
ship of Algiers became vacant, and Bruce was appointed tothe office. ~~ ~ 
He left England, and arrived at Algiers in 1762. Above six years 2 
were spent by our traveller at Algiers and in various travels—during 
which he surveyed and sketched the ruins of Palmyra and Baalbec— 
and it was not till June 1768 that he reached Alexandria. Thencehe ~ _ 
proceeded to Cairo, and embarked on the Nile. He arrived at 
Gondar, the capital of Abyssinia, and after some stay there, he set 

out for the sources of Bahr-el- Azrek, under an impression that this 

was the principal branch of the Nile. The spot was at length pointed ~. -— 
out by his guide—a_ hillock of. green sod in the middle of a watery —_ 
plain. The guide counselied him to pull off his shoes, as the peuee ee 
were all pagans, and prayed to the river as if it were God. oe 


First View of the Supposed Source of the Nile. 


‘ Half-undressed as I was.’ continues Bruce, ‘ by the loss of my sash. and throwing sae 
off my shoes, I ran down the hill towards the hill ock of green sod, which was about nls 
two hundred ‘yards distant: the whole side of the hill was thick grown with flowers, 
the large bulbous roots of which appearing above the surface of the ground, and oe 
their skins coming off on my treading upon them, occasioned me two very severe x 
falls before I reached the brink of the marsh.. I after this came to the altar of green ; 
turf, which was apparently the work of art. and I stood in rapfure above the princi- 
pal fountain, which rises in the middle of it. Itis easier to guess than to describe == 
the situation of my mind at that moment—standing in that spot which had baffled - 
the genius, industry. and inquiry of both ancients and moderns for the course of tg 

‘near three thousand years. Kings had attempted this. discovery at the head of 
armies, and each expedition was distinguished from the last only by the difference of — — 
numbers which had perished. and agreed alone in the disappointment which had 
uniformly, and without exception. followed them all. Fame, riches, and honour had 
been held out for a series of ages to every individual of those myriads these princes 
commanded, without having produced one man capable of gratifying the curiosity. 
of his sovereign, or wiping off this stain upon the enterprise and abilities of » an- 
kind, or adding this desideratum for the encouragement of geography. ‘Though a — 
mere private Briton, I triumphed here, in my own mind, over kings and their. 
armies! and every comparison was leading nearer and nearer to presumption, when ~ 
the place itself where I stood. the object of my vainglory, suggested what depressed 
my short-lived triumph. JI was but a few minutes arrived at the sources of the 
Nile, through numberless dangers and sufferings, the least of which would have 


7s 


“, 


~ 


- BRUCE.] ENGLISH LITERATURE, | es: 


overwhelmed me, but for the continual goodness and protection of Providence: I was, 
however, but then half through my journey, and all those dangers through wkich I 


- had already passed awaited nie on ny return; I found adespondency gaining ground 
fast, and blasting the crown of laure.s which If had too rashty woven for myself.’ 


“After several adventures in Abyssinia, in the course of which he 
received high personal distinctions from the king, Bruce obtained 


leave to depart. He returned through the great deserts of Nubia into 


Egypt, encountering the severest hardships and dangers from the 
sand-floods and simoom of the desert, and his own physical suffering 
and exhaustion. 

It was not until seventeen years after his return that Bruce pub- 
lished his Travels. Parts had been made public, and were much ri- 
diculed. Even Johnson doubted whether he had ever been in “A bys- 
sinia!. The work appeared in 1790, in-five large quarto volumes, 
with another volume of plates. The strangeness of the author’s ad: 
ventures at the court at Gondar, the somewhat inflated style of the 
narrative, and the undisguised vanity of the traveller, led to a disbe- 


_liet of his statements, and numerous Jampoons and satires, both in 
prose and verse, were directed against him. The really honourable 


and superior points of Bruce’s character—such as his energy. and 
daring, his various knowledge and acquirements, and his disinter- 
ested zeal in undertaking such a journey at his own expense—were 
overlooked in this petty war of the wits. Bruce felt their attacks 
Keenly; but he was 2 proud-spirited man, and did not deign to reply 
to pasquinades impeaching his veracity. . He survived his publica- 
tion only four years. The foot which had trod without failing the 
deserts of Nubia, slipped one evening on his own staircase, while hand- 
ing a lady to her carriage, and he died in consequence of the injury 
then received, April 16, 1794. A second edition of the Travels, edi- 
ted by Dr. Alexander Murray—an excellent Oriental scholar—was 
published in 1805, and a third in 1813. The style of Bruce is prolix 
and inelegant, though occasionally energetic.. He seized upon the 
most prominent points, and coloured them highly. The general ac- 
curacy of his work has been confirmed from different quarters, Mr. 
Henry Savr (died in 1827) the next European traveller in Abyssinia, 
twice penetrated into the interior of the country—in 1805 and 1810— 
but without reaching so far as Bruce. This gentleman confirms the 
historical parts of Bruce’s narrative; and Mr. NATHANIEL PEARCE 
(1870-1820), who resided many years in Abyssinia, and was engaged 
by Salt—verifies one of Bruce's most extraordinary statements—the 
practice of the Abyssinians of eating raw meat cut out of a living 
cow! This was long ridiculed and disbelieved, though in reality it is 
not much more barbarous than the custom which long prevailed 
among the poor Highlanders in Scotland of bleeaing their cattle in 
winter for food. Pearce witnessed the operation: a cow was thrown 


down, and two pieces of flesh, weighing about a pound, cut from 


the buttock, after which the wounds were sewed up, and plastered 


over with cow-dung. Dr. Clarke and other travellers have borne 


' 


testimony to the correctness of Bruce’s drawings and maps. The 


only disingenuousness charged against our traveller is his alleged _ 


concealment of the fact, that the-Nile, whose sources have been in all 
ages an object of curiosity, was the Bahr-el-Abiad, or White River, 
flowing from the west, and not the Bahr-el-Azrek, or Blue River, 
which descends from Abyssinia, and which he explored. It seems 
also clear that Paez, the Portuguese traveller, had long previously 
visited the source of the Bahr-el-Azrek. 

Next in interest and novelty to the travels of Bruce are those of 
Munoo Park in Central Africa. Mr. Park was born at Fowlshiels, 
near Selkirk, on the 10th of September 1771. He studied medicine, 
-and performed a voyage to Bencoolen in the capacity of assistant- 
surgeon to an East Indiaman. The African Association, founded in 
1778 for the purpose of promoting discovery in the interior of Africa, 
had sent out several travellers—John Ledyard, Lucas, and Major 


- Houghton—all of whom had died. Park, however, undeterred by 
these examples, embraced the society’s offer, and set sail in May - 
1795. On the 21st of June following he arrived at Jillifree, on the - 


banks of the Gambia. He pursued his journey towards the kingdom 


of Bambarra, and saw the great object of his mission, the river - 


Niger, flowing towards the east. The sufferings of Park during his 
journey, the various incidents he encountered, his captivity among 
the Moors, and his description of the inhabitants, their manners, 


4 sates CYCLOPEDIA OF — ~_[r0 1830. 


x 


trade, and customs, constitute a narrative of the deepest interest. 


The traveller returned to England towards the latter end of the year 
1797, when all hope of him had been abandoned, and»in 1799 he pub- 
lished his Travels. The style is simple and manly, and replete with 


a fine moral feeling. One of his adventures—which had the honour _ 


of being turned into verse by the Duchess of Devonshire—is thus 
-related. The traveller had reached the town of Sego, the capital of 


Bambarra, and wished to cross the river towards the residence of 


the king 


The Compassionate African Matron. 


I waited more than tio hours without having an opportunity of crossing the 
river, during which time the people who had’ crossed carried information to Man- 
song, the king, that a white man was waiting for a passage, and was coming to see 
him. He immediately sent over one of his chief men, who informed me fhat the 


king could not possibly see me until he knew what had brought me into his country; — 


and that I must not presume to cross the river without the king’s permission. He 
therefore advised me to lodge at a distant village. to which he pointed, for the night, 


and said that in the morning he would give me further instructions how to conduct | 
myself. ‘This was very “scouraging, However, as there was no remedy, I set off 
for the villag?, where I found, to my great mortification, that no person would ad-— 


mitme into his honse. I was regarded with astonishment and fear, and was ob- 
liged to sit all day without victuals in the shade of a tree; and the night threatened 
to be very nncomfortable—for the wind rose, and there was a great appearance of a 
heavy rain—and the wild beasts are so very numerous in the ueighbourhood, that I 


should have been under the necessity of climbing up the tree and resting amongst 


the branches. About sunset. however, as I was preparing to pass the night in this 
manner, and had turned my horse loose that he might graze at liberty, a woman, re-' 
turning from the labours of the field, stopped to observe me, and perceiving that I 


7 


At et, eee Y : ‘ 
: es yee | hat ok ee 
ke aye Bs tt a ek AR 


PARK] 


on WS 5 . ae 
a ® - os 4 el Nex 


<c ENGLISH LITERATURE? 5 


~ was weary and dejected, inquired into my situation, which L briefly explained to her; 


_ whereupon with looks of great compassion, she took up my saddle and bridle, and 


told me to follow her. Having conducted me into her hut, she lighted up a lamp, 
spread a mat on the floor, and told me I might remain there for the night. Finding 
that I was very hungry, she said she would procure me something to eat. She ac- 
cordingly went out, and returned in a short time with a very fine fish, which, having 
caused to be half-broiled upon some embers, she gave me for supper. The rites of 
hospitality being thus performed towards a stranger in distress, my worthy bene- 
factress—pointing to the mat, and telling ne I might sleep there without apprelhon- 
sion—called to the female part of the tamily, who had stood gazing on me all the 


- while in fixed astonishment, to resume their task of spinning cotton, in which they 


continued to employ themselves great part of the night. They lightened their 
Jabour by songs, one of which was composed extempore, for I was myself the sub- 
ject of it. It was sung by one of the young women, the rest joining in a sort of 
chorus. The air was sweet and plaintive, aud the words, literally translated, were 
these: ‘The winds roared, and the rains fell. The poor white man, faint and weary, 
came and sat under our tree. He has no mother to bring him milk—no wife to griud 
his corn. Chorus.—Let us pity the white man—no mother has he,’ &c. Trifling as 


~ this recital may appear to the reader, to a person in my situation the circumstance 


~ 


was affect.og in the highest degree. I was oppressed by such unexpected kindness, 
‘and sleep fled from my eyes. In the morning I presented my compassionate land- 
lady with two of the four brass buttons which remained on my waistcoat—the only 
recompense I could make her. 


His fortitude under suffering, and the natural picty of his mind, 
are beautifully illustrated by an incident related after he had been 


robbed and stripped of most of his clothes at a village near Kooma: 


The. Traveller's Pious Fortitude. 


After the robbers were gone, I sat for some time looking around me with amaze- 
ment andterror. Whichever way I turned, nothing appeared but danger and diffi- 
culty. Isaw myself in.the midst of a vast wilderness. in the depth of the rainy 
season, naked and alone, surrounded by savage animals, and men still more savage. 
I was five hundred miles from the nexrest European settlement. All these circuin- 
stances crowded at once on my recollection, and I confess that my spirits began to 
failme. I considered my fate as certain, and that I had no alternative but to le 


—_ down and perish. The influence of religion, however, aided and supported me. I 


reflected that no human prudence or foresight could possibly have averted my pre- 
sent sufferings. I was indeed a stranger in a strange land, yet I was still under the 
protecting eye of that Providence who has condescended to call himself the stranger’s 
friend. At this moment, painful as my recollections were, the extraordinary beauty 
of a small moss in fructification irresistibly canght my eye. I mention this to shew 
Arom what trifling circumstances the mind will sometimes derive consolation ; for 
though the whole plant was not larger than the top of one of my fingers, I conld not 
contemplate the delicate conformation of its roots, leaves, and capsula, without ad- 
miration. Can that Being, thought I, who planted, watered, and brought to per 


_ fection, in this obscure part of the world, a thing which appears of so small import< 


ance, look with unconcern upon the situation and sufferings of creatures formed 
after his own image? Surely not. Reflections like those would not allow me to-de- 
spair. .I started up, and, disregarding both hunger and fatigue, travelled forwards, 
assured that relief was at hand; and I was not disappointed. Ina short time Icame 


toasmall village, atthe entrance of which I overtook the two shepherds who had 
come with me from Kooma. They were much surprised to see me; for they said 


‘they never doubted that the Foulahs, when they had robbed, had murdered me. De- 
parting from this village, we travelled oyer several rocky ridges, and at sunset arrived 
at Sibidooloo, the frontier town of the kingdom of Manding. 


Park had discovered the Niger—or Joliba, or Quorra—flowing to 


_ the east, and thus set at rest the doubts as to its direction in the in- 


terior of Africa: He was not satisfied, however, but longed to follow 
up his discovery by tracing it to its termination. For some years he 


6 poe CYCLOPEDIA OF. _——«sfro gees 


was constrained to remain at home, and he followed his profession of — 
a surgeon in the town of Peebles. He embraced a second offer from 
the African Association, and arrived at Goree on the 28th of March — 
1805. . Before he saw the Niger oncemore ‘ rolling its immense stream ~ sat 
along the plain,’ misfortunes had thickened around him. His expe- ee oe 
dition consisted originally of forty-four men; now, only seven re- 9 
mained. He built a boat at Sansanding to pr osecute his voyage down 
the river, and entered it on the 17th of “November 1805, with thefixed . ~ 
resolution to discover the termination of the Niger, or perish in the — 
attempt. The party had sailed several days, when, on passing arocky 
part of the river named Bussa, the natives attacked them, and Park __ 
and one of his companions (Lieutenant Martyn) were drowned while 
attempting to escape by swimming. ‘The letters and journals of the 
traveller had been sent by him to Gambia previous to his embarking — 
on the fatal voyage; and a narrative of the journey, compiled from 363 
them, was published: in 1815. ae 
To explore the interior of Africa continued still to be an object Of 3 
~adventurous ambition. Park had conjectured that the Niger and_ 
Congo were one river; and in 1816 a double expedition was planned, 
one part of which was destined to ascend the Congo, and the other ~~ 
to descend the Niger, hopes being entertained that a meeting would 
take place at some point of the “mighty stream. The command of. Se 
this expedition was given to CAPTAIN TUCKEY, an experienced naval — 
officer; and_he was accompanied by Mr. Smith, a botanist, Mr. 
Cranch, a zoologist, and by Mr. Galway, an intelligent friend.~ The — 
expedition was unfortunate—all died but Captain Tuckey, and he ~ 
was compelled to abandon the enterprise from fever and exhaustion. 
In the narrative of this expedition there is an interesting account of 
the country of Congo, which appears to be an undefined tract of 
territory, hemmed in between Loango onthe north and Angola on 
‘the south, and stretching far inland. The military part of this ex- 
pedition, under Major Peddie, was equally unfortunate. He did not - z 
ascend the Gambia, but pursued the route by the Rio Nunez and the ~~ 
country of the Foulahs. Peddie died at Kacundy, at the head of the ~~ 


bert. 


Rio Nunez; and Captain Campbell, on whom the command then 
devolved, also sunk under the pressure of disease and distress. In 
1819 two other travellers, Mr. Rrrcure and Lisurenant Lyon, pro- 
ceeded from Tripoli to Fezzan, with the view of penetrating south- a 
ward as far as Sudan. Theclimate soon extinguished all hopes from — oa 
this expedition; Mr. Ritchie sunk beneath it, and Lieutenant Lyon ~_ = 
was so reduced as to be able to extend his journey only to the south- bys 
ern frontiers of Fezzan. A 2 
DENHAM AND CLAPPERTON. aS 

In 1822 another important African expedition was planned by a 
different route, under the care of Mason DEnwaM, CAPTAIN CLAP: 


_PERTON, and Dr. OUDNEY. They proceeded from Tripoli across the 


+ Le, s - ~ ~ 
oy Te a = 
SAY oe 4 


= — 


“\eiaprerton.| ENGLISH LITERATURE. 7 " 


— Great Desert to Bornu, and in February 1828 arrived at Kuka, the 
- capital of Bornu. An immense lake, the Tchad, was seen to form 
__ the receptacle of the rivers of Bornu, and the country was highly 

_ populous. The travellers were hospitably entertained. at Kuka. 
Oudney fell a victim to the climate; but Clapperton penetrated as 

_~ far as Sokoto, the residence of the Sultan Bello, and the capital of 
the Fellatah empire. The sultan received him with much state, and 
admired all the presents that were brought to him. ‘ Everything,’ he 

Said, ‘is wonderful, but you are the greatest curiosity_of all.’ The 

~ ~traveller’s presence of mind is illustrated by the following anecdote: © 

~~ *March 19.—I was sent for,’ says Clapperton, ‘ by the sultan, and desired to bring 
with me the ‘‘looking-glass of the sun,” the name they gave to my sextant. I first 
exhibited a planisphere of the heavenly bodies. The sultan knew all the signs of the 
zodiac, some of the constellations, and many of the stars, by their Arabic names. 
The looking-glass of the sun was then brought forward, and occasioned much sur- 

_ prise. I had to explain all its appendages. The inverting telescope was an object of 
- immense astonishment; and I had to stand at some little distance, to let tbe sultan 
_ look at me through it, for his people were all afraid of piacing themselves within its 
Magical influence. I had next to shew him how to take an observation of the sun. 
-~ The case of the artificial horizon, of which I had lost the key, was sometimes very 
— difficult to open, as happened on this occasion; I asked one of the people near me 
‘for a knife to press up the lid. He handed me one quite too small, and I quite insd- 

- » vertently asked for a dagger for the same purpose. The sultan was immediately 
thrown into a fright; he seized his sword, and half drawing it from the scabbard, 

_ placed it before him trembling all the time like an aspen-leaf. I did not deem it pru- 

- ~ dent to take the least notice of his alarm, although it was I who had in reality most 
cause of tear; and on receiving the dagger, I calmly opened the case, and returned 

_ the weapon to its owner with apparent unconcern. When the artificial horizon was 
arranged, the sultan and all his attendants had a peep at the suu, and my breach of 

- etiquette seemed entirely forgotten.’ 

_  Sokoto formed the utmost limit of the expedition. The result 
was published in 1826, under the title of ‘Narrative of Travels and 
Discoveries in Northern and Central Africa, in the years 1822, 1823, 

and 1824, by Major Denham, Captain Clapperton, and the late Dr. 

_ Qudney.’ > Clapperton resumed his travels in 1825, and completed a 

- journey across the continent of Africa from Tripoli to Benin, accom- 

panied by Captain Pearce, a naval surgeon, a draughtsman, and 

- Richard Lander, a young man who volunteered to accompany him 

_ asa confidential servant. They landed at Bagadry, in the Bight of 

- Benin; but death soon cut off all but Clapperton and Lander. They 

pursued their course, and visited Bussa, the scene of Mungo Park’s 

_- death. They proceeded to Sokoto, after an interesting journey, with 

__ the view of soliciting permission from the sultan to visit Timbuktu 

~ and Bornu. In this Clapperton was unsuccessful; and being. seized 

with dysentery, he died in the arms of his faithful servant on the 13th 

- of April 1827, Lander was allowed to return; and in 1830 he pub- 

_ lished an account of Captain Clapperton’s last expedition. The un- 

' fortunate traveller was at the time of his death in his thirty-ninth 

= year. 

__ Clapperton made valuable additions to our knowledge of the in- 

terior of Africa. ‘The limit of Lieutenant Lyon’s journey south- 

ward across the desert was in latitude 24 degrees, while Major Den- 


y é 5 Mie > Yy in ~ rd oY. 
ae e ’ 


Sic CYCLOPADIALOF - [ro-1830.. 
‘ham, in his expedition to Mandara, reached latitude 9 degrees 15 
minutes; thus adding 14? degrees, or 900 miles, to the extent explor- ~ 
ed ky Europeans.. Hornemann, it is true, had previously crossed the  ~ 
desert, and had proceeded as far southward as Nyffe, in latitude 10} = ~ 
degrees; but no account was ever received of his journey. Park in — 
his first expedition reached Silla, in longitude 1 degree 34 minutes 
west, a distance of 1100 miles from the mouth of the Gambia. Den- -~ 

ham and Clapperton, on the other hand, from the east side of Lake™ 
Tchad in longitude 17 degrees, to Sokoto in longitude 54 degrees, — 
explored a distance of 700 miles from east to west in the heartof 
Africa; a line of only 400 miles remaining unknown between Silla 

and Sokoto. But the second journey of Captain Clapperton added ~~ 
tenfold value to these discoveries. He had the good-fortune to de- ~~ 
tect the shortest and most easy road to the populous countries of the . 
interior; and he could boast of being the first wlio had completed an 
itinerary across the continent of Africa from Tripoli to Benin.’ * 


RICHARD LANDER. ee 


The honour of discovering and finally determining the course of — 
the Niger was left to RicHARD LANDER. Under the auspices of  _. 
government, Lander and his brother left England in January 1850, 
and arrived at Badagry on the 19th of March. From Bussa they —§ « 
sailed down the Niger, and ultimately entered the Atlantic by the 
river Nun, one of the branches from the Niger. They returned — 
from their triumphant expedition in June, 1881, and published en ~~ 
account of their travels in three small volumes, for which Mr. Mur-- — 
ray, the eminent bookseller, is said to have given a thousand guineas. ~~ 
Richard Lander was induced to embark in another expedition to — 
Africa—a commercial speculation fitted out by some Liverpool mer- ~~ 
chants, which proved an utter failure. A party of natives attacked ~~ 
the adventurers on the river Niger, and Lander was wounded by a’ 
musket-ball. He arrived at Fernando Po, but died from the effects” 
of his wound on the 16th of February 1834, aged thirty-one. A nar- 
rative of this unfortunate expedition was published in 1837 in two 
volumes, by Mr. Macgregor Laird and Mr. Oldfield, surviving officers > - 
of the expedition. : : 


BOWDICH—CAMPBELL—bBURCHELL. - an Sis 

Of Western Africa, interesting accounts are given in the ‘Mission _ 
to Ashantee,’ 1819, by Mr. Bowpicu; and of Southern Africa, in’ © 
the ‘Travels’ of Mr. CAMPBELL, a missionary, 1822; and in ‘Travels 
in Southern Africa,’ 1822, by Mr. BurcHEetL. Campbell was the ~~ 
first to penetrate beyond Lattaku, the capital of the Bechuana tribe 
of the Matchapins. He made two missions to Africa, one in 18138, — 
and a second in 1820, both being undertaken under the auspices of — 
the Missionary Society. He founded a Christian establishment at — 


* History of Maritime and Inland Discovery. 


BURCKHARDT.] . ENGLISH, LITERATURE. ee) 


Lattaku, but the natives evinced little disposition to embrace the pure 
faith, so different from their sensual and superstitious rites. Until 
Mr. Bowdich’s mission to Ashantee, that powerful kingdom and its 
capital, Coomassie (a city of 100,000 souls), although not nine days’ 
journey from the English settlements on the. coast, were known only 
by name, and. very few persons in England had ever formed the 


faintest idea of the barbaric pomp and magnificence, or of the state, 


strength and political condition.of the Ashantee nation. 


J. L. BURCKHARDT—J,. B. BELZONI. 

- Among the numerous victims of African. discovery are two emi- 
nent travellers—Burckhardt and Belzoni. Joun Lupwie Borcx- 
“HARDT (1784-1817) was a native of Switzerland, who visited England, 


~and was engaged by the African Association. He proceeded to 


-_ Aleppo in 1809, and resided two years in that city, personating the 
~ character of a Mussulman doctor of laws, and acquiring a perfect 


knowledge of the language and customs of the East. He visited 
Palmyra, Damascus, and Lebanon; stopped some time at Cairo, and 
-made a pilgrimage to Mecca, crossing the Nubian desert by the route 


~ taken by Bruce. He returned to Cairo, and was preparing to depart 
~ thence in a caravan for Fezzan, in the north of Africa, when he was 


=a 


cut off by a fever. His journals, letters, and memoranda, were all 
preserved, and are very valuable. He was an accurate observer of 
men and manners, and his works throw much light on the geography 
and moral condition of the countries he visited. They were published 
at intervals from 1819 to 1880.—JoHN Barrisr BELZONI was a native 


of Padua, in Italy, who came to England in 1808. He was a man of 


immense stature and muscular strength, capable of enduring the 


_ greatest fatigue. From 1815 to 1819 he was engaged in exploring 


the antiquities of Egypt. Works on this subject had previously ap- 


' peared—The ‘ Egyptiaca’ of Hamilton, 1809; Mr. Legh’s ‘ Narrative | 
~, of a Journey in Egypt,’ 1816; Captain Light’s ‘ Travels,’ 1818; and 


‘Memoirs relating to European and Asiatic Turkey,’ &c., by Mr. R. 
Walpole, 1817. Mr. Legh’s account of the antiquities of Nubia— 
the region situated on the upper part of the Nile—had attracted much 
attention. While the temples of Egypt are edifices raised above 
ground, those of Nubia are excavaied rocks, and some almost of 
mountain magnitude have keen hewn into temples and chiseled into 
sculpture. Mr. Legh was the first edventurer in this career. - Belzoni 
“ueted as assistant to Mr. Salt, the British consul at Egypt, in explor- 
ing the Egyptian Pyramids and encient tombs. Some of these re- 
mains of art were eminently rich and splendid, and one which he 
discovered near Thebes, containing a sarcophagus of the finest oriental 


alabaster, minutely sculptured with hundreds of figures, he brought 


a | 


Petes ar a 4 


with him to Britain, and it is now in the British Museum. In 1820 
he published ‘A Narrative of Operations and Recent Discoveries 
within the Pyramids, Temples, &c. in Egypt and Nubia,’ which shews 
how much may be done by the labour and unremitting exertions of 


I Se tae SF he ee 2 oe ee eee eee 


- S acy , cf 


10 CYCLOPZEDIA OF - 


“ one individual. Belzoni’s success in Egypt, his great bodily strength, — 


and his adventurous spirit, inspired him with the hope of achieving 
discoveries in Africa. He sailed to the coast of Guinea, with the 
intention of travelling to Timbuktu, but died at Benin of an attack 
of dysentery on the 8d of December 1825, aged sixty-five.. We sub- 
join a few passages from Belzoni’s Narrative: Sey 


The Ruins at Thebes. 


On the 22d, we saw for the first. time the ruins Of great Thebes, and landed at 
Luxor. Here I beg the reader to observe, that but very imperfect ideas can be formed ~ 


of the extensive ruins of Thebes, even from the accounts of the most skilful and accu- 
rate travellers. Itis absolutely impossible to imagine the scene displayed, without see* 
ing it. The most sublime ideas that can be formed from the most magnificent speci- 
mens of our present architecture would give a very incorrect picture of these ruins; 
for such is the difference not only in magnitude, but in form, proportion, and construc- 
tion that even the pencil can convey but a faint idea of the whole. It appeared to me 


4 


like entering a city of giants, who, after a long conflict, were all destroyed, leaving the ~ 
ruins of their various temples as the only proofs of their former existence. '[hetemple ~ 


of Lux@r presents to the traveller at once one of the most splendid groups of Egyptian 

grandeur. The extensive propyleon, with the two obelisks, and colossal statues in 

the front; the thick groups of enormous columns ; the variety of apartments, and the - 
sanctuary it contains; the beautiful ornaments which adorn every part of the walls 

and columns. described by Mr. Hamilton—cause in the astonished traveller an ob-— 
‘of Thebes by the towering remains that project a great height above the wood of 
palm-trees, he will gradually enter that forest-like assemblage of ruins of. temples, 
columns, obelisks, colossi, sphinxes, portals, and an endless number of other asto- 
nishing objects, that will convince him at once of the impossibility of a description. 
On the west side of the Nile, still the traveller finds himself among wonders. The 


teinples of Gournon, Memnonium, and Medinet Aboo. attest the extent of the great — 


city on this side. The unrivalled colossal figures in the plams of Thebes, the number — 
of tombs excavated in the rocks, those in the great valley of the kings, with their 
paintings, sculptures, mummies, sarcophagi, figures, &c., are all objects worthy of 


the admiration of the traveller, who will not fail to wonder how a nation which was 


once so great as to erect these stupendous edifices, could so far fall into oblivion that 
even their language and writing are totally unknown to us. : + 


Opening a Fomb at Thebes. 


On ‘the 16th of October 1817, I set a number of fellahs, or labouring Arabs, to. 


work, and caused the earth to be opened at the foot of a steep hill, and under — 


the bed of a torrent, which, when it rains, pours a great. quantity of water over 
the spot in which they were digging. No one could imegine that the ancient 
Egyptians would make the entrance into such an‘immense and superb excavation 
just under a torrent of water; but I had strong reasons to suppose that there was a 
tomb in that place, from indications I had previously observed in my search of other 


sepulchres. ‘The Arabs, who were accustomed to dig, were all of opinion that 
nothing was to be found there; but I persisted in carrying on the work; and on ~ 
the evening of the following day we perceived the part of the rock that had been ~ 


hewn and cutaway. On the 18th, early in the morning, the task was resumed: and 
about noon, the workmen reached the opening, which was eighteen feet below 
the surface of the ground, When there was room enough for me to creep through 
a passage that the earth had left under the ceiling of the first corridor, I per- 
ceived immediately. by the painting on the roof, and by the hieroglyphies in basso-— 
relievo, that I had at length reached the entrance of a large and magnificent 
tomb. TI hastily passed along this corridor, and came to a staircase 23 feet long, at 
the foot of which I entered another gallery 37 feet 3 inches long, where my pro- 


gress was suddenly arrested by a large pit 30 feet deep and 14 feet by 12 feet3 __ 
mches wide. On the other side, and in front of me, I observed a small aper- — 


ture 2 feet wide and 2 feet 6 inches high, and at the bottom of the pit a quantity of 


rubbish. A TOS, fastened to a piece of wood, that was laid across the passage — nS 


y 


« 


- 


tivion of all that he has seen before. If his attention be attracted to-the northside 


iW we. 


> 


i has 


" 
Pee Se Si aE Tet POM 


7 


} 


a Oe 


> As me <4 ~~ a ese ~ ne > A” = = 
7% Se iv ; ‘ = a 


fas : ? 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 11 


“-BELZONI.] 
~ against the projections which formed a kind of doorway, appeared to have been used 
- formerly for descending into the pit; and from the small aperture on the opposite 
side hung another which reached the botiom, no doubt for the purpose of ascending. 
- fhe wood, and the rope fastened to it, crumbled to dust on being touched. At 
_ the bottom —of the pit were several pieces of wood placed against the side of 
it, So as to assist the person who was to ascend by means of the rope into the 
aperture. It was not till the following day that we contrived to make a bridge of two 
beams, and crossed the pit, when we discovered the little aperture to be an opening 
~ forced through a wall, that had entirely closed what we afterwards found to be the 
— entrance into magnificent halls and corridors beyond. ‘lhe ancient Egyptians had 
closely shut it up, plastered the wall over, and painted it Jike the rest of the sides of 
the pit, so that, but for the aperture, it would have been impossible to suppose that 
there was any further proceeding. Any one would have concluded that the tomb 
ended with the pit. ° Besides, the pit served the purpose of receiving the rain-water 
which might occasionally fall in the mountain, and thus kept out the damp from the 
‘inner part of the tomb. We passed through the small aperture, and then made the 
full discovery of the whole sepulchre. 
5 An inspection of the model! will exhibit the nnmerons galleries and halls through 
- which we wandered; and the vivid colours and extraordinary figures on the walls 
- and ceilings, which everywhere met our view, will convey an idea of the astonish- 
ment we must have felt ut every step. In one apartment we found the carcass of a 
bull embalmed;-and also scattered in various places wooden figures of mummies 
covered with asphaltum, to preserve them. In some of the rooms were lying about 
statues of fine carth, baked, coloured blue, and strongly varnished ; in another part 
- were four wooden figures standing erect, four feet high, and a circular hollow inside, 
~~ as if intended to contain a roll of papyrus. The sarcophagus, of oriental alabaster, - 
-- was found in the centre of the hall, to which I gave the name of the saloon, without 
a cover, which had been removed and broken; and the body-that had once occupied 
this superb coffin had been carried away. We were not, therefore, the first who had 
; ae Beats entered this mysterious mansion of the dead, though there is no doubt it 
~~ had remained undisturbed since the time of the invasicn of the Persians. 


- The architectural ruins and monuments on the banks of the Nile 
are stupendous relics of former ages. They reach back to the period 
- when Thebes poured her heroes through a hundred gates, and Greece 
~~ and Rome were the desert abodes of barbarians. ‘From the tops of 
the Pyramids,’ said Napoleon to his soldiers on the eve of battle, 
_ ‘the shades of forty centuries look down upon you.’ Learning and 
~ research have unveiled part of the mystery of these august memori- 
als. Men like Belzoni have penetrated into the vast sepulchres, and 
_unearthed-the huge sculpture ; and scholars like Young and Cham- 
_ pollion, by studying the hieroglyphic writing of the ancient Egyp- 
tians, have furnished a key by which we may ascertain the object 
and history of these Eastern remains. 


* 


ae DR. E. D. CLARKE, 

~ ‘© One of the most original and interesting of modern travellers was the 
~ ~ Rey. Dr. Epwarpd DANIEL CLARKE (1769-1822), a Fellow of Jesus Col- 
__ lege, Cambridge, and the first Professor of Mineralogy in that univer- 
sity. In1799 Dr. Clarke set off with Mr. Malthusand some other col- 
> lege friends on a journey among the northern nations. He travelled for 
__. three years and a half, visiting the south of Russia, part of Asia, 
_ Turkey, Egypt, and Palestine. The first volume of his Travels 
appeared in 1810, and included Russia, Tartary, and Turkey. The 
_ ~ second, which became more popular, was issued in 1812, and in- 
_.- eluded Greece, Egypt, and the Holy Land; and three other volumes 
fi 


p . + => < 
Wee wr SS Be 


12 : CYCLOP-EDIA OF ~ °-- [ro 1830, 


appeared at intervals before 1819. The sixth volume was published © — 
after his death, part being contributed by Mr. Welpole, author of | 
‘Travels in the Levant.’ Dr. Clarke received from his publishers ~— 
the large sum of £7000 for his collection of Travels. ‘Their success ~ 
was immediate and extensive. As an-honest and accomplished wri- — 
ter, careful in his facts, clear and polished in his style, and compre-~. 


‘th 


hensive in his knowledge and observation, Dr. Clarke has not been. _ 
excelled by any general European traveller. powae 
Description of the Pyramids. aA 


We were roused as soon as the sun dawned by Antony, our faithful Greek servant ~* 
and interpreter, with the intelligence that the Pyramids were im view. We hastened _ 
from the cabin; and never will the impression made by their appearance be obliterx  _—- 
ated. By reflecting the sun’s rays, they appear as white as snow, and of such sur- 
prising magnitude, that nothing we had previously conceived in our imagination had ~ 
prepared us for the spectacle we beheld. The sight instantly convinced us that no 
power of description, no delineation, can convey ideas adequate to the effect pro~ ~ 
duced in viewing these stupendous monuments. The forinality of their construction 
is lost in their prodigious magnitude; the mind, elevated by wonder, feels at once ~ 
the force of an axiom, which, however disputed, experience confirms—that in’ vast- 69 
ness, whatsoever be its nature, there dwells sublimity. Another proof of theirinde- 
scribable power is, that. no one ever approached them under other emotions than — . 


those of terror, which is another principal source of the sublime. In certain tn- ~~ y 
stances of irritable feeling, this impression of awe and fear has been so greatas to 
cause pain rather than pleasure ; hence, perhaps, have origin:.ted descriptions of the 


Pyramids which represent them as deformed and gloomy masses, without taste or 
beauty. Persons who have derived no satisfaction from the contemplation of them,” 
may not have been conscious that the uneasiness they experienced wasa result of _ \ 
their own sensibility. Others have acknowledged ideas widely different, excited by : 
every wonderful circumstance of character and of situation—ideas of duration ~~ 
almost endless, of power inconceivable, of majesty supreme, of solitude most awful, — 
of pers of desolation, and of repose. earns ys 
Jpon the 23d of Angust 1802 we set out for the Pyramids, the inundationen- 
abling us to approach within less than @ mile of the larger pyramid in our djerm [or — 
boat]. Messrs. Hammer and Hamilton accompanied us. We arrived at Djiza at ~ 
daybreak, and called upon some English officers, who wished to Join our/party upon. 
this occasion. From Djiza our approach to the Pyramids was through a swampy ~ 
country, by means of a narrow canal, which, however. was deep enough; and we 
arrived without any obstacle at nine o’clock at the bottom of a sandy slope leading - 
up to the principal pyramid. Some Bedouin Arabs, who had assembled to receive  ~ 
us upon our landing, were much amused by the eagerness excited in our whole party — 
to prove who should first. set his foot upon the summit of this artificial mountam., 
Witb what amazement did we survey the vast surface that was presented tous when _ 
we arrived at this stupendous monument, which seemed to-reach the clouds. Here 
and there appeared some Arab guides upon the immense masses above us, like s0. 
many pigmies. waiting to shew the way to the summit. Now and then we thought ~— 
we heard voices, and listened; but it was the wind in powerful gusts sweeping the — 
immense ranges of stone. Already some of our party bad begun the ascent, and 
were pausing at the tremendous depth which they saw-below. One of our military —__ 
companions, after having surmounted the most difficult part of the undertaking, 
became giddy in consequence of looking down from the elevation he had attained; — 
and being compelled to abandon the project, he hired an Arab to assist him in - 
effecting his descent. ‘The rest.of us, more accustomed to the business of climbing __ 
- heights, with many a halt for respiration, and many an exclamation of wonder, pur- 
sued our way towards the summit. The mode of ascent has been frequently described; 
and yet, from the aupavene which are often proposed to travellers, it does not appear 
to be generally understood. . The reader may imagine himself to be upon a stairgase, 
every step of which. to a man of middle stature, is nearly breast-high, andthe breadth __ 
of each step is equal to its height, consequently the footing is secure; and although 
a retrospect in going up be sometimes fearful to persons unaccustomed tolookdown 


‘ 


4 
* 
4 
; 
a 
: 


= 
~ 


ae” = , x. a _— - | oe ad , - 
AF: > z x 4 
* ee La PS : \ ~ 


ENGLISIL LITERATURE. - . 18 


“CLARKE. ] 


from any considerable cleyation, yet there is little danger of falling. Insome places, 
‘indeed, where the stones are decayed, caution may be required, and an Arab guide is 
always necessary to avoid a total interruption: but, upon the whole, the means of 
- ascent are such that almost every one may accomplish it. Our progress was impeded 
by other causes. We carried with us a few instruments, such as our boat-compass, a 
thermometer, a telescope, &c.: these could not be trusted in the hands of the Arabs, 
_ and they were liable'to be broken every instant. At length we reached the topmost 
_ tier, tothe great delight and satisfaction of all the party. Here we found a platform 
thirty-two feet square, consisting of nine large stones, each of which might weigh 
~ about a ton, although they are much inferior in s ze to some of the stones used in the 
construction of this pyramid. Travellers of all ages and of various nations have here 
inscribed their names. Some are written in Greek, many in French, a few in Arabic, 
one or two in English, and others in Latin. We were as desirous as our predecessors 
to leave a memorial of our arrival ; it seemed to be a tribute of thankfulness due for 
the success of our undertaking; and presently every one of our party was seen busied 
in adding the inscription of his name. 
Upon this area, which looks like a point when seen from Cairo or from the Nile, 
itis extraordinary that none of those numerous hermits fixed their abode who re- 
- tired to the tops of columns and to almost inaccessible solitudes upon the pinnacles 
of the highest rocks. It offers a much more convenient and secure retreat than was 
~ selected by an ascetic who pitched his residence upon the architrave of a temple in 
the vicinity of Atheus. The heat, according to Fahrenteit’s thermometer at the time 
of our coming, did not exceed 84 degrees; andthe same temperature continued dur- 
ing the time we remained, a strong wind blowing from the north-west. The view 
from this eminence amply fulfilled our expectations ; nor do the accounts which have 
_ been given of it, as it appears at this season of the year, exaggerate the novelty and 
- grandeur of the sight. All the region towards Cairo and the Delta resembled a sea 
, covered with innuinerable islands. Forests of palm-trees were seen standing in the 
water, the inundation spreading over the land where they stood, so as to give them 
_ an appearance of growing inthe flood. To the north, as far as the eye could reach, 
" nothing couid be discerned but a watery surface thus diversified by plantations and 
_by villages. ‘To the south we saw the Pyramids of Saccdéra; and upon the east of 
_ these, sinaller monuments of the same kind nearer to the Nile. An appearance of 
_ ruins might indeed be traced the whole way from the Pyrainids of Djiza to those of 
_ Saccdra, as if they had once been connected, so as to constitute one vast cemetery. 
_ Beyond the Pyramids of Saccara we could perceive the distant mountains of the 
_ Said; and upon an,eminence near the Libyan side of the Nile, appeared a monastery 
+ of considerable size. Towards the west and south-west, the eye ranged over the 
great Libyan Desert, extending to the utmost verge of the horizon, without a single 
- object to interrupt the dreary horror of the landscape, except dark floating spots 
_ caused by the shadows of passing clouds upon the sand. 
' _ Upon the south-east side is the gigantic statue of the Sphinx, the most colossal 
piece of sculpture which remaits of all the works executed by the ancients. The 
_ French have uncovered all the pedestal of this statue. and ali the cumbent or leonine 
parts of the figure; these were before entirely concealed by sand. Instead, however, 
: of answering the expectations raised concerning the work upon which it was sip- 
posed to rest, the pedestal proves to be a wretched substructure of brick-work and 
~s8mall pieces of stone put together, like the most insignificant piece of modern 


sa ‘ + 


fro 1830. " 


BTSs CYCLOPEDIA OF | 


on the outside, and places as for doors or portals in the walls; also an advanced — 
work or portico. A third pyramid, of much smaller dimensions than the second, - 

appears beyond the Sphinx to the south-west; and there are three others, one of 
which is nearly buried 1m the sand, between the Jarge pyramid and this statue tothe 
south-east. : Ss : 


CLASSICAL TRAVELLERS—FORSYTH, EUSTACE, ETC. 


The classical countries of Greece and Italy have been described by ~ 
various travellers—scholars, poets, painters, architects, and antiqua-— — 
ries. The celebrated ‘ Travels-of Anacharsis,’ by Barthélemy, were 
published in 1788, and shortly afterwards translated into English: - 
This excellent work—of which the hero is as interesting as any cha- — 
racter in romance—excited a general enthusiasm with respect to the — 
memorable soil and history of Greece. Dr. Clarke’s Travels further — 
stimulated inquiry; and Byron’s ‘Childe Harold’ drew attention to — 
the natural beauty and magnificence of Grecian scenery and ancient _ 
art. Mr. Joun Cam Hosnouss, afterwards Lorp BRouGHTON (1786 ~ 
—1869,) the fellow-traveller of Lord Byron, published an account of — 
his ‘Journey through Albania.’ Late in life (in 1859), Lord Brough- — 
ton published two volumes entitled ‘Italy; Remarks made in Several — 
Visits from the year 1816 to 1854.’ Dr. Honuanp, 1815, gave to the —~ 
_ world his interesting ‘ Travels in the Ionian Isles, Albania, Thessaly, a 
and Macedonia.’ A voluminous and able work, in two quarto vo 
lumes, was published in 1819, by Mr. Epwarp DopwELL, entitled — 
“A Classical and. Topographical Tour through Greece.’ Srr WiIL- 
LIAM GELL, in 1823, gave an account of a ‘Journey to the Morea.’ ~ 
An artist, Mr. H. W. WiuuraMs, also published ‘Travels in Greece ~ 
and Italy,’ enriched with valuable remarks on the ancient works of - 
art. Sas 


Ne 4 
Lord Byron also extended his kindling power and energy totaly; 
, 


SoA 4 


but previous to this time a master-hand had described its ruins and 
antiquities. A valuable work, which has now become a standard — 
authority, was in 1812 published under the modest title of “Remarks ~ 
on Antiquities, Arts, and Letters, during an Excursion in Italy in the ~ 
years 1802 and 1803,’ by JosEpH Forsytu, Esq. Mr. Forsyth (1763—— 
1815) was a native of Elgin, in the county of Moray, and condueted ~ 
a Classical seminary at Newington-Butts, near London, for many 
years. On his return from a tour in Italy, he was arrestéd at-Turin — 
in 1803, in consequence of Napoleon’s harsh and unjust order to de- 
tain all British subjects travelling in his dominions. After several 
years of detention, he prepared the notes he had made in Italy, and — 
published them in England, as a means of enlisting the sympathies of — 
Napoleon and the leading members of the National Institute in his ~ 
behalf. Tiis last effort for freedom failed, and the author always — 
regretted that he had madeit. Mr. Forsyth was at length released~ 
on the downfall of Napoleon in 1814. The remarks thus has- — 
tily prepared for a special purpose, could hardly have been 
improved if expended into regular dissertations and essays. They — 
‘arc vigorous and acute, cvincing keen observation and - original — 


‘rorsytH} © “ENGLISH LITERATURE. : 15 
thinking, as well as the perfect knowledge of the scholar and the 
critic. Some detached sentences from Forsyth will shew his peculiar 
-and picturesque style. First, of the author's journey to Rome: 
— The Italian Vintage, 

a “The vintage was in full glow. Men, women, children, asses, all. were variously 
~ engaged in the work. [remarked in the scene a prodigality ai.u negligence which I 
never saw in France. The grapes dropped unheeded from the panniers, and hundreds 
were left unclipped on the vines. ‘The vintagers poured on us as we passed the richest 
_ ribaldry of the Italian language, and seemed to ciaim from Homer’s old * vindemia- 
- tor’ a prescriptive right to abuse the traveller.* 


The Coliseum. 


-~ A colossal taste gave rise to the Coliseum. Here, indeed, gigantic dimensions 
_ were necessary; for thongh hundreds could enter at once, and fifty thousand find 
_ Beats, the space was still insufficient.for room, and the crowd for the morning games 
_ began at midnight. Vespasian and /Titus,as if presaging their own deaths, hurried 
_ the building, and left several marks of their precipitancy behind. In the upper walls 
_ they haye inserted stones which had evidently been dressed for a different purpose. 

Some of the arcades are grossly unequal; no moulding preserves the same level and 
- form round the whole ellipse, and every order is full of license. The Doric hasno tri- 
~ glyphs and metopes, and its arch is too low for its columns; the Ionic repeats the enta~ 
RSture of the Doric: the third order is but a rough cast of the Corinthian, and its foli- 
- age the thickest water-plants: the fourth seems a mere repetition of the third in pilas- 
_ ters; and the whole is crowned by a heavy Attic. Happily for the Coliseum, the shape 
_ necessary to an amphitheatre has given ita stability of construction sufficient to resist 
_ fires, and earthquakes, and lightmings, and sieges. Its elliptical form was the hoop 
* which bound and held it entire till barbarians rent that consolidating ring ; popes 
_ widened the breach; and time, not unassisted, continues the work ot dilapidation. 
' At this moment the hermitage is threatened with a dreadful crash, and a generation 
~ not very remote must be content, I apprehend, with the picture of this stupendous 
-inonument. Of the interior elevation, two slopes, by some called meniana, are 
_ already demolished; the arena the podium, are interred. No member runs entire 
- round the whole ellipse; but every member made such a circuit, and reappears so 
E often, that plans, sections, and elevations of the original work are drawn with the 
precision of a modern fabric. When the whole ainphitheatre was entire, a child 
2 might comprehend its design in a moment, and go direct to his place without stray- 
~ ing in the porticos, for each arcade bears its number engraved. and opposite to every 
_ fourth arcade was a staircase. This multiplicity of wide, straight, and separate pas- 
_ Sages proves the attention which the ancients paid to the safe discharge of a 
crowd; it finely illustrates the precept of Vitruvius, and exposes the perplexity 
of some modern theatres. Every nation has undergone its revolution of vices; 
— and as cruelty is not the present vice of ours. we can all humanely execrate 
_the purpose of amphitheatres, now that they lie in ruins. Moralists may tell us that 
_ the truly brave are never cruel; but this monument says ‘No.’ Here sat the con- 
- querors. of the world, coolly to enjoy the tortures and’ death of men who had never 


iv 


‘Yoin. Asit now stands, the Coliseum is a striking image of Rome itself—decayed, 
grecn—erect on one side and fallen or 


ai} 
Comes through the leaves. the vines in light festoons 
From tree to tree, the trees in avenues, : 


16 3 - CYCLOPADIA OF 


the other, with eonsecrated ground in its bosom—inhabited by a peadsman : visited 
by every caste; for moralists, antiquaries, painters, architects, devotees, all “meet 
here to ineditate, to examine, to draw, to measure, and to pray. ‘ln oe 
antiquities,’ says Livy, ‘the mind itself becomes antique.’ It contracts from sue. 
objects a venerable rust, which I prefer to the polish and the point of those wits gue 
have lately profaned this august ruin with ridicule. 


“ 


In the year following the publication of Forsyth’s original mets 
valuable work, appeared ‘ A Classical Tour in Italy,’ in two large _ 
volumes, by JOHN CHETWODE Evsrace, an English Catholic priest, oe 
who had travelled in Italy in the capacity of tutor, Though pleas. 
antly written, Eustace’s work is one of no great authority orresearch. ~ 
John Cam Hobhouse (Lord Broughton) characterises Eustace as ‘one ~ 
of the most inaccurate and unsatisfactory writers that have in our | 
times attained a temporary reputation.” Mr. Eustace died at Naples — 
in 1815. ‘ Letters from the North of Italy,’ addressed to Mr. Hallam _ 
the historian, by W. Stewart Rose, Esq., in two volumes, 1819, are — 
partly descriptive and partly critical; and though somewhat affected — 
in style, form an amusing miscellany. ‘A Tour through the Southern - 
Provinces of the Kingdom of Naples,’ by the Hon. R. Keppen : 
CRAVEN (1821), is more of an itinerary than a work of reflection, but 
is plainly and pleasingly written. ‘The Diary of an Invalid,’ rl . 
Henry MATrTHEws (1820), and ‘Rome in the Nineteenth Century’ 2 
(1820), by Miss Waupre are both interesting works: the first is lively ~ 
and picturesque in style; and was well received by the public. In 
1821 Lapy Mora@an published a work entitled “Italy,’ containing 3 
pictures of Italian society and manners, drawn with more wastes 
and point than delicacy, but characterized by Lord Byron as very — 
faithful. ‘Observations on ltaly,’ by Mr. Jomn Ben (1825), and a- 4 
‘Description of the Antiquities of Rome,’ by Dr. Burton (1828), are ~ 
“works of accur acy and research. ‘Illustrations of the Passes of the: ; 4 
Alps,’ by W. BrockEpon. (1828-9), unite the effects of the artist’s 
pencil with the information of the observant topographer, “Mr. 
BECKFORD, author of the romance of ‘Vathek,’ had in early life— 
written a work called ‘ Italy, with Sketches of Spain and Portugal.’ 
After remaining unpublished for more than forty years, two volumes _ 
of these eraphic and picturesque delineations were given to the 
world in 1835, Every season adds to the number of works on a) “i 
and other parts of the continent. f 


Funeral Ceremony at Rome.—From Matthews ‘ Diary of an Tnoalid.? +8 


One day, on my way home, I met a funeral ceremony. <A crucifix hung with — 
black, followed by a train of priests. with lighted tapers in their hands, headed the — 
procession. Then came a troop of figures dressed in white robes, with their faces — 
covered with masks of the same materials. The bier fol'owed, on which lay the 
corpse of a young woman, arrayed in all the ornaments. of dress. with het face ex-~ 
posed, where the bloom of Jife yet lingered. The members of different fratemified i 
followed the bier. dressed in the robes ‘of their orders, and all masked, hey carried — 
lighted tapers in their hands, and chanted out prayers in a sort of mumbling recita- — 
tive. I followed the train to the church, for I had doubts whether the beautiful rE 
figure I had seen on the bier was nota fizure of wax; but I was soon convinced it — 
was indeed the corpse of a fellow-creature, cut off in the uae. and bloom of 


s — 


» 


J 


BECKFORD.) - ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~—1 


youthful “maiden beanty. Such is the Italian mode of conducting the last 
scene of the tragi-comedy of life. As soon as a person dies, the relations 
leave the house, and fly to bury themselves and their griefs in some other 

retirement. The care of the funeral devolves upon one of the fraternities 
who are associated for this purpose in every parish. These are dressed in a 
sort of domino and hood, which, having holes for the eyes, answers the purpose 
of a mask, and completely conceals the face. The funeral of the very poorest is thus 
conducted with quite as much ceremony as need be. This is perhaps a better system 
than our own, where the relatives are exhibited as a spectacle to impertinent curi- 
- osity, whilst from feelings of duty they follow to the grave the remains of those they 
loved. But ours is surely an unphilosophical view of the subject. It looks as if we . 
were materialists, and considered the cold clod as the sole remains of the object of 
our affection. ‘The Italians reason better, and perhaps feel as much as ourselves, 
when they regard the body, deprived of the soul that animated, and the mind that 
_ informed it, as no more a part of the departed spirit than the clothes which it has 
also left behind. The uitimate disposal of the body is perhaps conducted here with 
- too much of that spirit which would disregard all claims that ‘tbis mortal coil’ can 
- have to our attention. As soon as the funeral-service is concluded, the corpse is 
_ stripped snd consigned to those who have the care of the interment. There are 
- large vaults underneath the churches for the reception of the dead. Those who can 
_ afford it are put into a wooden shell before they are cast into. one of these Golgothas ; 
but the great mass are tossed in without a rag to cover them. When one of these 
_ caverns is full, it is bricked up; and after fifty years itis opened again, and the bones 
_ are removed to other places prepured for their reception. So much for the last scene 
' of the drama of life. With respect tothe first act, our conduct of itis certainly more 
natural. Here they swathe and swaddle their children till the poor urchins look like 
_ Egyptian mummies. ‘lo this frightful custom one may attribute the want of strength 
aud Symmeiry of the men, which is sufficiently remarkable. 


as . ; 
: Statue of the Medicean Venus at Florence.*—From Matthews ‘ Diary.’ 


The statue that enchants the world—the unimitaied, the inimitable Venus. One 
"is generally disappointed after great expectations have been raised; but in this in- 
~ stance I was desighted at first sight, and each succeeding visit has charmed me more, 
It is indeed a wonderful work in conception and execution—but I doubt whether 
~ Venus be not a misnomer. Who can recognise in this divine statue any traits of the 
~ Queen of Love and Pleasure? It seems rather intended as a personification of all 
% eee iselegant graceful, and beautiful; not only abstracted from all human infirmi- 
_ ties, but elevated above all human feelings and affections; for though the form is 
~ female, the beauty is like the beauty of angels, who are of no sex. I was at first re- 
"minded of Milton’s Eve; but in Eve, even in her days of innocence, there was some 
tincture of humanity, of which there is none in the Venus; in whose eye there is no | 


_ heaven, and in whose gesture there is no love. 


A Morning in Venice.—From Beckford 's ‘ Italy, with Sketches of Spain 
ae 4 and Portugal.’ 


It was not five o’clock before I was aroused by aloud din of voices and splash- 
ing of water under my balcony. Looking out, I beheld the Grand Canal so 
entirely covered with fruits and vegetables on rafts and in barges, that I could 
' scarcely distinguish a wave. Loads of grapes, peaches, and melons arrived, and dis- 
appeared in an instant, for every vessel was in motion ; and the crowds of purchasers, 
hurrying from boat to boat, formed a very lively picture. Amongst the multitudes I 
remarked a good many whose dress and carriage announced something above the 
common rank; and, upon inquiry. I found they were noble Venetians just come from 
' their casinos, and met to refresh themselves with fruit befre they retired to sleep for 
_ the day. 
"This celebrated work of art was discovered in the villa of Adrian, in Tivoli. in the 
_ Sixteenth century. broken into thirteen pieces. The restorations are by a Florentine 
‘geulptor. “It was brought to Florence in the year 1639. It measures in stature only 4 feet 
inches. There is no expression of passion or sentiment in the statue; it is an image 
of abstract or ideal beauty. 


18 CYGLOLRADIALORs as 2 {T0/1830..2 7 
Whilst I was observing them, the sun began to colour the balustrades of thepa- 
laces, and the pure exhilarating air of the morning drawing me abroad, I procureda — 
gondola, laid in my provision of bread and grapes, and was rowed under the Rialto, ~ 
down the Grand Canal, to the marble steps of 8. Maria della Salute, erected by — 
the senate in performance of a vow to the Holy Virgin. who begged off aterrible ~ 
pestilence in 1630. The great bronze portal opened whilst I was-standing on the — 
steps which lead to it, and discovered the interior of the dome, where I expatiatedin ~~ 
solitude; no morta] appearing, except one old priest, who trimmed the lamps, and ~ 
muttered a prayer before the -high-altar, still wrapped in shadows. Thesunbeams 
began to strike against the windows of the cupola, just as I left the church, and was 
wafted across the waves to the spacious platform in front of St. Giorgio | 
Maggiore, one of the most celebrated works of Palladio. When my first trans- 
port was alittle subsided, and I had examined the graceful design of each particular 
ornament, and united the just proportion and grand effect of the wholein my mind, I- 
planted my umbrella on the margin of the sea, and viewed at my leistire the vastrange> 
of palaces, of porticos, of towers, opening on every side, and extending ont of sights - 
The doge’s palace, and the tall columns at the entrance of the piazza of St. Mark,form, _ 
-together with the arcades of the public library, the lofty Campanile, and the cupolas of — 
the ducal church, one of the most striking groups of buildings that art can boast of. 
To behold at one glance these stately fabrics, so illustrious in the records of former - 
ages, before which, in the flourishing times of the republic, so many valiant chiefs 
and princes nave landed, loaded with criental spoils, was a spectacle I hadlong and 
ardently desired. I thought of the days of Frederick Barbarossa, when looking up 
the piazza of St. Mark, along which he marched in solemn procession to cast him- — 
self at the feet of Alexander III., and pay a tardy homage to St. Peter’s successor. — 
Here were no Jonger those splendid fleets that attended his progress; one solitary 
galcas was all I beheld, anchored opposite the palace of the doge, and surrounded by ~ ~ 
crowds of gondolas, whose sable bres contrasted strongly with its vermilion oars 
and shining ornaments. A party-coloured multitude was continually shifting from — 
one side of the piazza to the other: whilst senators and magistrates, in long black ~ 
robes, were already arriving to fill their respective offices. pole 


‘ 
: 
: 


a 
I contemplated the busy scene from my peaceful platform, where nothing stirred — 4 
but aged devotees creeping to their devotions: and whilst I remained thus calm and — J 
tranquil, heard the distant buzz of the town. Fortunately, some length of waves 
rolled between me and its tumults, so th t I ate my grapes.and read Metastasio un- y 
disturbed by officiousness or curiosity. When the sun became too powerful, Ien- 
tered the nave. SF 
After I had admired the masterly structure of the roof and the lightness of its _ 
arches, my eyes naturally directed themselves to the pavement of white and ruddy — 
marble, polished, and reflecting like a mirror the columns which rise from it. Over — 
this I walked to a door that admitted me into the principal quadrangle of the convent, ~ 
surrounded by a cloister supported on Ionic pillars beautifully proportioned. A flight — 
of stairs opens into the court, adorned with balustrades and pedestals sculptured 
with elegance truly Grecian. This brought me to the refectory, where the chef-d@ ~~ 
wuvre of Paul Veronese, representing the marriage of Cana in Galilee, was the first — 
object that presented itself. I never beheld so gorgeous a group of wedding-garmeuts a 
before; there is cvery variety of fold and plait that can possibly be imagined. The — 
attitudes and countenances are more uniform, and the guests appear a very genteel, © 
decent sort of people, well used to the mode of their times, and accustomed to mira 
cles. : af Nine 
Having examined this fictitious repast, Icast a look on along range of tables — 
covered with very excellent realities, which the monks were coming to devour with 
energy. if one might judge from their appearance. ‘These sons of penitence and ~ 
mortification possess one of the most spacious islands of the whole cluster; a princely = 
habitation, with gardens ,anc open porticos that engross every breath of air; and ~ 
what adds not alittle to fhe charms of their abode, is the facility of making excur= — 
sions from it wlicnever they have a mind. 7 S39 


Description of Pompeii. From Williams’ ‘Trave’s in Italy, Greece, be. <8 
Pompeii is getting daily disencumbered, and a very considerable part of this Gre — 
cian city is unveiled. We entered by the Appian Way. through a narrow strect of | 
marble tombs, beautifully executed, with the names of the deceased plain and legible, — 
: ee 


< 


SWILLIAMS. |. -. ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 19 
» We looked into the columbary below that of Marius Arius Diomedes, and perceived 
jars containing the ashes of the dead, with a small lamp at the side of each. Arriving 
_-at the gate, we perceived a sentry-box, in which the skeleton of a soldier was found 
with a lamp in his hand:* proceeding up the street beyond the gate, we went into 
several streets, and-entered what is called a coffee-house, the marks of cups being 
visible on the stone; we came likewise to a tavern, and found the sign—not-a very 
_ decent one—near the entrance. The streets are lined with public buildings and 
_ private houses, most of which have their original painted decorations fresh and 
entire. The paveme..t of the streets is much worn by carriage-wheels, and holes are 
~ eut through the side stones for the purpose of fastening animals in the market-place ; 
~ and in certain situations are placed stepping-stones, which give us a rather unfavour- 
able idea of the state of the streets. We passed two beautiful little temples ; went-into a 
- surgeon’s house, in the operation-room of which chirurgical instruments were found ; 
+ entered an ironmonger’sshop, where an anvil and haminer were discovered ; a sculp- 
_ tor’s and a baker's shop, in the latter of which may be seen an oven and grinding-milis, 
 fike old Scotch querns. We examined likewise an oiJman’s shop, and a wine-shop 
~ Jately opened, where money was found in the till; a school, in which was a small 
pulpit, with steps up to it. in the middle of the apartment; a great theatre ; a temple 
of justice; an amphitheatre about 220 feet in length; various temples; a barrack for 
_ soldiers, the columns of which are scribbled with their names and jests; welis, 
cisterns, seats, tricliniums, beautiful mosaic; altars, inscriptions, fragmeuts of - 
statues, and many other curious remains of antiquity. Among the most remarkable 
objects was an anciest wall, with part of a still more ancient marble frieze, built in 
jit as acommon stone; and a stream which has flowed under this once subterraneous 
~ city long before its burial; pipes of terra-cotta to convey the water to the different 
streets: stocks for prisoners, in one of which a skeleton was found. All these 
- things incline one almost to look for the inhabitants, and wonder at the desolate 
silence of the place. x 
-. ‘The houses in general are very low and the rooms are small; I should think not 
~ above ten feet high. Every house is provided with a well and a cistern. Everything 
~ seems to be in proportion. The principal streets do not appear to exceed 16 feet in 
_ width, with side-pavements of about 3 feet; some of the subordinate streets are 
+ from 6to 10 feet wide, with side-pavements in proportion; these are occasionally 
high, and are reached by steps. The columns of the barracks are about 15 feet in 
_ height ; they are made of tufa with stucco ; one-third of the shaft is smoothly plas- 
- tered, the rest fluted to the capital. The walls of the houses are often painted red, 
—and.some of them have borders and antiqne ornaments, masks, and imitations of 
marble; but in general poorly executed, [ have observed on the walls of an eating- 
room various kinds of food and game tolerably represented: one woman’s apart- 
~ ment was adorned with subjects relating to love, and a man’s with pictures of a 
martial character. Considering that the whole has been under ground upwards of 
_ TR irae Az So S ! p as 0 
_ Seventecn centuries, it is certainly surprising that they should be as fresh as at the 
ee rod of their burial. The whole extent of the city, not one half of which [only a 
tw ird] is excavated, may be about four miles. 


* 
ARCTIC DISCOVERY—ROSS, PARRY, FRANKLIN, LYON, BEECHEY, FTC, 


Ta Contemporaneous with the African expeditions already described, 
a strong desire was felt in this country to prosecute our discoveries 
in the northern seas, which for fifty years had been neglected. The 
idea of a north-west passage to Asia still presented attractions, and 
oon the close of the revolutionary war, an effort to discover it was re- 
“solved upon. In 1818 an expedition was fitted out, consisting of two 
_ships, one under the command of Caprain Jorn Rogs, and another 
“under Lrzurenant, afterwards Srm Epwarp Parry. The most in- 
‘teresting feature in this voyage is the account of a tribe of Esqui- 


Sele . . a > = 

we * This story has since been proved to be fabulous. The place in question was no 
~~ sentry-box. but a funeral monument of an Augustal named M. Cerinius Restitutus, as 
~ appeared from an inscription.—DYER’s Pompeit, p, 531, 


: 


ee Set ae Sern oy, oe ae Se 
ae * " oe aw ons Ney > 
: Lt GHC R ex iO, awe 
+ < 4 i: 9 
20 CYCLOPADIA OF | win eT O-3850. 


maux hitherto unknown, who inhabited a tract of country extending 


on the shore for 120 miles, and situated near Baflin’s Bay. A singu- 


lar phenomenon was also witnessed—a range of cliffs covered with | 
snow of a deep crimson cojour, arising from some vegetable sub-— 
stance. When the expedition came to Lancaster Sound, a passage 
was confidently anticipated; but after sailing up the bay, Captain 
Ross conceived that he saw land—a high ridge of mountains, extend- 
ing directly across the bottom of the mlet—and he abandoned the 
enterprise. Lieutenant Parry and others entertained a different 
opinion from that of their commander as to the existence .of land, 
and the Admiralty fitted out a new expedition, which sailed in 1819, 
for the purpose of again exploring Lancaster Sound. The expedi- 
tion, including two ships, the /iecla and Griper, was intrusted to 
Captain Parry, who had the satisfaction of. verifying the correctness 
of his former impressions, by sailing through what Captain Ross 
supposed to be a mountain-barrier in Lancaster Sound. ‘'To have 
sailed upwards of thirty degrees of longitude beyond the point 
reached by any former navigator—to have discovered many new 
lands, islands, and bays—to have established the much-contested ex-— 
istence of a Polar Sea north of America—finally, after a wintering ~ 
of eleven months, to have brought back his crew in a sound and 
vigorous state—were enough to raise his name above that of any for- . 
mer Arctic voyager.’ The long winter sojourn in this Polar region 
was relieved by various devices and amusements: a temporary 
theatre was fitted up, and the officers came forward as amateur per-_ 
formers. A sort of newspaper was also established, called the 
‘North Georgian Gazette,’ to which all were invited to contribute;_ 
and excursions abroad were kept up as much as possible. The bril- — 
liant results of Captain Parry’s voyage soon induced another expedi-~ 
tion to the northern seas of America. That commander hoisted his > 
flag on board the Fury, and Captain Lyon, distinguished by his ser-— 
vices in Africa, received the command of the Hecla. The ships 4 
sailed in May 1821. It was more than two years ere they returned; 
and though the expedition, as to its main object of finding a passage 
into the Polar Sea, was a failure, various geographical discoveries ~ 
were made. The tediousness of winter, when the vesseis were frozen” 
up, was again relieved by entertainments similar to those formerly 
adopted; and further gratification was afforded by intercourse with 
the Esquimaux, who, in their houses of snow and ice, burrowed 
along the shores. We shall extract part of Captain Parry’s account 
of this shrewd though savage race, a 


Description of the Esquimaue. 


: ae 

The Hsquimaux exhibit a strange mixture of intellect and dullness. of cunnin and 

simplicity. of ingenuity and stupidity; few of them could count neyond five, and no 
one of them beyond ten, nor could any of them speak a dozen words of Engi 

after a constant intercourse of seventeen or eighteen months; yet many of the 

could imitate the manners and’ actions of the strangers, and were on the whole ex: 


U y ~ 


-. PARRY.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. : 21 
* cellent mimics. One woman in particular. of the name of Iligluik, very soon attracted 
-. .the attention of our yoyagers by the various traits of that superiority of | nderstand- 
__ ing for which, it was found, she was remarkably distinguished, and held in esteem 
even by her own countrymen. She had a great fondness for singing, possessed a 
soft voice and an excellent ear; but, like another great singer who figured in a differ- 
-. ent society, * there was scarcely any stopping her whence she had once begun’ she 
would listen, however, for hours together to the tunes played on the organ. Her 
snperior intelligence was perhaps most conspicuous in the ~eadiness with which she 
< was made to comprehend the manner of laying down on paper the geographical out- 
- » Vine of that part of tie coast of America she was acquainted with. and the neighbour- 
ing islands, so as to con-truct a Chart. At first it was found difficult to make her 
| comprehend what was meant; but when Captain Parry had discovered that the Ks- 
quimaux were already acquainted with the four cardinal points of the compass ‘for 
- _ which they have appropriate names, he drew them on a sheet of paper, together with 
that portion of the coast just discovered, which was opposite to Winter Island, where 
'. they then were, and of course well known to her. 
t We desired her (says Captain Parry) to complete the rest, and to do it, mikkee 
_ (smail), when, with a countenance of the most grave attention and peculiar intelli- 
gence, she drew the coast of the continent beyond her own country, as lying nearly 
north from Winter Island. ‘he most important part still remained, and it would 
a juve amused an unconcerned looker-on to have observed the anxiety and suspense 
~~ depicted on the countenances of our part of the group till this was accomplished, for 
- lever were the tracings of a pencil watched with more eager solicitude. Our sur- 
prise and satisfaction may therefore in some degree be imagined when, without 
taking it from the paper, Lligluik brought the continental coast short round to the 
westward, and afterward to the $.S.W., so as to come witdin three or four days 
journey of Repulse Bay. res" 
Tam, however, compelled to acknowledge, that in proportion as the superior un- 
_ derstanding of this extraordinary woman became more and more developed, her 
_ head—for what female head is indifferent to praise ?—began to be turned by the 
- general attention and numberless presents she received. ‘i he superior decency and 


mt 


~~ .eyen modesty of her behaviour had combined, with her inteilectual qualities, to raise 
’ . her in our estimation far above her companions; and I often heard others express 
_ » what I could not but agree in, that for Iligiuik alone, of all the Hsquimaux women, 
that Kind of respect could be entertained which modesty in a female never fails to 
command in our sex. ‘Thus regarded, she had always been freely admitted into the 
’. ships, the quarter-masters at the gangway never thinking of refusing entrance to 
‘the wise woman,’ as they called her. Whenever avy explanation was necessary Do 
tween the Esqnimaux and us, Iligluik was sent fur as an interpreter; information 
‘was Chiefly obtained through her, and she thus found herself rising into a degree of 
consequence to which, but for us. she could never have attained. Notwithstanding 
~ amore than ordinary share of good sense on her part, it will not therefore be won- 
_ dered at if she became giddy with her exaltation—considered her admission into the 
ships and most of the cabins no longer an indulgence, but a right—ceased to return 
- the slightest acknowledgment for any kindness or presents—became listless and in- 
- attentive in unravelling the meaning of our questions, and careless whether her 
answers conveyed the information we desired. In short, Higluik in February and 
Thigluik in April were confessedly very different persons ; and it was at last amusing 
to recollect, though not very easy to persuade one's self, that the woman who now 
'~ gat demurely in a chair. so confidently expecting the notice of those around her, and 
she who had at first, with eager and wild delight, assisted in cutting snow for the 
building of a hut. and with the hope of obtaining a single needle, were actually one 
and the same individual. ; 
No kind of distress can deprive the Esquimaux of their cheerful temper and good- 
_ — humour, which they preserve even when severely pinched with hunger and cold, and 
_ = wholly deprived for days together both of food and fuel—a_situation to which they 
_ " are very frequently reduced. Yet no calamity of this kind can teach them to be 
_ provident, or to take the least thought for the morrow; with them, indeed, it is 
he _ always either a feast or afamine. ‘The enormous quantity of animal food—they have 
~ no other—which they devour at a time is almost incredible. The quantity of meat 
which they procured between the first of Cctober and the first of April was sufficient 
“te have furnished about double the number of working-people, who were moderate 


: 


e 


eae CYCLOPADIA OF Fro 1830, 


~ eaters, and had any idea of providing for a future day, but to individuals who can ~ 
demolish four or five pounds at a sitting, and at least ten in the course of a day, and 
who never bestow a thought on to-morrow, at least with the view to provide for it by . _ 
economy, there is scarcely any supply which could secure them from occasional ~ 
scarcity. Itis highly probable that the alternate feasting and fasting to which the — 
gluttony and improyidence of these people so constantly subject them, may have © 
occasioned many of the complaints that. proved fatal during the winter; and on this 
account we hardly knew whether to rejoice or not at the general success of their: — 
fishery.. _ : 

A third expedition was undertaken by Captain Parry, assisted by ~ 
Captain Hoppner, in 1824, but it proved still more unfortunate. The — 
broken ice in Baffin’s Bay retarded his progress until the season was 
too far advanced for navigation in that climate. After the winter — 
broke up, huge masses of ice drove the ships on shore, and the ~ 
Hury was so much injured, that it was deemed necessary to aban-_ 
don her with all her stores. In April 1827, Captain Parry once more ~~ 
sailed in the Hecla, to realise, if possible, his sanguine expecta-- - 
tions; but on this occasion he projected reaching the North Pole by — 
employing light boats and sledges, which might be alternately used, 
as compact fields of ice or open sea interposed in his route. On — 
reaching Hecla Cove, they left the ship to commence their journey _ Z 
on the ice. Vigorous efforts were made to reach the Pole, still 500 
miles distant; but the various impediments they had to encounter, — 
and particularly the drifting of the snow-fields, frustrated all their _ 
endeavours; and after two months spent on the ice; and penetrating _— 
about a degree farther than any previous expedition, the design was 
abandoned—having attained the latitude of 82 degrees 45 minutes. — 
These four expeditions were described by Captain Parry in separate — 
volumes, which were read with great avidity. The whole havesince ~ 
been published in six small volumes, constituting one of the most in- — 
teresting series of adventures and discoveries recorded in our lan- — 
guage. Onhis return, Captain Parry was appointed Hydrographer to 
the Admiralty, and received the honour of knighthood. From 1829 ~ 
to 1834 he resided in New South Wales as commissioner to the Aus- — 
tralian Agricultural Company. He again returned to England, and — 
held several Admiralty appointments, the last of which was governor — 
of Greenwich Hospital. In 1852, he attained to the rank of rear- — 
admiral, and died, universally regretted, July 1855, aged sixty-five. 


oo 


Following out the plan of northern discovery, an expedition was, in ~~ 
1819, despatched overland to proceed from the Hudson’s Bay factory, 
tracing the coast of the Northern Ocean. This ¢xpedition was com- 
manded by Caprain JOHN FRANKLIN, accompanied by Dr. Richard- 
son, a scientific gentleman; two midshipmen—Mr. Hood and Mr. — 
(afterwards Sir George) Back—and two seamen. . The journey to the — 
Coppermine River displayed the characteristic ardour and hardihood — 
of British seamen. Great suffering was experienced. Mr: Hood lost ~ 
his life, and Captain Franklin and Dr. Richardson were at the point ~ 
-of death, when timely succour was afforded by some Indians, ‘The ~ 
results of this journey, which, including the navigation along the a 


4 


=a Ay tS. fF SAE: eee 4S =a a 7 pg *. wr i ore - ~ aot 

‘ ‘a 7322 ss p : Law p 

BS hk pee SF : aad i Sn pocrnqer C= + ‘ 
Ze x Ane : A > 


es : ea i: | aS Bee = 


3 FRANKLIN, ] > ENGLISH LITERATURE. : ae: 


coast, extended to 5,500 miles, are obviously of the greatest impor- 
| eS to Foostapay: As the coast running northward was followed 
to Cape Turnagain, in latitude 681¢ degrees, it is evident that, if a 
north-west passage exist, it must be found beyond that limit.’ ~The 
- narratives of Captain Franklin, Dr. Richardson, and Mr. Back form 
--a fitting and not less interesting sequel to those of Captain Parry. 
_ The same intrepid parties undertook, in 1823, a second expedition to 
explore the shores of the Polar Seas. The coast between the Mackenzie 
_ ana Coppermine Rivers, 902 miles, was examined. Subsequent expe- 
ditions were undertaken -by Caprary Lyon and Caprarin BEECHEY. 
‘The former failed through continued bad weather; but Captain 
~ Beechey having sent his master, Mr. Elson, in a barge to prosecute 
_ the voyage to the east, that individual penetrated toa sandy point, 
~ on which the ice had erounded, the most northern part of the conti- 
_ nent then known. Captain Franklin had, only four days previous, 
~ been within 160 miles of this point, when he commenced his return 
_ to the Mackenzie River, and it is conjectured with much probability, 
- that had he been aware that by persevering in his exertions for afew 
_ days he might have reached his friends, it is possible that a know. 
ledge of the circumstance might have induced him, through all ha- 
_zards, to continue his journey. The intermediate 160 miles still re- 
mained unexplored. In 1829, Captain, afterwards Sir John Ross, 
- disappointed at being outstripped by Captain Parry in the discovery 
_ of the strait leading into the Polar Sea, equipped a steam-vessel, 
" solely from private. resources, and proceeded to Baffin’s Bay. ‘Tt 
was a bold but inconsiderate undertaking, and every soul who em- 
_ barked on it must have perished, but for the ample supplies they re- 
. ceived from the Fury, or rather from the provisions and stores 
- which, by the providence of Captain Parry, had been neh 
stored up on the beach; for the ship herself had entirely disappeare 
- He proceeded down Regent’ s Inlet as far as he could in his little ship 
: the Victory; placed her among ice clinging to the shore, and after 
_ two winters, left her there; and in returning to the northward, by 
_ great good-luck fell in with a whaling-ship, which took them all on 
board and brought them home.’ Captain James Ross, nephew of the 
2 commander, collected some geographical information in the course of 
- this unfortunate enterprise. 
Valuable information connected with the Arctic regions was 
i afforded by Mr. WinitAmM Scoressy (1760-1829), a gentleman who, 
: while practising the whale- fishing, had become the most learned — 
- observer and describer of the regions of ice. His ‘Account of the 
Northern Whale Fishery,’ 1822, is a standard work of great value; 
_ and he is author also of an ‘Account of the Arctic Regions’ (1820). 
pals son, the Rev. Dr. WintniAM Scoressy (17 789-1857), was distin- 
ished as a naval writer, author of ‘ Arctic Voyages,’ ‘ Discourses to 
amen,’ and other works, 


i a if = . * - x PI, fe i vee 5 4 +4 + ee ee Fil ee Ps & ie BP. he 
cine - a Se a ‘ Pade eK 2 


~ ony 2 + 
- i J 3 ‘ ae < 


. eoker’s § : Sea ge eee 
B4> ss . - CYCLOPAEDIA OF nae _ [ro 1839. 
EASTERN TRAVELLERS, ~ irs oF 
The scenes and countries mentioned in Scripture have been fre. 
quently described since the publications of Dr. Clarke. BurckHAnRpr 
traversed Petreea (the Edom of the prophecies); Mr. WimitaAm RAE 
Witson, in 1823, published ‘ Travels in Egypt and the Holy Land;? — 
Mr. Ciauprus JaAmms Ricu—the accomplished British resident at. 
Bagdad, who died in 1821, at the early-age of thirty-five—wrote an — 
excellent ‘Memoir on the Ruins of Babylon;’ the Hon. Grorén 
KEPPEL performed the overland journey to India in 1824, and gave 
-a narrative of his observations in Bassorah, Bagdad, the ruins of ~~ 
Babylon, &c. Mr. J. 8. Buckrneam also travelled by the overland 
route—taking, however, the way of the Mediterranean and the Turk- 
ish provinces in Asia Minor—and the result of his journey was 
given to the world in three separate works—the latest published in 
1827—entitled ‘Travels in Palestine;’ ‘Travels among the Arab — 
Tribes;’ and ‘Travels in Mesopotamia.’ Dr. R. R. MappEn, a~ 
medical gentleman, who resided several years in India, in 1829 pub- a 
lished ‘ ‘Travels in Egypt, Turkey, Nubia, and Palestine.’ ‘Letters — 
from the Hast,’ and ‘Kecollections of Travel in the East’ (1850), by 
JOHN CARNE, Esq., of Queen’s College, Cambridge, extend, the first —~ 
over Syria and Egypt, and the second over Palestine and Cairo. Mr. 
Carne is a judicious cbserver and picturesque describer, yet he some- 
times ventures on doubtful biblical criticism. The miracle-of the — 
passage of the Red Sea, for example, he thinks should be limited to ~ 
a specific change in the direction of the winds. The idea of repre- — 
senting the waves standing like.a wall on each side must consequently 
be abandoned. ‘This,’ ke says, ‘is giving a literal interpretation to 
the evidently figurative language of Scripture, where it is said that 
‘‘the Lord caused the sea to go back by a strong east wind all night;? —_ 


that the ‘‘sea returning to his strength in the morning,” was the rush-  — 
ing back of an impetuous and resistless tide, inevitable, but net im 
stantaneous, for it is evident the Egyptians turned and fled at its 
approach.’ In either case a miracle must have been performed, and ~ 
it seems unnecessary and hypercritical to attempt reducing it to the ~ 
lowest point. Mr. Milman, in his ‘ History of the Jews,’ has fallen 
into this error, and explained away the miracles of the Old Testa- — 
ment till all that is supernatural, grand, and impressive disappears. = 

‘Travels along the Mediterranean and Parts Adjacent’ (1822), by 
Dr. Rosert RicuarDson, is an interesting work, particularly as re- — 
lates to ‘antiquities. The doctor travelled by way of Alexandria, ~ 
Cairo, &¢c., to the Second Cataract of the Nile, returning by Jeru- — 
salem, Damascus, Baalbek, and Tripoli. He surveyed the Temple of ~ 
Solomon, and was the first acknowledged Christian received within 
its holy walls since it has been appropriated to the religion of Mo. — 
hammed. The ‘Journal to some Parts of Ethiopia’ (1822), by 


we 


ae 
| 
« 


porTer.] “ENGLISH LITERATURE. 25 


Messrs. WADDINGTON and HANBURY, gives an account of the anti- 
quities of Ethiopia and the extirpation of the Mamalukes. 
- Sir Joun MALcoio (1769-18838) was author of a ‘ History of Persia’ 
and ‘Sketches of Persia.’ Mr. Morrer’s ‘Journeys through Persia, 
Armenia, and Asia Minor,’ abound in interesting descriptions of the 
country, people, and government. Sr WILLIAM OvseLEY (1771-1839) 
_ —who had been private secretary to the British Embassy in Persia— 
has published three large volumes of Travels in various countries of 
the East, particularly Persia, in 1810, 1811, and 1812. This work 
illustrates subjects of antiquarian research, history, geography, phil- 
ology, &c., and is valuable to the scholar for its citations from rare 
eriental manuscripts. Another valuable work on this country is by 
$m Rosert Ker Porter (1780-1742), and is entitled ‘Travels in 
Georgia, Persia, Babylonia,’ &c., published in 1822. 


tS Society in Bagdad.—From Sir R. K. Porter’s ‘ Travels.’ 


The wives of the higher classes in Bagdad are usually selected from the most 
beautiful girls that can be obtained from Georgia and Circassia; and, to their natural 
charms, in like manner with their captive sisters all over the East, they add the 
fancied embellishments of painted complexions, hands and feet dyed with henna, 

~ and their hair and eyebrows stained with the rang, or prepared indigo leaf. Chains 
__ of gold, and collars of pearls, with various ornaments of precious stones, decorate 
the upper part of their persons, while solid bracclets of gold, in shapes resembling 
~ serpents, clasp their wrists and ankles. Silverand golden tissued muslins not only 
form their turbans, but frequently their under-garments. In summer the ample 
pelisse is made of the moat costiy shawl, and in cold weather lined and bordered with 
- the choisest furs. The dress is altogether very becoming; by its easy folds and 
glittering transparency, shewing a fine shape to advantage, without the immodest 
- exposure of the open vest of the Persian ladies. The humbler females generally 
move abroad with faces totally unveiled, having a handkerchief rolled round their 
heads, from beneath which their hair hangs down over their shoulders, while another 
_ piece of linen passes under their chin, in the fashion of the Georgians. Their gar- 
_ Inent is a gown of a shift form, reaching to their ankles. open before, and of a gray 
colour. Their feet are completely naked. Many of the very inferior classes stain 
- their bosoms with the figures of circles, half-moons, stars, &c., in a bluish stamp.— 
_ In this barbaric embellishment the poor damsel of Irak-Arabi has one point of 
_ vanity resembling that of the ladies of Irak-Ajemi. The former frequently adds this 
. frightful cadaverous hue to her lips; and to complete their savage appearance, 
thrusts a ring through their right nostril, pendent with a flat, button-like ornament 
set round with blue or red stones. 
But to return to the ladies of the higher circles, whom we left in some gay saloon 
_ Of Bagdad. When all are assembled, the evening meal or dinner is soon served. The 
_’ party, seated in rows, then prepare themselves for the entrance of the show, which, 
consisting of music and dancing, continues in noisy exhibition through the whole 
. night. At twelve o’clock, supper is produced, when pilaus, kabobs, preserves, fruits, 
dried sweetmeats, and sherbets of every fabric and flavour, engage the fair convives 
for some time. Between this second banquet and the preceding, the perfumed nar- 
_ guilly is never absent from their rosy lips, excepting when they sip coffee, or indulge 
_ in @ general shout ‘of approbation, or a hearty peal of laughter at the freaks of the 
dancers or the subject of the singers’ madrigals. But no respite is given to the en- 
_-tertainers; and, during so long a stretch of merriment, should any of the happy 
J gests feel a sudden desire for temporary repose, without the least apology she lies 
_ down to sleep on the luxurious carpet: that is her seat; and thus she remains, sunk 
_ in as deep an oblivion as if the nummud were spread in her own chamber. Others 
_ -8peedily follow her example, sleeping as sound; notwithstanding the bawling of the 
singers, the-horrid jangling of the guitars, the thumping on the jar-like double-drum, 
_ the ringing and loud clangour of the metal bells and castanets of the dancers, with 
_ an eternal talking in all keys, abrupt laughter, and vociferous expressions of gratifi- 
-*. ELL. v.%2 


wa 


26 - €YCLOP-EDIA OF * [v0 1830, — 


cation, making in all a ful) toncert of distracting sounds, sufficient, one might sup- 
pose, to awaken the dead. But the merry tumult and joyful strains of this convivi- 
ality gradually become fainter and fainter; first one aud tuen another of .the visitors ~ 
—while even the performers are not spared by the soporific god—sink down under the- 
drowsy influence, till at length the whole carpet is covered with the sleeping beauties, 
wnixed indiscriminately with handmaids, dancers, aud musicians, as fast asleep as 
themselves. The business, however, is not thus quietly ended. * As soon as the sun 
begins to call forth the blushes of the morn, by lifting the veil that shades her- 
slumbering eyelids,’ the faithtnl slaves rnb their own clear of any lurking drowsi- — 
ness, and then tug their respective mistresses by the toe or the shoulder, to rouse 
them up to perform the devotional ablutions usual at the dawn of day. All start - 
mechanically, as if touched by a spell; and then commences the splashing of water 
and the muttering of prayers, presenting a singular contrast to the vivacious scene 
vf a few hours before. This duty over, the fair devotees shake their feathers like 
birds from a refreshing shower, and tripping lightly forward with garments, and per- _ 
haps looks, a little the worse for the wear of the preceding evening, plunge at once - 
again into all the depths of its amusements. Coffee, sweetmeats, kaliouns, as be- 
fore, accompany every obstreperous repetition of the midnight song and dance; and 
nul being followed up by a plentiful breakfast of rice, meats, fruits, &c., towards’ 
noon the party separate, after having spent between fifteen and sixteen hours in this 
hiotous festivity. 


The French authors Chateaubriand, Laborde, and Lamartine have 
minutely described the Holy Land; and in the ‘Incidents of Travel 
in Egypt, Arabia, and the Holy Land,’ by J. L. SrepHens, informa: 
tion respecting these interesting countries will be found. sm 

Various works on India appeared, including a general Political — 
History of the empire by Sir Joun Maucoum (1826), and a ‘Memoir _ 
of Central India’ (1823), by the: same author. ‘Travels in the Him-- 
malayan Provinces of Hindostan and the Punjaub, in Ladakh and — 
Cashmere, in Peshawar, Cabul, &c., from 1819 to 1825,’ by W. — 
Moorcrort and GEORGE TREBECK, relate many new and important 

articulars. Mr. Moorcroft crossed the great chain of the Himalaya 

ountains near its highest part, and first drew attention to those stu- — 
pendous heights, rising in some parts to above 27,000 feet. ‘A Tour 
through the Snowy Range of the Himmala Mountains” was made by 
Mr. James Bariuure Fraser (1820), who gives an interesting 
account of his perilous journey. He visited Gangotri, an almost in- 
accesible haunt of superstition, the Mecca of Hindu pilgrims, and 
also the spot at where the Ganges issues from its covering of per- 
petual snow. In 1825 Mr. Fraser published a ‘ Narrative of a Jour- 
- ney into Khorasan, in the years 1821 and 1822, including an Account 

of the Countries to the north-east of Persia.” The following is a 
brief sketch of a Persian town: ; oe 


Viewed from a commanding situation, the appearance of a Persian townis most 
uninteresting ; the houses, all of mud. differ in no respect from the earth in colour, ‘ 
and from the irregularity of their construction, resemble inequalities on its surface _ 
rather than human dwellings. The houses, even of the great, seldom exceed one ~—— 
story; and the lofty walls which shroud them from view, without a window toen- 
liven them, have a most monotonous effect. There are few domes or minarets, and ~~ 
stil! fewer of those that exist are either splendid orelegant. There are no-public — 
buildings but the mosques and medressas; and these are often as mean as the rest, 
or perfectly excluded from view by ruins. The general coup-d' ail presents a succes- 
sion of flat roofs and long walls of mud, thickly interspersed with ruins; and the 
only relief to its monotony is found in the gardens, adorned with chinar, poplars, _ 
and cypress, with which the towns and villages are often surrounded and intermingled. — 


- 


ELLIS. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 24 
The same author published ‘ Travels and Adventures in the Per- 
_gian Provinces, 1826;° ‘A Winter Journey from Constantinople to 
Tebran, with Travels through Various Parts of Persia, 1838;’ &c. 
Among other Indian works may be mentioned, ‘The Annals and 
_ Antiquities of Rajasthan,’ 1830, by LinuTENANT-COLONEL JAMES 
~ Pop (1782-1835); and ‘Travels into Bokhara,’ by Lruren ant, after- 
wards Sir ALEXANDER BurRNeEs. The latter is a narrative of a 
journey from India to Cabul, Tartary, and Persia, and isa valuable 
work. The accomplished author was cut off in his career of use- 
fulness and honour in 1841, being treacherously murdered at Cabul, 
in his thirty-sixth year. 

Of China we have the history of the two embassies—the first in 
1792-94, under*Lord Macartney, of which a copious account was 
given by Sir GEORGE STAUNTON, one of the commissioners. 
Further information was afforded by Sir JoHN Barrow’s ‘ Travels 
in China, published in 1804, and long our most valuable work on 

_ that country. The second embassy, headed by Lord Amherst, in 
1816, was recorded by Henry Eis, Esq., third commissioner, in a 
work in two volumes (1818), and by Dr. ABEL, a gentleman attached 

_ to the embassy. One circumstance connected with this embassy oc- 

- easioned some speculation and amusement. The ambassador was 
required to perform the xo-tou, or act of prostration, nine times re- 
‘peated, with the head knocked against the ground. Lord Amherst 

and Mr. Ellis were inclined to have yielded this point of ceremony; 
but Sir George Staunton and the other members of the canton mis- 
sion took the most decided part on the other side. The result of 

- their deliberations was a determination against the performance of 

_ the ko-tou; and the emperor at last consented to admit them upon 

their own terms, which consisted in kneeling upon a single knee. 

_ The embassy went to Pekin, and were ushered into an ante-chamber_ 
of the imperial palace. 


; | Scene at Pekin, described by Mr. Edis. 


; Mandarins of all buttons* were in waiting; several princes of the blood, distin- | 
_ guished by clear rnby buttons and round flowered badges, were among them; the 
silence, and a certain air of regularity, marked the immediate presence of the sove- 
. reign. The small apartment, much out of. repair. into which we were huddled, now 
witnessed ascene 1 believe unparalleled in the history of even oriental diplomacy, 
- Lord Amherst had scarcely taken his seat, when Chang delivered a message from Ho 
(Koong-yay), stating that the emperor wished to see the ambassador, his son, and 
the commissioners immediately. Much surprise was naturally expressed; the pre- 
_ vious arrangement for the eighth of the Chinesé month, a period certainly much too 
~ early for comfort, was adverted to, and the ufter impossibility of His Excellency 
appearing in his present state of fatigue, inanition, and deficiency of every neces- 
- gary equipment was strongly urged. Chang was very unwilling to be the bearer of 
this answer, but was finally obliged to consent. During this time the room had filled 
with spectators of all ages and ranks, who rudely pressed upon us to gratify their 
+ brutal curiosity, for such it may be called, as they seemed to regard us rather as wild 
_~ beasts than mere strangers of the same species with themselves. Some other mes- 
_- Sages were interchanged between the Koong-yay and Lord Amherst, who, in addi- 


; Sg The buttons. in the order of their rank, are as follows: ruby red, worked coral. 
 _ @pooth coral, pale blue, dark blue, erystal, ivory, and gold. 


Fav ‘ 
‘ 


28 CYCLOPEDIA OF fro 1830. 


tion to the reasons already given, stated the indecorum and irregularity of his ap- 
pearing without his credentials. In his reply to this it was said, that in the proposed 
audicnce the emperor merely wished to see the ambassador, and had no intention of 
entering upon business. Lord Amherst having persisted in expressing the inadmis- - 
sibility of the proposition, and in transmitting through the Koong-yay a huinbie re- 
quest to his imperial majesty that he would be graciously pleased to wait till to- 
morrow, Chang and another mandarin finally proposed that His Excellency should 
go over to the Koong-yay’s apartments, from whence a reference might be made to 
the emperor. - Lord Amherst, having alleged bodily illness as one of the reasons for 
declining the audience, readily saw that if he went to the Koong-yay, this plea, 
which to the Chinese—though now scarcely admitted—was in general the most foreci- 
ble, would cease to avail him, positively declined compliance. This produced a visit 
from the Koong-yay, who, too much interested and agitated to heed ceremony, stood . 
by Lord Amherst, and used every argument to induce him to obey the emperor's — 
commands. Among other topics he used that of being received with our Own cere- 
mony, using the Chinese words, ‘ne mun tih lee’—your own ceremony. All proving — 
ineffectual, with some roughness, but under pretext of friendly violence, he laid 4 
hands upon Lord Amherst, to take him from the room; another mandarin followed } 
his example. His lordship, with great firmness and dignity of manner, shook them — 
off, declaring that nothing but the extremest violence should induce him to quit that 
room for any other place but the residence assigned to him; adding that hewasso — 
overcome by fatigue and bodily illness as absolutely to require repose. Lord Amherst. - 
further pointed out the gross insult he had already received, in having been exposed 
to the intrusion and indecent curiosity of crowds, who appeared to view him rather _ 
as a wild beast than the representative of a powerful sovereign. At all eyents,he 
eutreated the Koong-yay to submit his request to his jmperial majesty, whe, he felt 
confident, would, in consideration of his illness and fatigue, dispense with hisim=- 
mediate appearance. The Koong-yay then pressed Lord Amherst to come to his 
apartments, alleging that they were cooler, more convenient, and more private. This 
Lord ‘Amherst declined, saying that he was totally unfit for any place but hisown ~~ 
residence, The Koong-yay, having failed in his attempt to persuade him, left the 
room for the purpose of taking the emperor’s pleasure upon the subject. 
_During his absence, an elderly man, whose dress and ornaments bespoke hima =~ 
prince, was particularly inquisitive in his inspection of our persons and inquiries, 
4 
1 


His chief object seemed to be to communicate with Sir George Staunton, as the 
person who had been with the former embassy; but Sir George very prudently 
avoided any intercourse with him. Itis not easy to describe the feelings of annoy= 
ance produced by the conduct of the Chinese, both public and individual : of the 


former I shall speak hereatter ; of the latter I can only say that nothing could be 
more disagreeable and indecorous. a 


A message arrived soon after the Koong-yay’s quitting the room, to say that the : 
emperor dispensed with the ambassadovr’s attendance; that he had further been ; 
pleased to direct his physician to afford to His Excellency every medical assistance . 
that his illness anieht require. ‘The Koong-yay himself soon followed. and His Ex- 4 
cellency proceeded to the carriage. The Koong-yay not disdaining to clear away the 
crowd, the whip was used by him to all persons indiscriminately ; buttons were no ; 
protection; and however indecorous, according to our notions, the employment =a 
might be for a man of his rank, it cculd not have been in better hands. ~ 

Lord Amherst was generally condemned for refusing the proffered 
audience. The emperor, in disgust, ordered them instantly to set out 4 
for Canton, which was accordingly done. _Thisembassy madescarcely _ 
any addition to our knowledge of China. aa 


CAPTAIN BASIL HALL. | 


The embassy of Lord Amherst to China was, as we have related, 
comparatively a failure; but the return-voyage was rich both in dis. 
covery and in romantic interest. The voyage was made, not along — 
the Coast of China, but by Corea and the Loo-choo Islands, an 
accounts of it were published in 1818 by Mr. Mactxop, surgeon of — 


—, 


« 


= 


~ wat] _- ENGLISH LITERATURE. 29° 


_the ‘ Alceste,’ and by Caprarn Basti Haut of the ‘Lyra.’ The work 
of the latter was entitled ‘An Account of a Voyage of Discovery to 
the West Coast of Corea and the Great Loo-choo Island.’ In the course 
of this voyage it was.found that a great part of what had been laid 
down on the maps as part of Corea, consisted of an immense archi- 

~ pelago of small islands. ‘The number of these was beyond calcula- 


_ tion; and during a sail of upwards of one hundred miles, the sea con- 


tinued closely studded with them. From one lotty point a hundred, 
and twenty appeared on sight, some with waving woods and green 


- verdant valleys. Loo-choo, however, was the most important, and 


by far the most interesting of the parts touched upon by the expedi- 
tion. ‘There the strange spectacle was presented of a people ignorant 
equally of the use of firearms and the use of money, living in a state 


_ of primitive seclusion and happiness such as resembles the dreams of 


poetry rather than the realities of modern life.: 


- Captain Basil Hall distinguished himself by the composition of other 


books of travels, written with delightful ease, spirit, and picturesque- 
ness. ‘The first of these consists of ‘ Extracts froma Journal written 
on the Coasts of Chili, Peru, and Mexico,’ being the result of his ob- 
servations in those countries in 1821 and 1822. South America had, 
previous to this, been seldom visited, and its countries were also 
greater objects of curiosity and interest from their political condition, 
on the point of emancipation from Spain. The next work of Captain 
Hall was ‘ Travels in North America,’ in 1827 and 1828, written in a 
more ambitious strain than his former publications, and containing 
some excellent descriptions and remarks, mixed up with political 
disquisitions. This was followed by ‘Fragments of Voyages and 
Travels,’ addressed chiefly to young persons, in three small volumes; 
which were so favourably received, that a second, and afterwards a 
third series, each in three volumes, were given to the public. 
_ A further collection of these observations on foreign society, 
scenery, and manners, was published by Captain Hall in 1842, also in 
three volumes, under the title of ‘Patchwork.’ This popular author 
died at Haslar Hospital in 1844, aged 56. He was the second son of 


. Sir James Hall of Dunglass, Bart., President of the Royal Society, 
_-and author of some works on Architecture, &c. 


HENRY DAVID INGLIS. 


_ One of the most cheerful and unaffected of tourists and travellers, 
with a strong love of nature and a poetical imagination, was Mr. 
HENRY Davip Ines, who died in- March, 1835, at the early age of 
forty. Mr. Inglis was the son of a Scottish advocate. He was 
brought up to commercial pursuits; but his passion for literature, and 


for surveying the grand and beautifulin art and nature, overpowered 


his business habits, and led him at once to travel and to write. Diffi- 
dent of success, he assumed the nom de plume of Derwent Conway, 
-and under this disguise he published ‘The Tales of Ardennes; ’ ‘ Sol- 


_ » itary Walks.through Many Lands;’ ‘Travels in Norway, Sweden, 


Ss 
fey 
y 


80 CYCLOPADIA OF | [ro 1830. - 


and Denmark, 1829;’ and ‘Switzerland, the South of France, and 
the Pyrenees in 1830, 1831.’ The last two works were included in 
‘Constable’s Miscellany,’ and were deservedly popular. Mr. Inglis 
was then engaged as editor of a newspaper at. Chesterfield; but tiring 
of this, he again repaired to the continent, and visited the Tyrol and 
Spain. His travels in both countries were published; and one of the 
volumes—‘ Spain in 1830’—is the best of all his works. He next 

roduced a novel descriptive of Spanish life, entitled ‘ The New Gil 

las’; but it was unsuccessful. After conducting a newspaper for 
some time in Jersey, Mr. Inglis published an account of the Channel 
Islands, marked by the easy grace and picturesque charm that per- 


vade all his writings. He next made a tour through Ireland, and wrote. 


his valuable work entitled ‘Ireland in 1884.’ His last work was 
‘Travels in the Footsteps of Don Quixote,’ published in parts in the 
‘New Monthly Magazine.’ 


LOUIS SIMOND. 


Louis Srmonp, a French author, who, by familiarity with our lan. 


guage and country, wrote in English as well as in his native tongue, 
published in 1822 a work in two volumes—‘ Switzerland; or a Journal 
of a Tour and Residence in that Country in the years 1817, 1818 and 
1819.’ M. Simond had previously written: a similar work on Great 


Britain, during the years 1810 and 1811, which was well received and . 
favourably reviewed by Southey, Jeffrey, and other critics. M. — 
Simond resided twenty years in America. We subjoin his account — 


of a 


Swiss Mountain and Avalanche. 


After nearly five hours’ toil, we reached a chalet on the top of the mountain (the 
“Wingernalp). This summer habitation of the shepherds was still unoccupied ; for 
the snow having been unusually deep last winter, and the aa till lately covered, 
being still very short, the cows haye not ventured so high. Here we resolved upon a 
halt, and having implements for striking fire, a few dry. sticks gave us a cheerful 
blaze in the open air. A pail of cream, or at least of very rich milk, was brought up 
by the shepherds, with a kettle to make coffee and afterwards boil the milk; very 
large wooden spoons or ladles answered the purpose of cups. The stock of provi- 
sions we had brought was spread upon the very low roof of the chalet, being the best 
station for our repas champetre. as it afforded dry seats sloping conveniently towards 
the prospect. We had then before us the Jungfrau, the two Eigers, and some of the 
highest summits in the Alps, shooting up from an uninterrupted level of glaciers of 
more than two hundred square miles; and although placed ourselves four thousand 


five hundred feet above the lake of Thun, and that lake one thousand seven hundred. = 


and eighty feet above the sea, the mighty rampart rose still six thousand feet above 
our head. Between us and the Jungfrau the desert valley of Trumlatenthal formed 
a deep trench, into which avalanches fell, with scarcely a quarter of an hour’s inter- 
val between them, followed by a thundering noise continued along the whole range ; 


not, however, a reverberation of sound, for echo is mute under the universal winding-. 


sheet of snow, but a prolongation of sound, in consequence of the successive rents or 
fissures forming themselves when some large section of the glacier slides down one 
step. 


We sometimes saw a blue line suddenly drawn across a field of pure white; then 
another above it, and another, all parallel, and attended each time with a loud crash ~ 


like cannon, producing together the effect of }ong-protracted peals of: thunder. At 


other times some portion of the vast field of snow. or rather snowy ice, pose gery 


away, exposed to view a new surface of purer white than the first, and the cast- 


Paar ae ek 


ST ee ale 


ar ae 


4 


a 
a 
<4 

“S 


~ 


<< 
- 


> 


stuonv.] = +~—=- ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 81 


drapery gathering in long folds, either fell at once down the precipice, or disappeared 
’ behind: some intervening ridge, which the sameness of colour rendered invisible, and 
-_-was again seen soon after in another direction, shooting out of some narrow channel 
a cataract of white dust, which, observed through a telescope, was, however, found 

to be composed of broken fragments of ice or compact snow, many of them sufficient 

to overwhelm a village, if there had been any in the valley where they fell. Seated 
on the chalet’s roof, the ladies forgot they were cold, wet, bruised, and hungry, and 
the cup of smoking café au Jatt stood still in their hand while waiting in breathless 
suspense for the next avalanche, wondering equally at the deathlike silence inter- 
vening between each, and the thundering crash which followed. I must own, that 
‘while we shut our ears, the mere sight might dwindle down to the effect of a fall of 
snow from the root of a house; but when the potent sound was heard along the 
whole range of many miles, when the time of awful suspense between the fall and 

- the crash was mefsured, the imagination, taking flight, outstripped all bounds at 
once, and went beyond the mighty reality itself. 1t would be difficult to say where 
the creative powers of imagination stop, even the coldest; for our common feelings— 

- our grossest sensations—are infinitely indebted to them; and man, without his fancy, 
would not have the energy of the dullest animal. Yet we feel more pleasure and 
more pride in the consciousness of another treasure of the breast, which tames the 

flight of this same imagination, and brings it bacx to sober reality and plain truth. 

When we first approach the Alps, their bulk, their stability, and duration, com- 
pared to our own inconsiderable size, fragility, and shortness of days, strike our 

_ Imagination with terror; while reason, unappalled, measuring these masses, calcu- 
‘lating their elevation, analysing their substance, finds in them only a little inert 
matter, scarcely forminga wrinkle on the face of our earth, that earth an inferior 
planet in the solar system, and that systenr one only among myriads, placed at dis- 
tances whose very incommensurability is in a manner measured. What, again, are 
those giants of the Alps, and their duration—those revolving worlds—that space— 
the universe—compared to the intellectual faculty capable of bringing the whole fabric 
into the compass of a single thought, where it is all curiously and accurately deline- 

- ated! How superior, again, the exercise of that faculty, when, rising from effects 
- to causes, and judging by analogy of things as yet unknown by those we know, we 
are taught to look into futurity for a better state of existence, and in the hope itself 

v hope ! : 

ave et pea fh inaccessible shelf of rock on the west side of the J ungfrau, 
upon which a liimmergeier—the vulture of Jambs—once alighted with an infant it 
~ had carried away from the village of Murren, situated above the Staubbach : some red. 
scraps, remnants of the child’s clothes, were for years observed, says the tradition, 


on the fatal spot. 
The following are sketches of character by Simond: 


Rousseau (1712-1778). 


Rousseau, from his garret, governed an empire—that of the mind: the founder 
of a new religion in politics, and to his enthusiastic followers a prophet—he said and 
~ .they believed! The disciples of Voltaire might be more numerons, but they were 
_ bound to him by far weaker ties. Those of Rousseau made the French Revolution 
_ and perished for it ; while Voltaire, miscalculating its chances, perished by it: Both 
perhaps deserved their fate ; but the former certainly acted the nobler nart, and went 
to battle with the best weapons too—for in the deadly encounter of all the passions, 
of the most opposite principles and irreconcilable prejudices, cold-hearted wit is of 
little avail. Heroes and martyrs do not care for epigrams : and he must have enthu- 
_ Ssiasm who pretends to lead the enthusiastic or to cope with them. Une intime ner- 
suasion, Rousseau has somewhere said. ma towjours tenwu View Meloquence! -And 
well it might; for the first requisite to command belief is to believe yourself. Nor 
is it easy to impose on mankind in this respect. There is no eloquence. no ascen- 
_ dency over the mind of others, without this intimate nersnasion. in yourself. Rons- 
seau’s might only be a sort. of poetical persuasion lasting but as Jong as the occasion : 
_ yet it was thus powerful. only hecanse it was true, though but for a quarter of an 
_ hour perhaps, in the heart of this inspired writer. 
: Mr M . son of the friend of. Rousseau to whom he left. his manuscripts, and 
_ especially his ‘Confessions,’ to be published after his death. had the goodness to 


= 


yy 


v . ke : * : : : 4 
82 | CYCLOPADIA OF [70 1830. 


shew them to me. I observed a fair copy written by himself in a small hand like © 
print, very neat and correct; nota blot or an erasure to be seen. The most curious - 
of these papers, however, were several sketch-books, or memoranda, half filled, 
where the same hand is no longer discernible; but the same genius, and the same 
wayward temper and perverse intellect, in every fugitive thought which is there put 
down. Rousseau’s composition, like Montesquieu’s, was laborious and slow; his 
ideas flowed rapidly, but were not readily brought into proper order; they did not 
appear to have come in consequence of a previous plan; but the plan itself, formed 
afterwards, came in aid of the ideas, and served as a sort of frame for them, instead 
of being a system to which they were subservient. Very possible some of the funda- 
menta! opinions he defended so earnestly, and for which his disciples would willingly ~ 
have suffered martyrdom, were originally adopted because a bright thought, caught 
as it flew, was entered in his commonplace-book, = A patie 4 
These loose notes of Rousseau afford a curious insight into his taste in composition. 
You find him perpetually retrenching epithets—reducing his thoughts to their sim- 
plest expressiom—giving words a peculiar energy by the new Ma tWwne of their 
original meaning—going back to the naiveté of old language; and, in the artificial. 
process of simplicity, carefully effacing the trace of each laborious footstep ashe ad-.  .~ 
vanced; each idea, each image, coming out at last, as if cast entire at a single throw, — ~ 7. 
original, energetic, and clear. Although Mr. M—— had promised to Rousseau thathe 
would publish his + Confessions’ as they were, yet he took upon himself to suppress . 
a passage explaining certain circumstances of his abjurations at Anpeci, affording a 4 
curious but frightfully disgusting picture of monkish manners at the time. It isa  —_ 
pity that Mr. M—— did not break his word in regard to some few more passiges of 
that most,admirable and most vile of all the productions of genius. ae 


Madame de Stael (1766-1817). eatery 


T had seen Madame de Staél a child ; and I saw her again on her death-bed. The 
intermediate years were spent in another hemisphere, as far as possible from the 
scenes in which she lived. Mixing again, not many months since. with a world in 
which I am a stranger, and feel that I must remain so, I just saw this celebrated wo- 
man, and heard, as it were, her last words, as I had read her works before, uninflu- 
enced by any local bias. Perhaps the impressions of a man thus dropped from ~~ 
another world into this, may be deemed something like those of posterity. Ea 

Madame de Staél lived for conversation: she was not happy out of a large circle, : 
and a French circle, where she could be heard in her own language to the best ad- 
vantage. Her. extravagant admiration of the society of Paris was neither more nor 
less than genuine admiration of herself. It was the best mirror she could get—and 
that was all. Ambitious of all sorts of notoriety, she would have given the world to 
have been born noble and a beauty. Yet there was in this excessive vanity so much 
honesty and frankness, it was so entirely void of affectation and trick. she made go fair 
and so irresistible an appeal to your own sense of her worth, that what would have- 
been laughable in any one else was almost respectable in her. That ambition of elo- 
quence, so conspicuons‘in her writings, was much less observable in her conversation ; 
there was more abandon in what she said than in what she wrote. while speaking, 
the spontaneous inspiration was no jabour, but. all pleasure. Conscious of extraordi-- 
nary powers, she gave herself up to the present enjoyment of the good things, and 
the deep things, flowing in a full stream from her own well-stored mind and luxuriant 
ancy Aa nami apetie was pleasure, a ae i$ was inspiration: and without pre- 
cisely intending it, she was, every evening of her life, in a circle of com . 
Corinne she had depicted. ‘ ORIDERY SUEYE a 


~ 
Leese are ee 


- ee 
. a 
eS ee Sa 


7 


5 aa n 
a 


_ REES.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. ar: 


ss ENCYCLOPASDIAS AND SERIAL WORKS. 


We have referred to the continuation of the ‘Cyclopeedia’ of Eph- 
aim Chambers by. Dr. ABRAHAM REES, a dissenting clergyman 
(1743-1825). This revival was so successful that the publishers of 
the work agreed with Dr Rees to undertake a new and magnificent 
work of a similar nature; and in 1802 the first volume of ‘ Rees’s 
~ Cyclopedia’ was issued, with illustrations in a style of engraving 
never surpassed in this country. This splendid work extended to 
forty-five volumes. In 1771 the ‘Encyclopedia Britannica,’ edited 
by Mr William Smellie, was published in three volumes. The 
second edition, commenced in 1776, was enlarged to ten volumes, 
and embraced biography and history. The third edition, completed 
in 1797, amounted to eighteen volumes, and was enriched with 
valuable treatises on Grammar and Metaphysics, by the Rev. Dr. 
~ Gleig; with profound articles on Mythology, Mysteries, and Philo- 
logy, by Dr. Doig; and with an elaborate view of the philosophy of 
induction, and contributions in physical science, by Professor Robin- 
son. Two supplementary volumes were afterwards added to this 
-. work. <A fourth edition was issued under the superintendence of 
_ Dr. James Millar, and completed in 1810; it was enriched with some 
-- admirable scientific treatises from the pen of Professor Wallace. 
Two other editions, merely ncminal, of this ‘Encyclopedia’ were 
published; and a Supplement to the work was projected by Mr. 
Archibald Constable, and placed under the charge of Professor 
Macvey Napier. To this Supplement Constable attracted the greatest 
~~ names both in Britain and France; it contained contributions from _ 
Dugald Stewart. Playfair, J ameson, Leslie, Mackintosh, Dr Thomas 
‘Thomson. Sir Walter Scott, Jeffrey, Ricardo, Malthus, Mill, Pro- 
fessor Wallace, Dr. Thomas Young, M. Biot, M. Arago, &c. Dugald 
, £1000 for Si Seer aon on Metaphysiont 
spa avfair or asimilar contribution on 
Na as ee jens actually received £1600; and the 
~ Jatter would have received an additional £500 had he te $0; COME, 
plete his treatise. Such large sums pu pani cen Sted a 
P Seotland: for. literary. labour. ‘The SUPP ene ine oe nnnica’ 
‘six volumes. In the vear 1826, when the ee. c 5 5 es a eat 
“fell into the hands of Messrs. Adam and eas th Z “acl ee 
tion of the whole was commenced, incorporating #7 Jt it epasiadiot 
- the Supplement, with such modifications and a fo bate ee 
~~ necessary to adjust them to the later views and ™ va ie As . 
cable to their subjects. Mr. phil seein opt estat ser Oe da sis 
ae of revision and addition wai . 
‘ eae Ae of varied and extensive learning. New and beer 
~grticles were contributed by Sir David Brewster, Mr. Galloway, 14. 
- Mraill. Dr. Roget, Dr. John Thompson, Mr. Tytler, Professor Ppan 3 
si ing, Mr Moir, &c. This great national work—for such it may Jusuly 


- Stewart was to receive 


~ 
“—" 


a. r i. 


84° CYCLOPEDIA OF : [To 1830, 


be entitled—was completed in 1842, in twenty-one volumes. Another _ 


edition of this ‘Encyclopedia,’ the eighth, greatly improved, was 
published in 1859-60, edited by Professor Traill, and enriched-by — 
‘contributions from Lord Macaulay, Sir John Herschel, and other 
eminent authors. A ninth edition is now (1876) in progress, under 
the editorial charge of Mr. Thomas Spencer Baynes, Professor of 
Logic and Metaphysics in the university of St Andrews. : 
Of amore portable and popular form.is ‘ Chambers’s Encyclope- ~ 
dia,’ a cheap and comprehensive ‘dictionary of universal knowledge 
for the people.’ This work, issued by W. & R. ‘Chambers, was 


commenced in 1859 and completed in 1868, in ten volumes large. — 
octavo. The editor, ANDREW FiInpLATER, LL.D—a man of exten- . 


sive learning and literary connections—was admirably adapted for 


Foy 


Pa) OP en ae Many ae 


such a task; and, with the aid of a body of friendly and able con- © 


tributors in every department of literature and science, he suc- 
ceeded in producing a work of rare excellence and utility, which has 


commanded a large sale both in this country and in America, A ~ 


new edition was completed in 1875, A vitiated edition has been 
published in the United States. The ‘Encyclopedia Metropolitana’ 
was begun in 1815, and presented this difference from its rivals, 
* that it departed from the alphabetical arrangement—certainly the 


most convenient—and arranged its articles in what the conductors — 


considered their natural order. Coleridge was one of the contribu- 
‘tors to this work; some of its philological articles are ingenious. 


The ‘London Encyclopedia,’ in twenty volumes royal 8vo, is a— 


useful compendium, and includes the whole of ‘Johnson’s Diction- 


ary,’ with its citations. ‘Lardner’s Cyclopedia’ is a collection of 


different works on natural philosophy, arts and manufactures, his- 
tory, biography, &c., published in 131 small 8vo volumes,-issued 
monthly. Popular cyelopedias, each in one. large volume, have 
been published, condensing a large amount of information. Of 
these, Mr M’Culloch, the political economist, is author of one on 
Commerce, and another on Geography; Dr Ure on Arts and Manu- 
factures; Mr Brande on Science, Literature, and Art; Mr Blaine on 
‘Rural Sports. There is also a series of cyclopedias on a larger 
scale, devoted to the various departments of medical science. 

The plan of monthly publication for works of merit, and combin- 


ing cheapness with elegance, was commenced by Mr, Constable in ~ 


1827. It had been planned by him two years before, when his active 
mind was full of splendid schemes; and he was confident that, if he 
lived for half-a-dozen years, he would ‘make it as impossible that 
there should not be a good library in every decent house in Britain, as 
that the shepherd’s ingle-nook should want the salt-poke.’ ‘ Consta- 
ble’s Miscellany ’ was not begun till-after the failure of the great pub- 
lisher’s house, but it presented some attraction, and énjoyed for 


several years considerable though unequal success. The works were . 
issued in monthly numbers at a shilling each, and volumes at three — 


\ 


K 


1 \ 
» . a ‘ 
Pow Sa nee ee en 


” Soe FX 
oC ae = i 


\ 
x 


eee Se eg RR eee ONE a ee Thee MEER Pere eee Siva oe PMS mS At 


=< ys 


_ENCYCLOPZDIAS.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 35 


shillings and sixpence. Basil Hall’s ‘ Travels,’ and Lockhart’s ‘ Life 
-of Burns,’ were included in the ‘ Miscellany,’ and had a great sale. 
The example of this Edinburgh scheme started up a London pub- 


lisher, Mr. Murray, to attempt a similar series in the English metro- 
polis.. Hence began the ‘ Family Library,’ which was continued for 
about twelve years, and ended in 1841 with the eightieth volume. 


- Mr. Murray made his volumes five shillings each, adding occasion- 


ally engravings: and wood-cuts, and publishing several works of 
standard merit—including Washington Irving’s ‘Sketch-book,’ 
Southey’s ‘Life of Nelson,’ &c. Mr. Irving also abridged for this 


Library his ‘Life of Columbus;’ Mr. Lockhart abridged Scott’s 


‘Life of Napoleon;’ Scott himself contributed a ‘History of De- 


‘monology;’ Sir David Brewster a ‘Life of Newton;’ and. other 


popular authors joined as fellow-labourers. Another series of monthly 
volumes was begun in 1833, under the title of ‘Sacred Classics,’ 
being reprints of celebrated authors whose labours have been de- 


voted to the elucidation of the principlcs of revealed religion. 


Two clergymen—Mr. Cattermole and Mr. Stebbing—edited this 
library, and it was no bad index to their fitness for the office, that 
they opened it with Jeremy Taylor’s ‘Liberty of Prophesying,’ one 
of the most able, high-spirited, and eloquent of theological or ethical 
treatises. The ‘Edinburgh Cabinet Library’ commenced in 1880, 
and included a number of valuable works, embodying the latest in- 


formation and discoveries, chiefly on geographical and _ historical 


subjects. The convenience of the monthly mode of publication has 
recommended it to both publishers and readers: editions of the works 


of Scott, Miss Edgeworth, Byron, Crabbe, Moore, Southey, the 


fashionable novels, &c., have been thus issued and circulated in 
thousands. Old standard authors and grave historians, decked out 
in this gay monthly attire, have also enjoyed a new lease of popu- 


larity: Boswell’s ‘Johnson,’ Shakspeare and the elder dramatists, 


Hume, Smollett, and Lingard, Tytler’s ‘Scotland,’ Cowper, Robert 
Hall. and almost innumerable other British ‘worthies,’ have been so 


“ published. Those libraries, however—notwithstanding the intentions 


and sanguine predictions of Constable—were chiefly supported by the 
more opulent and respectable classes. To bring science and literature 
within the grasp of all,a Society was formed in 1825 for the Diffusion of 


_ Useful Knowledge, at the head of which were several statesmen and 
_ leading members of the Whig aristocracy—Lords Auckland, Althorp 


(afterwards Earl Spencer), John Russell, Nugent, Suffield, Mr. 
Henry Brougham (afterwards Lord Brougham), Sir James Mackin- 


- tosh, Dr. Maltby (afterwards Bishop of Durham), Mr. Hallam, 
Captain Basil Hall, &c. Their object. was to circulate a series of 


treatises on the exact sciences, and on various branches of useful - 
knowledge in numbers at.sixpence each. The first was published in 


March, 1827, being ‘A Discourse on the Objects, Advantages, and. 
Pleasures of Science,’ by Mr. Brougham. Many of the works issued 


36 CYCLOPEDIA OF [To 1830. 


by this Society were excellent compendiums of knowledge: but the . 


general fault of their scientific treatises was, that they were too 
technical and abstruse for the working-classes, and were, in point of 
fact, purchased and read chiefly by those in better stations of life. 
Another series of works of a ‘higher cast, entitled ‘The Library of 
Entertaining Knowledge,’ in four-shilling volumes, also emanated 
from this Society, as well as a very valuable and extensive series of 
maps and charts, forming a complete atlas. A collection of Portraits, 
with biographical memoirs, and an improved description of Almanac, 
published yearly, formed part of the Society’s operations. Their 
labours were on the whole beneficial; and though the demand for 
cheap literature was then rapidiy extending, the steady impulse and 
encouragement given to.it by a Society possessing ample funds and 
large influence, must have tended materially to accelerate its pro- 
gress. It was obvious, however, that the field was only partly 
occupied, and that large masses, both in the rural and manufacturing 
districts, were unable either to purchiuse or understand many of the 
treatises of the Society for the Diffus.on of Useful Knowledge. 
Under this impression, the publishers of the present work com- 
menced, in February, 1832, their weekly periodical, ‘Chambers’s 
Journal,’ consisting of original papers on subjects of ordinary life, 
science, and literature, und containing in each number a quan- 
tity of matter equal to that in a number of the Society’s 
works, and sold at one-fourth the price. The result of this extra- 
ordinary cheapness—and we may honestly add the good quality of 
the material—was a circulation soon exceeding fifty thousand weekly. 
The ‘Penny Magazine,’ a respectable periodical, and the * Penny 


Cyclopeedia,’ were afterwards commenced by the Society for the 


Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, and attained each a very great circu- 
lation. There are now numerous other labourers in the same field of 
human usefulness; and it is scarcely possible to enter a cottage or 


f 


workshop without meeting with some of these publications—cheer- 
ing the leisure moments of the peasant or mechanic, and, by with- | 


drawing him from the operation of the grosser senses, elevating him 
in-the scale of rational beings. 


We cannot close this section without adverting to the Reviews and ~ 


Magazines. The ‘Edinburgh Review,’ started in October 1802 under 
circumstances elsewhere detailed, was a work entirely new in our 
literature, not only as it brought talent of the first order to bear upon 
periodical criticism, but as it presented many original and brilliant 
disquisitions on subjects of public importance, apart from all con- 
sideration of the literary’ productions of the day. It met with 
instant success. Of the first number, 750 copies were printed. The 
demand exceeded this limited supply: 750 more were thrown off, and 
successive editions followed. In 1808, the circulation had risen to 
about 9000; and it is believed to have reached its maximum—from 
which it has declined—in 1818, when 12,000 or 13,000 copies were 


acy ¥'* sl 
‘a —. beg) Oe 
Ag % ue 


“ 


34 


MAGAZINES. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 87 


- printed. The ‘ Review,’ we need not say, still occupies an important 
-- position in the English world of letters. As if. was devoted to the 


support of Whig politics, the Tory or ministerial party of the day 
soon felt a need for a similar organ of opinion on their side, and this 
led to the establishment of the ‘Quarterly Review’ in 1809. The 
‘Quarterly’ has ever since kept abreast with its northern rival in point 
of ability, and is said to. have outstripped it in circulation. The 
‘ Westminster Review’ was established in 1824, by Mr. Bentham and 
his friends, as a medium for the representation of Radical opinions. 
In talent, as in popularity, this work has been unequal. 

The same improvement which the ‘ Edinburgh Review’ originated 
in the critical class of periodicals was effected in the department of 
the magazines, or literary miscellanies, by the establishment, in 1817, 
of ‘Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine,’ which has been the ex- 
emplar of many other similar publications—‘ Fraser’s,’ ‘'Tait’s’ (now 


- extinct), the ‘New Monthly, ‘Bentley’s Miscellany’ (extinct), the 


/ 7 


_ ‘Dublin University Magazine,’ ‘Macmillan’s Magazine,’ ‘The Corn- 


hill, ‘Temple Bar,’ ‘Contemporary Review,’ ‘Fortnightly Review,’ 
&c. These magazines present each month a melange of original 


~ articles in light literature, mingled with papers of political disquisi- 


tion. In all of them there is now literary matter of merit equal to 
what obtained great reputations in the last century. 


EIGHTH PERIOD. 


(1830-1876.) ae * an 


REIGNS OF GEORGE IV. WILLIAM IV. AND QUEEN 
VICTORIA. c 


Some of the great names which illustrated the former period, and 
have made it famous, continued after 1830 to grace our literature. 
Scott, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Campbell, Moore, the creative masters —— 
of the last generation, still remained, but their strength was spent, 
their honours won, and it may be long ere the world see again such 
a cluster of eminent poetical contemporaries. Otber names, how- 
ever, were brightening the horizon. Macaulay, Carlyle, and Tenny- 
son appeared, and we had vast activity in every department of our ~~ 
national literature, while in some there was unquestioned pre-emi- 
nence. This has been seen in the revival of speculative philosophy, ~~ 
_ corresponding with the diffusion of physical science—in the study of 
nature, its laws and resources; and in the rich abundance of our 
prose fiction, which is wholly without a parallel in ancient or modern . — 
times. The novel has, indeed, become.a necessity in our social life’ 
—a great institution. It no longer deals with heroic events and 
perilous adventures—the romance of history or chivalry. But it finds ~ 
nourishment and vigour in the daily walks and common scenes of © 
life—in the development of character, intellect, and passion, the — — 
struggles, follies, and varieties of ordinary existence. ven poetry 
reflects the contemplative and inquiring spirit of the age. In history 
and biography, the two grand sources of our literary distinction in 
this latter half of the nineteenth century, the Same tendencies prevail 
—a desire to know all and investigate all. Every source of infor» 
mation is sought after—every leading fact, principle, or doctrine in — 
taste, criticism, and ethics is subjected to scrutiny and analysis; 
while literary journals and cheap editions, multiplied by the aid of — 
steam, pour forth boundless supplies. To note all these in our re- — 
maining space would be impossible; many works well deserving of ~ 
study we can barely glance at, and many must be omitted. In the 
delicate and somewhat invidious task of dealing with living authors, 
we shall seek rather to afford information and awaken interest than ~ 
to pronounce judgments; and we must trust largely to the candeur _ 
and indulgence of our readers. a 


Cees eo 


“ 


=< 


-m.coueripcr,] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 39 


oe ~~ rte pale 2a 


POETS. 


The chief representative poet of the period is Alfred Tennyson, 
who, on the death of Wordsworth, by universal acclaim succeeded 
to the laurel, 

: Greener from the brows 
Of him who uttered nothing base, 
and who has, like his predecessor, slowly won his way to fame. But, 
before noticing the laureate, several other names claim attention. 


HARTLEY, DERWENT, AND SARA COLERIDGE. 


The children of Samuel Taylor Coleridge all inherited his love of 
literature, and the eldest possessed no small portion of kindred 
poetical genius. HARTLEY COLERIDGE (1796-1849) was born at 
Clevedon, near Bristol. His precocious fancy and _ sensibilit 
attracted Wordsworth, who addressed some lines to the child, 
then only six years of age, expressive of his. anxiety and fears 
for his future lot. The lines were prophetic. After a desultory, 
irregular education, Hartley competed for a fellowship at Oriel 


~ College, Oxford, and gained it with high distinction; but at the 


close of the probationary year, he was judged to have forfeited it on 
the ground mainly of intemperance. He then attempted a literary 
‘life in London, but was unsuccessful. ‘The cause of his failure,’ 
says his brother, ‘lay in himself, not in any want of literary power, 
of which he had always a ready command, and which he could have 
made to assume the most popular form; but he had Jost the power 
of will. His steadiness of purpose was gone, and the motives which 
he had for exertion, imperative as they appeared, were without 
force.’ Hartley next tried a school at Ambleside, but his scholars 
soon fell off, and at length he trusted solely to his pen.’ He con- 
tributed to *Blackwood’s Magazine,’ and in 1832 wrote for a Leeds 
pe ‘ Biographia Borealis, or Lives of Distinguished Northmen.’ 

n 1833 appeared ‘ Poems,’ vol. i. (no second volume was published), 
and in 1884, ‘Lives of Northern Worthies.’ The latter years of 


_ Hartley Coleridge were spent in the Lake country at Grasmere, and 


afterwards on the banks of Rydal Water. He was regarded with 
love, admiration, and pity ; for with all his irregularities he pre- 
served a childlike purity and simplicity of character, and ‘with hair 


white as snow,’ he had, as one of his friends remarked, ‘a heart as green 


as May.’ The works of Hartley Coleridge have been republished and 
edited by-his brother—the ‘Poems,’ with a Memoir, two volumes, 


~1851; ‘Essays and Marginalia’ (miscellaneous essays and criticisms), 


two volumes, 1851; and ‘ Lives of Northern Worthies,’ three volumes, 
1852. The poetry of Hartley Coleridge is of the school of Words- 
- worth—unequal in execution, for hasty and spontaneous production 


_ was the habit of the poet, but at least a tithe of his verse merits 


preservation, and some of his sonnets are exquisite. His prose works 


40 


al Se ST" as 


4 ‘Quel, : a 


‘CYCLOPADIA OF 


~ 


are characterised by a vein of original thought and reflection, and 


by great clearness and beauty of style. 


His ‘ Lives of Northern 


Worthies’ form one of the most agreeable of. modern books; introduc- 
ing the reader to soldiers, scholars, poets, and statesmen. 
‘The Rev. DERWENT COLERIDGE (born at Keswick in 1800) is Prin- 


cipal of St. Mark’s College, Chelsea, and a prebendary of St. Paul’s 


He has published a series of ‘Sermons,’ 1839, but is chiefly known 
as author of the Memoir of his brother Hartley, and editor and anno- 
tator of some of his father’s writings. 


SARA COLERIDGE (1805-1852) was born at Greta Hall, near Kes- 


‘wick, and iscommemorated in Wordsworth’s poem of ‘ The Triad.’ 


Tn respect of learning and philosophical studies, she might have chal. - 


lenged. comparison with any of the erudite ladies of the Elizabethan 
period ; while. in taste and fancy, she well supported the poetica\ 


honours of her family. The works of Sarah Coleridge are—‘ Phantas__ 


mion,’ a fairy tale, 1837, and ‘Pretty Lessons for Good Children.’ 
She translated, from the Latin, Martin Dobrizhoffer’s ‘ Account of 
the Abipones,’ three volumes,1822, and enriched her father’s works 


with valuable notes and illustrations. 
married to her cousin, HENRY NELSON COLERIDGE (1800-1843), who. 
was author of a lively narrative, ‘Six Months in the West Indies in 


This accomplished lady was 


1825; of an ‘ Introduction to the study of the Greek Classic Poets,’ 
1880; and editor of the * Literary Remains’ and of many of the writ- 


ings of his uncle, Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 


In 1873 was published 


‘Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge,’ edited by her daughter, a 
work in two volumes, containing much interesting information rela- 
tive to the Lake Poets, besides displaying the virtues and acquire- 


ments of the deceased authoress. 


Some one said of Sara Coleridge: 


‘Her father had looked down into her eyes, end left in them the 


light of his own.’ 


Sonnets by Tartley Coleridge. 
The note of bird unnamed? The startled 


What was’t awakened first the untried 
ear 

Of that “Ob man who was all human- 

ind? 

Was it the gladsome welcome of the 
wind, 

Stirring the leaves that never yet were 
sere? 

The four mellifluous streams 
flowed so near, 

Their Julling murmurs all in one com- 
bined ? 


whicn 


hind 
Bursting the brake—in wonder, not in 


fear, 
Of her new lord? Or did the holy ground 
Send forth mysterious melody to greet 


The gracious presence of immacniate 


feet ? 
Did viewleéss seraphs rustle all around, 
Making sweet music out of air as sweet? 


Or hisown voice awake him With its — 


sound? “ 


To Shakspeare. eae 4 


The soul of man is larger than the sky, 
Deeper than ocean—or the abysmal dark 
Of the unfathomed centre. Like that ark, 
Which in its sacred hold uplifted high, 
O’er the drowned hills, the human family, 


And stock reserved of every living kind; | 


So, in the compass of a single mind, 

The seeds and pregnant forms in essence 
lie, (thy art 

To make all worlds. Great Poet! ’twas 


ca ge ot [ro 1876. ee 


¢ 


H. COLERIDGE.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


To know thyself, and in thyself to be 
Whate’er love, hate, ambition, destiny, 
Or the firm fatal purpose of the heart 


Address to Certain Gold-fishes. 


Resiless forms of living light 
Quivering on your lucid wings, 
Cheating still the curious sight 

With a thousand shadowings ; 
Various as the tints of even, 
Gorgeous as the hues of heaven, 
Reflected on your native streams 

In flitting, flashing, billowy gleams! 
Harmless warriors, clad in mail 

Of silver breastplate, golden scale— 
Mail of Nature’s own bestowing, : 
With peaceful radiance miidly glowing— 


' Fleet are ye as ficetest galley 


Or pirate rover sent from Sallee; 


_ Keener than the Tartar’s arrow, 


Sport ye in your sea so narrow. 


Was the sun himself your sire? 
Were ye born of vital tire? 
Or of the shade of golden flowers, 


-- Such as we fetch from Eastern bowers, 


To mock this murky clime of ours ? 
Upwards, downwards, now ye glance, 
Weaving many a mazy dance; 


41 
Can make of man,- Yet thou wert still 
the sane, [{flame. 


Serene ot thought, nnhurt by thy own 


Seeming still to grow in size 

When ye would elude our eyes— 
Pretty creatures ! we might deem 
Ye were happy as ye seem— 

As gay, 18 gamesome, and as blithe, 
As light, as loving, and as lithe, 

As gladly earnest in your play, 

As when ye gleamed in far Cathay: 


And yet, since on this hapless earth 

There’s small sincerity in mirth, 

And laughter oft is but an art 

Yo drown the outcry of the heart; 

It may be, that your ceaseless gambols, 

Your se dartings, divings, ram- 
es, 

Your restless roving round and round 

The circuit of your crystal bound— 

Is but the task of weary pain, 

An endless labour dull and vain ; 

And while your forms are gaily shining, 

Your little lives are inly pining! 

Nay—but still I fain would dream 

That ye are happy as ye seem! 


We add a few sentences of Hartley Coleridge’s graceful and 


striking prose: - 


History and Biography. 

Tn history, all that belongs to the individual is exhibited in subordinate relation to 
the commonwealth ; in biography the acts and accidents of the commonwealth are 
considered in their relation to the individual, as influences by which his character is 
formed or modified—as circumstances amid which he is placed—as the sphere in 
which he moves—or the materials he works with. The man with his works, his 
words, his affections, his fortunes, is the end and aim of all. He does not, indeed, 
asin a panegyric, stand alone like a statue; but like the central figure of a picture, 
around which others are grouped in due subordination and perspective, the general 
circumstances of his times forming the back and foreground. In history, the man, 
like the earth on the Copernican hypothesis, is part of a system; in biography, he is, 
like the earth in the ancieut cosmogony, the centre and final cause of the system. 


The Opposing Armies on Marston Moor. 


Fifty thousand subjects of one king stood face to faceon Marston Moor. The 
numbers on each side were not far unequal, but never were two hosts speaking one 
lancuage of more dissimilar aspects. The Cavaliers, flushed with recent victory. 
identifying their quarrel with their honor and their love, their loose locks escaping 
beneath their plumed helmets, glittering in all thé martial pride which makes 
the battle-day like a pageant or a festival, and prancing forth with all the 


_ grace of gentle love, as they would make a jest of death, while the spirit-rousing 


strains of the trumpets made their blood dance, and their steeds prick up their ears. 
The Roundheads, arranged in thick, dark masses, their steel caps and high-crowned 
hats drawn close over their brows, looking determination, expressing with furrowed 
foreheads and hard-closed lips the inly-working rage which was blown up to furnace- 
heat by the extempore effusions of their preachers, aud found vent in the terrible 


_ denunciations of the Hebrew psalms a:.d prophecies. The arms of each party were 


a ae 
pt Sed 


adapted to the nature of their courage; the swords, pikes, and pistola of the royalists, 


\ 


ve - ; SS ; of 
42 CYCLOPADIA OF © ~ ~~ [ro 1876. ~ 


light and bright, were suited for swift onset and ready use} while the ponderous basket- 

hilted blades, long halberts, and heavy fire-arms of the parliamentarians were equally 

~suited to resist a sharp attack, and to do execution upon a broken enemy. ‘ihe- 
royalists regarded their adversaries with that scorn which the gay and high-born 

always feel or affect for the precise or sour-mannered: the soldiers of the Covenant 

looked on their enemies as the enemies of Israel, and cousidered themselves as the © 
elect and chosen peop:e—a crecd which extinguished fear and remorse together. It 
would be hard to say whether there was more praying on one side or more swearing ~~ 
on the other or which to a truly Christian ear had been the most offensive. Yet f 
both esteemed themselves the champions of the church; there was bravery and virtue 
in both; but with this high advantage on the parliamentary side—that while the ~ 
aristocratic honour of the royalists could only inspire a certain number of gentlemen, ; 
and separated the patrician from the plebeian soldier, the religious zeal of the Puritans 
bound officer and nian, general and pioneer together. in a fierce and resolute sym- 
pathy, and made equality itself an argument for subordination. The captain prayed 
at the head of his company, and the general’s oration was a sermon. =) 4 


Discernment of Character. wy 
I know it well, A 
Yet must I still distrust the elder brother ; } a 
For while he talks—and much the flatterer talks— 
His brother’s silent carriage gives disproof 
Of all his boast: indeed I marked it well, &c: : 
Mason’s ‘ CARACTACUS. 


This is beautifully true to nature. Men are deceived in their judgments of others 
by a thousand causes—by their hopes, their ambition, their vanity, their antipathies, — 
their likes and dislikes, their party feelings. taeir nationality, but, above all, by their 
presumptuous reliance on the ratiocinative understanding, their disregard to pre- 
sentiments and unaccountable impressions, and their vain attempts to reduce 
everything to ruleand measure. Women, on the other hand, if they be very women, 
are seldom deceived, except by love, compassion, or religious sympathy—by the — 
latter too often deplorably ; but then it is not because their better angel neglectsto 
give warning, but because they are persuaded to make a merit of disregarding his 
admonitions. ‘The craftiest Iago cannot win the good opinion of a true woman, — 
unless he approach her as a lover, an unfortunate, or a religious confidant. Be it, ; 
however, remembered that this superior discernment in character is merely afemale —_ 
instinct, arising from a more delicate sensibility, a finer tact, a clearer intuition, and 
a natural abhorrence of every appearance of evil. It is a sense which only belongs — 
to the innocent, and is quite distinct from the tact of experience. If, therefore. 
ladies without experience attempt to judge, to draw conclusions from premises, an . 

ive a reason for their sentiments, there is nothing in their sex to preserve them 
om error. 


J. A. HERAUD—W. B. SCOTT 


JoHn ABRAHAM HERAUD—an author of curious and varied erudition, _ 
and long connected with periodical literature—has made two attempts —— 
at epic grandeur in his poems, ‘The Descent into Hell,’ 18380, and 
‘ Judgment of the Flood,’ 1834. _He has also been a contributor to — 
the unacted drama, having written several tragedies—‘ Salavera,’ ‘The — 
Two Brothers,’ ‘ Videna,’ &c. Mr. Heraud is, or rather was, in poetry — 
what Martin was in art, a worshipper of the vast, the remote, and the ~ 
terrible. His ‘Descent’ and ‘Judgment’ are remarkable poems— 
‘psychological curiosities,’ evincing a great amount of misplaced — 
intellectual and poetic power. In 1871 Mr. Heraud published ‘ The © 
Ingathering,’ a volume of poetry; and ‘ The War of Ideas,’ a poem on ~ 
the Franco-Prussian war. eae 

In 1888 WitL1aM BELL Scorv, an artist and man of genius, pub 


. y 


~ as 


- 


~ 


MRS. SOUTHEY.] ¥NGLISH LITERATURE, 48 


x 


lished ‘ Hades, or :>» Transit,’ and in 1846 ‘The Year of the World,’ 
‘both transcendenta. poems, mystical as Mr. Heraud’s strains, - but 
evidently prompted by admiration of Shelley. In 1854 Mr. Scott 


issued ‘Poems by a Painter;’ and in 1875 a volume of ‘ Poems, 


Ballads,’ &c., with etchings by the author and by Alma Tadema. 


MRS. SOUTHEY. 


CAROLINE ANNE Bowes (1787-1854) was the daughter of a retired 
officer, Captain Charles Bowles, of Buckland, near Lymington, Hants, 
She was, when young, deprived of her parents, and was left almost 
wholly to the care of the nurse, to whom she makes grateful reference 


in her writings. In her country retirement, she early cultivated 


literature, and produced successively ‘Ellen Fitz-Arthur,’ a poem, 
1820; ‘The Widow’s Tale, and other Poems,’ 1822; ‘ Solitary Hours, 
Prose and Verse,’ 1826; ‘Chapters on Churchyards ’—a series of tales 
and sketches in prose, originally published in ‘ Blackwood’s Maga- 
zine,’ and reprinted in two volumes, 1829. A long and affectionate 
intimacy subsisted between Southey and Miss Bowles, and in 1839 
_they were married. The ‘Atheneum’ (Aug. 1854) states that no 
sacrifice could be greater than the one Miss Bowles made on this 
occasion. She resigned a larger income than she knew she would 
receive at Southey’s death, and she ‘consented to unite herself to him 
with a sure prevision of the awful condition of mind to which he 


- would shortly be reduced—with a certain knowledge of the injurious 


treatment to which she might be exposed—from the purest motive 
that could actuate a woman in forming such a connection; namely, 
the faint hope that her devotedness might enable her, if 
not to avert the catastrophe, to acquire at least a legal title 
to minister to the sufferer’s comforts, and watch over the 


_ few sad years of existence that might remain to him.’ The laureate 


himself, in writing to his friend Walter Savage Landor on the 


- subject of this second marriage, said he had, according to 


human foresight, ‘judged well, and acted wisely; but to his family 
it was peculiarly distasteful, except to one of its members, Edith 


- May Southey, married to Mr. Warter, the editor of the posthumous 
_ edition of Southey’s ‘ Doctor’ and ‘Commonplace Books.’ To this 


lady, Mrs. Southey, in 1847—four years after the death of the lau- 
reate—dedicated a volume bearing the title of ‘Robin Hood: a Frag- 


_ ment; by the late Robert Southey and Caroline Southey; with other 
' Fragments and Poems by R. 8. and C. S.’ So early as 1823, South- 


ey had projected a poem on Robin Hood, and asked Caroline Bowles 


-to form an intellectual union with him that it might be executed. 


Various efforts were made and abandoned. The metre selected by 
Southey was that of his poem of ‘ Thalaba ’—a measure not only dif- 
‘ficult, but foreign to all the ballad associations called up by the name 


of Robin Hood. Caroline Bowles, however, persevered, and we sub- 
_ join two stanzas of the portion contributed by her. 


A ‘ eS ne de 


* r 


44 CYCLOPADIA OF _- [ro 1876. 
Majestically s!ow To the horizon’s verge by the deep for- 
The sun goes down in glory— est. 
‘The full-orbed autumn sun ; 
From battlement to basement, The holy stillness of the hour, 
From flanking tower to flanking tower, The hush of human life, 
The long-ranged windows of a noble hall Lets the low voice be heard— 
Fling back the flamy splendour. The low, sweet, solemn voice 
Of the deep woods, 


Vave above, wave below, 
Orange, and green, and gold, Its mystical murmuring 
Russet and crimson, Now swelling into choral harmony, 
Like an embroidered zone, ancestral Rich, full, exultant ; 

woods, In tremulous whispers next, 

Close round on all sides: Sinking away, 

Those again begirt A spiritual undertone. si 
In wavy undulations of all hues Till the cooing of the wood-pigeon 

Is heard alone, 


The poem was never completed: ‘ clouds were gathering the while, 
says Mrs. Southey, ‘ and before the time came that our matured pur- 
pose should bear fruit, the fiat had gone forth, and ‘“‘all was in the ~ 
dust.”’ The remaining years of the poetess were spent in close re- 
tirement. She left behind her, it is said, upwards of twelve hundred —— 
letters from the pen of Southey. The writings of Mrs. Southey, both 
prose and verse, illustrate her love of retirement, her amiable charac- 
ter, and poetical susceptibilities. A vein of pathos, runs through ~ 
most of the little tales or novelettes, and colours her poetry. 


Mariner's Hymn. 


Launch thy bark, mariner! 
Christian, God speed thee! 

Let loose the rudder-bands— 
Good angels lead thee! 

Set thy sails warily, 
Tempests will come; 

Steer thy course steadily ; 
Christian, steer home! 


Look to the weather-bow, 
Breakers are round thee $ 
Let fall the plummet now, 
Shallows may ground thee. 
Reef in the foresail, there! 
Hold the helm fast ! 
So—let the vessel wear— 


Be wakeful be vigilant— 
Danger may be 

At an hour when all seemeth 
Securest to thee. 


How! gains the leak so fast? 
Clean ont the hold— 

Hoist up thy merchandise, 
Heave out. thy gold; 

There—let the ingots go— 
Now the ship rights ; 

Hurrah! the harbour’s near 
Lo! the red lights! 


Slacken not sail yet. 
At inlet or island ; 


Pee 


! 


i 
¥ 
« 

* 


Straight for the beacon steer, 
Straight for the high land ; 
Crowd all thy canvas on, 
Cut through the foam— 
Christian cast anchor now— 
Heaven is thy home! * 


Once upon a Time. a 


I’ve never heard such music since, 
From every bending spray ; 
I’ve never plucked such primrosea, “a 
Set thiek on bank and brae; at 
I’ve never smelt such violets 
As all that pleasant time 
I found by every hawthorn root— 
When I was in my prime. 


There swept the blest. 


-¢What of the night. watchman ? 
What of the night?’ 

‘ Cloudy—all quiet— 
No land yet—all’s right.’ 


I mind me of a pleasant time, 
A season long ago; 

The pleasantest I’ve ever known, 
Or ever now shall know. 

Bees, birds, and little tinkling rills, 

. So merrily did chime; 

The year waa in its sweet spring-tide, 
And I wes in my prime. 


. ee ——— 


~ READE. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE, _ 45 


Yon moory down. so black and bare, The morning mist and evening haze— 
-___Was gorgeous then and gay Unlike this cold gray rime— 
_ With golden gorse—bright blossoming— Seemed woven warm of golden air— 
As none blooms nowaday. When I was in my prime, 
The blackbird sings but seldom now 
Up there in the old lime, And blackberries—so mawkish now— 
Where hours and hours he used to sing— Were finely flavoured then; 
When I was in my prime. And nuts—such reddening clusters ripe 
} : Ine’er shall pull again; 
_ Such cutting winds came never then ' Nor strawberries blushing bright—as rich 
To pierce one through and through ; As fruits of sunniest clime ; 
More softly fell the silent shower, How all is altered for the worse 
More balmily the dew. Since I was in my prime! 
The Pauper’s Death-bed. 
Tread softly—bow the head— Lifting with meagre hands 
In reverent silence bow— A dying head. 
No passing-bell doth toll— 
, Yet an immortal soul No mingling voices sound— 
~ Is passing now. An infant wail alone; 
A sob suppressed—again 
Stranger! however great, That. short deep gasp, and then 
With lowly reverence bow; The parting groan. 
-There’s one in that poor shed— 
One by that paltry bed— O change—O wondrous change !|— 
Greater than thou. Burst are the prison bars— 
: This moment there, so low, 
- Beneath that Beggar’s roof, So agonized, and now 
Lo! Death doth keep his state: . Beyond the stars ! 
Enter—no crowds attend— 
Enter—no guards defend O change—stupendous change ! 
This palace-gate. : There lies the sc ulless clod: 
The sun eternal breaks— 
That pavement damp and cold The new immortal wakes— 
No smiling couriiers tread ;_ Wakes with his God. ' 


_ One silent woman stands 
JOHN EDMUND READE. 


_ The first production of Mr. READE appears to have been a volume 

entitled ‘The Broken Heart and other Poems,’ 1825. From that 
period up to 1868 he has published a long series of poems and dramas. 
‘Cain the Wanderer’ and the ‘ Revolt of the Angels’ in 1830; ‘ Italy,’ 
1838; ‘Catiline’ and ‘The Deluge,’ 1839; ‘Sacred Poems,’ 1843; 
‘Memnon,’ 1844; ‘Revelations of Life,’ 1849; &c. Mr. Reade has 
lived to superintend and publish four collective editions of his 
poetical works (1851-1865). He has also written some novels, and 
two volumes of ‘Continental Impressions’ (1847). The poem of 
‘Italy,’ in the Spenserian stanza, recalls Byron’s ‘Childe Harold,’ 
while the ‘Revelations’ resemble. Wordsworth’s ‘Excursion.’ We 
subjoin a few lines of description: 


We looked toward 
The sun. rayless and red ; emerging slow 
From a black canopy that lowered above. 
O’er a blue sky it hung where fleecy clouds 
Swelled like how hills along the horizon’s verge. 
Down slanting to a sea of glory, or 
O’er infinite pena in luminous repose. 


46 CYCLOPAEDIA OF . [To 1876. — 
Eastward the sulphurous thunder-clouds were rolled .. é 

While on the lurid sky beneath was marked 
The visibly falling storm. The western rays 
Braided its molten edges, rising up 
Like battlemented towers, their brazen fronts 
Changing perturbedly: from which, half seen, 

- The imaginative eye could body forth 
Spiritual forms of thrones and fallen powers, : é 
Reflecting on their scarred and fiery fronts, +e 
The splendours left behind them. ‘ of 


_ Catiline,’ a drama, is well conceived and executed; but. here also a 
Mr. Reade follows another poetical master, Ben Jonson. a 


WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED. 


This. gentleman (1802-1839) was early distinguished for scholarship 
and poetic talent. In conjunction with a school-fellow—the Rev. — 
John Moultrie, who also wrote some pleasing poetry—Mr. Praed set — 
up a paper called ‘The Etonian;’ and he was associated with Mac-— — 
aulay as a writer in ‘ Knight’s Quarterly Magazine.’ The son of* — 
a wealthy London banker, Mr. Praed was educated at Eton and — 
Trinity College, Cambridge; he studied for the bar, and having — 
entered public life as a Conservative politician, sat in:the House of. 
Commons for English boroughs, and for a short period in 1835 held _ 
the office of Secretary of the Board of Control. His poetical pieces — 
were contributed to periodicals, and were first collected by An — 
American publisher in 1844, They are light, fashionable sketches, ~ 
yet executed with great truth and sprightliness. The folowing isan — 

excellent portrait of a wealthy English bachelor and humorist: 


Quince. 


Near a small village in the West, 
Where many very worthy people 
Eat, drink, play whist, and do their best 
To guard from evil church and steeple, y 
There stood—alas! it stands no more !— = 
A tenement of brick and plaster, ; > 
Of which, for forty years and four, , 3 
My good friend Quince was lord and master, eae <4 


Welcome was he in hut and hall, 
To maids and matrons, peers and peasants ; 
He won the sympathies of all 
By making puns and making presents. . 
Though all the parish was at strife, 
He kept his counsel and his carriage, = 
And laughed, and loved a quiet life, F* 
And shrunk from Chancery-guits and marriage. , 


Sound was his claret and his head, ° 


Warm was his double ale and feelings ; ce 
His partners at the whist-club said 

That he was faultless in his dealings. ‘a 
He went to church but once a week, ‘He 

Yet Dr. Poundtext always found him o4 


An upright man, who studied Greek, : ~ti 
And liked to see his friends wound him, 4 


7 ad 
+ » = y ™ 
‘ 


> 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


Asylums, hospitals, and schools 
He used to sweur were made to cozen 3 
All who subscribed to them were fools— 
And he subscribed to, half a dozen. 
It was his doctrine that the poor 
Were always able, never willing: 
And so the beggar at the door 
Had first abuse, and then a shilling. 


Some public principles he had, 
But. was no flatterer nor fretter ; 
He rapped his box when things were bad, 
And said: ‘I cannot make them better.’ 
And much he loathed the patriot’s snort, ~ 
And much he scorned the placeman’s snuffle 
And cut the fiercest quarrels short 
With, ‘ Patience, gentlemen, and shuffle!’ 


For full ten years his pointer, Speed, 
Had couched beneath his master’s table ; 
For twice ten years his.old white steed 
Had fattened in his master’s stable. 
Old Quince averred upon his troth 
They were the ugliest beasts in Devon ; 
And none knew why he fed them both 
With his own hands, six days in seven. 


Whene’er they heard his ring or knock, 
Quicker than thought the village slatterns 
Flung down the novel, smoothed the frock, 
And took up Mrs. Glasse or patterns. 
Alice was studying baker’s bills ; 
Louisa looked the queen of knitters ; 
Jane happened to be hemming frills ; 
And Nell by chance was making fritters. 


But all was vain. And while decay 
Came like a tranquil moonlight o’er him, 
And found him gouty still and gay, 
With no fair nurse to bless or bore him; 
His rugged smile and easy chuir, 
His dread of matrimonial Jectures, 
His wig, his stick, his powdered hair, . 
Were themes for very strange conjectures, 


Some sages thought the stars above 
Had crazed him with excess of knowledge3 
Some heard he had been crossed in love 
Before he came away from college; 
Some darkly hinted that His Grace 
Did nothing, great or small, without him $ 
Some whispered, with a solemn face, 
That there was something odd about him, 


I found him at threescore and ten 
A single man, but bent quite double ; 
Sickness was coming on him then 
To take him from a world of trouble.! 
He prosed of sliding down the hill, 
Discovered he grew older per 
One frosty day he made his will, 
The next he sent for Dr. Baillie. 


48 |  -CYCLOPADIA OF >” [To 1876, 


And s0 he lived, and so he died: * 
When last I sat beside his pillow, > 423 a 

He shook my hand: ‘Ah me!’ he cried, Ai 
‘Penelope must wear the willow! z 

Tell her I hugged her rosy chain ss 
While life was flickering in the socket, a 

And say that when I call again - 
I'll bring a license in my pocket. 


‘I’ve left my house and gtounds to Fag— 
I hope his master’s shoes will suit him !— 
And I’ve bequeathed to you my nag, 
To feed him for my sake, or shoot him. i aan 
The vicar’s wife will take old Fox; 
She’l] find him an uncommon mouser} 
And let her husband have my box, 
My Bible, and my Assmanshijuser. 


‘ Whether I ought to die or not, 
My doctors cannot quite determine ; ~ ' 
It’s only clear that I shall rot, : a 
And be, like Priam, food for vermin. r 
My debts are paid. But Nature’s debt : 
Almost escaped my recollection ! ‘ 
Tom, we shali meet again; and yet 
I cannot leave you my direction!’ 


THOMAS HOOD. 


‘Tuomas Hoop (1798-1845) appeared before the public chiefly asa ~*~ 
comic poet and humorist; but several of his compositions, of a differ- 
ent nature, shew that he was also capable of excelling in the grave, 
pathetic, and sentimental. He had thoughts ‘ too deep for tears,’ and _ a 
.rich imaginative dreams and fancies, which were at times embodied — 
in continuous strains of pure and exquisite poetry, but more frequently 
thrown in, like momentary shadows, among his light and fantastic _ 
effusions. His wit and sarcasm were always well applied. - se 

This ingenious and gifted man was a native of London, son of 4 
one of the partaers in the book-selling firm of Vernor, Hood, and — 
Sharpe. He was educated for the counting-house, and at an early 
age was placed under the charge of a City merchant. His health, — 
however, was found unequal to the close confinement and application 
required at the merchant’s desk, and he was sent to reside with some 
relatives in Dundee, of which town his father was a native. While 
resident there, Mr. Hood evinced his taste for literature. He con- 
tributed to the local newspapers, and also to the ‘Dundee Magazine,’ — 
a periodical of considerable merit. On the re-establishment of his” is 
health, he returned to London, and was put apprentice to a per 
an engraver. At this employment he remained just long enough to — 
acquire a taste for drawing, which was afterwards of essential service — 
to him in illustrating his poetical productions. About the year 1821 
he had adopted literature as a profession, and was installed as regular 
assistant to the ‘ London Magazine,’ which at that time was left with- _ 
out its founder and ornament, Mr. John Scott, who was unhappily ‘a 
killed ina duel. On the cessation of this work, Mr. Hood wrote for 


ot s 
to 


-Hoop.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. tee 49 


various periodicals. He was some time editor of the ‘New Monthly 
Magazine,’ and also of a magazine which bore his own name. His 
- life was one of incessant exertion, embittered by ill health and all 
the disquiets and uncertainties incidental to authorship. When 
almost prostrated by disease, the governmeut stepped in to relieve 
him with a small pension; and atter his premature death in May 
1845, his literary friends contributed liberally towards the support of 
his widow and family. The following lines, written a few weeks 
before his death, possess a peculiar and melancholy interest: 


Farewell, Life ! my senses swim, Welcome, Life! the spirit strives : 

And the world is growing dim; Strength returns, and hope revives: 

Thronging shadows cloud the light, Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn 

Like the advent of the night— Fly like shadows at the momn— 

Colder, colder, colder still, O’er the earth there comes a bloom ; 

Upwards steals a vapour chill ; Sunny light for sullen gloom, 

Strong the earthy odour grows— Warm perfume for vapour-cold— _ 

I smell the mould above the rose! I smell the rose above the mould! 
April, 1845. 


Mr. Hood’s productions are in various styles and forms. © His first 
work, ‘ Whims and Oddities,’ attained to great_popularity. Their most 
original feature was the use which the author made of puns—a figure 
_ generally too contemptible for literature, but which in Hood’s hands, 
became the basis of genuine humour, and often of the purest pathos. 
_ He afterwards (1827) tried a series of ‘ National Tales’; but his prose 
was less attractive than his verse. A regular novel, ‘Tylney Hall,’ 
was a more decided failure. In poetry he made a great advance. 
‘The Plea of the Midsummer Fairies’ isa rich imaginative work, 
superior to his other productions. As editor of the ‘Comic Annual’ 
and also of some of the literary annuals, Mr. Hood increased his repu- 
tation for sportive humour and poetical fancy; and he continued the 
same vein in his ‘ Up the Rhine ’—a satire on the absurdities of English 
travellers. In 1843, he issued two volumes of ‘ Whimsicalities, a 
Periodical Gathering,’ collected chiefly from the ‘New. Monthly - 
Magazine.’ His last production of any importance was the ‘Song of 
the Shirt,’ which first appeared in ‘Punch’ (1844), and is as admirable 
in spirit as in composition. : 

This striking picture of the miseries of the poor London semp- 
stresses struck home to the heart, and aroused the benevolent feelings 
of the public. In most of Hood’s works, even in his puns and levi- 
ties, there is a ‘ spirit of good’ directed to some kindly or philan- 
_ thropic object. He had serious and mournful jests, which were the 
more effective from their strange and unexpected combinations. 
Those who came to laugh at folly, remained to sympathise with want 
and suffering. The ‘various pen’ of Hood, said Douglas Jerrold, 

‘touched alike the springs of laughter and the sources of tears.’ 
Charles Lamb said Hood carried two faces under his ‘namesake,’ a 
tragic one and a comic. 

Of Hood’s graceful and poetical puns, it would be easy to give 


50 CYCLOPADIA OF  ~—__— [ro 1876 


abundant specimens. The following stanzas form part of an inimit- 
able burlesque: g a 
Lament for tne Decline of Chivalry. c 
Well hast thou said, departed Burke, The curtal-axe is out of date! 
Ali chivalrous romantic work ‘he good old cross-bow bends to Fate; 
_is ended now and past! "Lis gone the archer’s craft! 
That iron age, which some have thought No tough arm bends the springing yew. 
Of mettie rather Overwrought, And jolly draymen ride, im lieu a: 
Is now all over-cast. Of Death, upon the shaft... . 
Ay! where are those heroic knights In cayils when will cavaliers | p 
Ut old—those armadillo wights Set ringing helmets by the ears, 
Who wore the plaited vest? And scatter plumes about? 
Great Chariemague and all his peers Or blood—if they are in the vein? 
Are coid—enjoyl:g with their spears That tap will never run again— 
Ab everiasig rest. Alas, the casque is out! 


The bold King Arthur Sleepeth goynd; _ No iron cracklin i 
dierent S g now is scored. 
So sleep his knights who gave that Rouud By dint of battle-axe or sword, — 


Old ‘able sucn eclat } To find a vital place; a 
ee has plucked the plumy brow! Though certain doctors still pretend, 
oe none engage at turneys now Awhile, before they kill a friend, 
ut those that go tolaw!... To labour through his case! 
Where are those old and feudal clans. Farewell, then, ancient m ight! 
Where ¢ : en of might! 
one pikes, and bills, and partisans ; ; Crusader, errant squire, and knight! 
pet a hauberks, jerkius, puffs ? Our coats and customs soften ; ‘- aa 
attle was a battle then, To rise would only make you weep; 
A breathing piece of work ; but men Sleep on in rusty iron, sleep a 
Fight now with powder puffs! As in a safety coffin! | 


The grave, lofty, and sustained style of Hood is much more rare ~ 
than this punning vein, but a few verses will shew how truly poeti- 
cal at times was his imagination—how rapt his fancy. The diction 
of the subjoined stanzas is rich and musical, and may recall some of 
the finest flights of the Elizabethan poets. We quote from an ‘Ode 
to the Moon.’ ; 


Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go 
Over those hoary crests, divinely led! 
Art thou that huntress of the silver bow 
Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread 
Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below, - - 
Like the wild chamois on her Alpine snow, 4 
Where hunter never climbed—secure from dread? | 
A thousand ancient fancies I have read <4 
Of that fair presence, and a thousand wrought, 
Wondrous and bright, 
Upon the silver light, 
Tracing fresh figures with the artist thought. 


What art thou like? Sometimes I see thee ride 
A far-bound galley on its perilous way ; P 
Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray ; © <A 
Sometimes behold thee glide, : 
Clustered by all thy family of stars, : 
Like a lone widow through the welkin wide, i 
Whose pallid cheek the midnight sorrow mars: 
Sometimes I watch thee on from steep to steep, 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 51 


Timidly lighted by thy vestal torch, 

Till in some Latinian cave I see thee creep, 
To catch the young Endymion asleep, 
Leaving thy splendour at the jagged porch. 


a Oh, thou art beautiful, howe’er it be! 

oe Huntress, or Dian, or whatever named— 
And he the veriest Pagan who first framed 
A silver idol, and ne’er worshipped thee: 
It is too late, or thou shouldst have my knee- 
Too late now for the old Ephesian vows, 

And not divine the crescent on thy brows; 
Yet, call thee nothing but the mere mild moon, 
Behind those chestnut boughs ; 

Casting their dappled shadows at my feet ; 

I will be grateful for that simple boon, 

In many a thoughtful verse and anthem sweet, 
And bless thy dainty face whene’er we meet. 


___In the ‘ Gem,’ a literary annual for 1829, Mr. Hood published a 
ballad entitled ‘The Dream of Eugene Aram,’ which is also remark- 
- able for its exhibition of the secrets-of the human heart, and its deep 
- and powerful moral feeling. It isperhaps to be regretted that an au- 
_ thor who had undoubted command ofthe higher passions and emo- 
- tions, should so seldom have frequented this sacred ground, but have 
_ preferred the gaieties of mirth and fancy. He probably saw that his 
- originality was more apparent in the latter, and that popularity was 
- inthis way more easily attained. Immediate success was of import- 
-- ance to him; and until the position of literary men be rendered more 
~ secure and unassailable, we must often be content to lose works which 
can only be the ‘ripened fruits of wise delay.’ 

_ ‘The following is one of Hood’s most popular effusions in that style 
_ which the public identified as peculiarly his own: 


A Parental Ode to my Son, aged Three Years and Five Months, 


Thou happy, happy elf! 
(But stop—first let me kiss away that tear) 
Thou tiny image of myself ; 
(My love, he’s poking peas into his ear !) 
Thou merry, laughing sprite! 
With spirits feather-light, 
Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin, 
(Good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin !) 


Thou little tricksy Puck! 
With antic toys so funnily bestuck, “ 
-Light as the singing bird that wings the air, 
; (The door! the door! he’ll tumble down the statir !) 
= Wek Thou darling of thy sire! 
(Why, Jane, he’il set his pinafore afire !) 
ay Thou imp of mirth and say 
ne In Love’s dear chain so strong and bright a link, 
} Thou idol of thy parents (Drat the boy ! 
There goes my ink !) 


a Thou cherub—but of earth; 
; Fit playfellow for fays by moonlight pale, 
In harmless sport and mirth, 


52 CYCLOP.EDIA OF [ro 1876, 
(That dog will bite if he pulls its tail !) ‘ 
Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey Sei 
From every blossom in the world that blows, 
Singing in youth’s Elysium ever sunny, 
(Another tumble—that’s his precious nose!) 
Thy father’s pride and hope! ‘ 
(He’ll break the mirror with that skipping-rope !) 
With pure heart newly stamped from Nature’s-mint, 
(Where did he learn that squint ?) 


Thou young domestic dove ! 
(He’ll have that jug off with another shove !) 
Dear nursling of the hymenal nest, 
_(Are those torn clothes his best ?) 
Little epitome of man! i 
(He’ll climb upon the table, that’s his plan!) __ 
‘vouched with the beanteous tints of dawning life, 
(He’s got a kn'fe!) 
Thou enviabie being ! : 
No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, 
Play on, play on, 
My elfin Johu! 


Toss the light ball—bestride the stick, 
(I knew so many cakes would make him sick !)' 
With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down, 
Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk 
With many a lamb-like frisk, 
(He’s got the scissors, snipping at your gown!) 
Thou pretty opening rose! 
(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose !) 
Balmy, and breathing music like the south, 
(He really bring? my heart into my mouth! 
Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star, 
(I wish that window had an iron bar !) i 
Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove, 
* (Pll tell you what, my love, 
I cannot write, unless he’s sent above !) 


The Song of the Shirt. 


With fingers weary and worn, Seam, and gusset, and band, 
With eyelids heavy and red, Band, and gusset, and seam, 
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Till over the buttons I fall asleep, 
Plying her needle and thread. And sew them on in a dream 
Stitch—stitch—stitch ' i 
In poverty, hunger and dirt : ‘O men, with sisters dear ! 
And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch, O men, with mothers and wives, 
She sang the ‘Song of the Shirt !’ It is not linen you’re wearing out! 
But human creatures’ lives! 
6‘ Work—work—work ! Stitch—stitch—stitch ! 
While the cock is crowing aloof! In poverty, hunger, and dirt; ; 
And work—work—work ! Sewing at once, witha double thread, 
Till the stars shine through the roof! A shroud as well as a shirt. 
It’s oh! to be a slave, = 
Along with the barbarous Turk, — - ‘But why do I talk of death? 
Where woman has never a soul to save, That phantom of grisly bone 3 
If this is Christian work ! I hardly f-ar its terrible shape, ~ 
It seems so like my own. 
*Work—work—work ! It seems so like my own, 
Till the brain begins to swim ; Because of the fasts I keep; - 
- Work—work—work ! O God ! that bread should be so dear, 


Till the eyes are heavy and dim! And flesh and blood so cheap] 


“MorR.] 


§ Work—work—work ! 
My labour never flags ; 
And what are its wages? A bed of straw, 
A crust of bread, and rags. 
That shattered roof—and this naked 
floor— 
A table—a broken chair; 
And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank 
_ For sometimes falling there ! 


§ Work—work—work ! 

From weary chime to chime, 
Work—work—work— 

As prisoners work for crime! 

Band, and gusset, and seam, 

Seam, and gusset, and band, 

Till the heart is sick, and the brain be- 
numbed, 
As well as the weary hand. 


$ Work—work—work! 
In the dull December light, 
And work—work—work! 
When the weather is warm and bright— 
While underneath the-eaves 
The brooding swallows cling, 
As if to shew me their sunny backs, 
And twit me with the spring. 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


al 


68 


‘Oh, but to breathe the breath 

Of the cowslip’and primrose sweet— 
With the sky above my head, 

And the grass beneath my feet; 

For only one short hour 

To feel-as I used to feel, 
Before I knew the woes of want. 

And the waik that costs a meal! 


‘Oh, but for one short hour! 
A respite however brief! 

No blessed leisure for love or hope, 
But only time for grief! 

A little weeping would ease my heart, 
But in their briny bed 

My tears must stop, for every drop 
Hinders needle and thread.’ 


With fingers weary and worn, 
With eyelids heavy and red, 

A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 
Plying her needle and thread. 

2 Stitch—stitch—stich ! 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt; 

And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch— 

Would that its tone could reach the rich |— 
She sang this ‘Song of the Shirt !’ 


The following stanzas possess a sad yet sweet reality of tone and 


_ imagery: 


The Death-bed. 


We es her breathing through the 
_ night, 
Her breathing soft and low, 
As in her breast the wave of life 
Kept heaving to and fro. 


So silently we seemed to speak, 
So slowly moved about, 
As we had lent her half our 


powers 
To eke her living out. 


Our very hopes belied our fears, 
Our fears our hopes belied— 

We thought her dying when she slept, 
And sleeping when she died. 


For when the morn came dim and sad 
And chill with early showers, 

Her quiet eyelids closed—she had 
Another morn than ours. 


7 


-Hood’s works have been collected into four volumes : ‘ Poems of 
Wit and Humour ;’ ‘Hood’s Own, or Laughter from Year to Year ;’ 
and ‘ Whims and Oddities in Prose and Verse.’ 

A son of Mr. Hood’s (commonly termed Tom Hoop) was also a 
professional litterateur, author of several novels, books for children, 
and other works : he was also editor of a comic periodical, ‘ Fun, 
He died in 1874, aged 89. 


7x DAVID MACBETH MOIR. 


Under the signature of the Greek letter Delta, Davin Macseru 

- Morr (1798-1851) was a large poetical contributor to ‘Blackwood’s 
Magazine.’ His best pieces are grave and tender, but he also wrote 
some lively jeux d’ esprit, and a humorous Scottish tale, ‘The Auto- 
- biography of Mansie Wauch,’ which was published in one volume, 


re a 


a 
in , - 
irs 


54 ~ CYCLOPAEDIA OF 


~ 


in 1828. His other works are: ‘The Legend of Genevieve, with 
other Tales and Poems,’ 1824; ‘ Outlines of the Ancient History of- — 
Medicine,’ 1831; ‘Domestic Verses,’ 1848; and ‘Sketches of the — 

Poetical Literature of the Past Half-century,’ 1851. His Poetical — 
Works, edited by Thomas Aird—who prefixed to the collection an 
excellent memoir of the poet—were published in two volumes in 

1852. Mr. Moir practised as a surgeon in his native town of Mussel- — 
burgh, beloved by all who knew him. Of his poetry, Mr. Aird says: 

‘In Delta’s earlier strains there are generally fancy, and feeling, and 
musical rhythm, but not much thought. His love of poetry, how- _ 
ever, never suffered abatement, and as ‘‘a maker,” he was improy- 
ing to the very last. To unfaded freshness of heart he was adding 
riper thought: such was one of the prime blessings of his pure — 
nature and life. Reserve and patience were what he wanted, in — 
order to be 2 greater name in song than he.is.’ nt B- 


When Thou at Eve art Roaming. 


I. 


When thou at eve art roaming 
Along the elm-o’ershaded walk, y = 
Where fast the eddying stream is foaming, — 
And falling down—a cataract, E's. “> a 
’T was there with thee I wont to talk; 
Think thou upon the days gone by, 
And heave a sigh. > 


iH. 


When gails the moon above the mountains, 
And cloudless skies are purely blue, 

And sparkle in her light the fountains, 
And darker frowns the lonely yew, , 
Then be thou melancholy too, 

While pausing on the hours I proved 
_With thee beloved. 


III. ; 


When wakes the dawn upon thy dwelling, a 
And lingering shadows disappear, | Y 
As soft the woodland songs are swelling. 
A choral anthem on thine ear, 
Muse. for that hour to thought is dear, * 
And then its flight remembrance wings 
To brpast things. 


Iv. o 


To me, through every season dearest ; 
In every scene, by day, by night, 
Thou, present to.my mind appearest 
A quenchless star. for ever bright ; . 
My solitary sole delight; £ 
Where’er I am. by shore—at sea— 
I think of thee! 


REV. JOHN MOULTRIE, } 
Associated with Praed, Macaulay. Henry Nelson Coleridge, and 
others in the “£toxian’ and ‘ Knight’s Quarterly Magazine,’ was the - 


= 


“MOULTRIE. ] "ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


55 


Rev. JonHn Movuutrre (1799-1874), for some time rector of Rugby—an 
amiable 4nd accomplished man, and one of the most graceful and 
meditative of the minor poets. He published two volumes—‘ My 
Brother’s Grave, and other Poems,’ 1887; and ‘The Dream of Life, 
and other Poems,’ 1848: also a volume of ‘Sermons preached in the 
Parish Church of Rugby,’ 1852. A complete edition of Moultrie’s 
poems was published in 1876, with memoir by the Rev. Derwent Cole- 
ridge, one of the most attached and admiring of his college friends. 
The following is part of one of his earliest and best poems. 


My Brother's Grave. 


Beneath the chancel’s hallowed stone, 
Exposed to every rustic tread, 
‘To few save rustic mourners known, 
~My brother, is thy lowly bed. 
Few words upon the rough stone graven, 
Thy name, thy birth, thy youth declare ; 
Thy innocence, thy hopes of heaven, 
In simplest phrase recorded there : 
No ’scutcheons shine, no banners wave, 
In mockery o’er my brother’s grave. 


The place is silent—rarely sound 

Is heard those ancient walls around ; 

Nor mirthful voice of friends that meet, 

Discoursing in the public street ; 

Nor hum of business dull and loud, 

Nor murmur of the passing crowd, 

Nor soldier’s drum, nor trumpet’s swell 

From neighbouring fort or citadel— 

No sound of human toil or strife 

To death’s Jone dwelling speaks of life ; 

Nor breaks the_silence still and deep, 
Where thou, beneath thy burial stone, 
Art laid ‘in that unstartled sleep 
The living eye hath never known.’ 

The lonely sexton’s footstep falls 

In dismal echoes on the walls, 

As, slowly pacing through the aisle, 
He sweeps the unholy dust away. 

And cobwebs, which must not defile 
Those windows 9n the Sabbath day ; 

And, passing through the central nave, 

Treads lightly on my brother’s grave. 


But when the sweet-toned Sabbath chime, 
Pouring its music on the breeze, 
Proclaims the well-known holy time 
Of prayer, and thanks, and bended 
: nees ; 
When rustic crowds ae meet, 
And lips and hearts to God are given, 
And souls enjoy oblivion sweet 
Of earthly ills, in thought of heaven ; 
What voice of calm and soiemn tone 
Is heard above thy burial stone? 
What form, in priestly meek array 
Beside the altar kneels to pray? 
What holy hands are iifted up 


To bless the sacramental cup ? 
Full well I know that reverend form, 
And if a voice could reach the dead, 


Those tones would reach thee, though the 
worm, 
My brother, makes thy heart his bed; 
That sire, who thy existence gave, 
Now stands beside thy lonely grave. 


It is not long since thou wert wont 
Within these sacred walls to kneel ; 
This altar, that baptismal font, 
These abe which now thy dust con- 
ceal, 
The sweet tones of the Sabbath bell, 
Were holiest objects to thy soul; 
On these thy spirit loved to dwell, 
Untainted by. the world’s control. 
My brother, these were happy days, 
When thou and I were children yet ; 
How fondly memory still surveys 
‘Those scenes that heart can ne’er 
forget ! 


ue soul was then, as thine is now, 
Jnstained by sin, unstung by pain ; 
Peace smiled on each unclonded brow— 
Mine ne’er will be so calm again. 
How blitheiy then we hailed the ray 
Which ushered in the Sabbath day ! 
How lightly then our footsteps trod 
Yon pathway to the house of God! 
For souls, in which no dark offence 
Hath sullied childhood’s innocence, . 
Best meet the pure and hallowed shrine 
Which guiltier bosoms own divine. . .° 


And years have passed, and thou art now 
Forgotten in thy silent tomb; 
And cheerful is my mother’s brow ; 
My father’s eye has Jost its gloom; 
And rare have passed, and death ves 
aid —: 
Another victim by thy side; 
With thee he roams, an infant shade; 
But not more pure than thou he died. 
Blest are ye both! your ashes reat 


56 | “CYCLOPADIA OF fro 1876, 


Beside the spot ye Joved the best; But who can tell what blissful shore 

And: that dear home, which -saw your Your angel spirit wanders o’er? 
birth, ; . — And who can tell what raptures high 

O’erlooks you in your bed of earth. Now bless your immortality ? 


THE HON. MRS. NORTON. 


The family of Sheridan has been prolific of genius, and Mrs. — 


. Norton has well sustained the honours of her race. Richard 
Brinsley Sheridan, by his marriage with Miss Linley, had one son, 
Thomas, whose convivial wit and fancy were scarcely less bright or 


less esteemed than those of his father, and whose many amiable 


qualities greatly endeared him to his friends. He died at a com- 
paratively early age (in 1817), while filling the office of Colonial Pay- 
master at the Cape of Good Hope. In 1806, Thomas Sheridan was 
in Scotland, in the capacity of aide-de-camp to Lord Moira, and he 
- there married a daughter of Colonel and Lady Elizabeth Callender 
of Craigforth, by whom he had a numerous family.* Caroline 
Elizabeth Sarah was one of three sisters; she was born in 1808, and 
in her nineteenth year was married to the Hon. George Chapple 
Norton, son of the first Lord Grantley. This union was dissolved in 
1840, after Mrs. Norton had been the object of suspicion and perse- 
cution of» the most painful description: Mr. Norton was for thirty 
years recorder of Guildford; he died in 1875. From her childhood, 


Caroline Sheridan wrote verses. Her first publication was an at- — 


tempt at satire, ‘The Dandies’ Rout,’ to which she added illustrative 
drawings. In her seventeenth year she wrote ‘The Sorrows of 


Rosalie,’ a poem embodying a pathetic story of village-life, but which — 


‘was not published until 1829. 
Her next work was a poem founded on the ancient legend of the 
Wandering Jew, and which .she termed ‘ The Undying One,’ 1881. 


A novel, ‘ The Wife and Woman’s Reward,’ 18385, was Mrs. Norton’s © 


next production. In 1840 appeared ‘The Dream, and other Poems.’ 


In 1845, she published ‘The Child of the Islands,’ a poem written to — 


draw the attention of the Prince of Wales, when he should be able 
to attend to social questions, to the condition of the people ‘in aland 
and time wherein there is too little communication between Classes,’ 
and too little expression of sympathy on the part of the rich towards 


the poor. This was no new theme of the poetess: she had years be- — 


Yore written letters on the subject, which were published in the 


‘Times’ newspaper. At Christmas 1846, Mrs. Norton issued two — 


poetical fairy tales, ‘Aunt Carry’s- Ballads for Children,’ which 
charm alike by their graceful fancy and brief sketches of birds, 
woods, and flowers. In 1850 appeared a volume of ‘Tales and 
Sketches in Prose and Verse,’ being a collection of miscellaneous 
pieces originally contributed to periodicals. 


* Lady Elizabeth, the mother of Mrs, Norton, was a daughter of the Earl of Antrim, 


She wrote a novel, entitled Carwell. Those who trace the preponderance of talent to 
the mother’s side. may conclude that a tresh infusion of lrish genius was added to the 
Sheridan family by this connection, 


% ~ 


MRS. NonTON.)] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
Next year a bolder venture is tried, a three-volume novel, entitled 
‘Stuart of Dunleath, a Story of Modern Times.’ The incidents of 
this story are too uniformly sad and gloomy—partly tinged by the 
bitter experiences of the authoress ; but it presents occasional passages 
of humour and sarcasm, and a more matured though unfavourable 
knowledge of the world. It seemed as if the mind of the accomplished 
‘writer had been directed more closely to ‘the evils done under the 
sun,’ and that she longed passionately for power to redress them. In 
1854 she wrote ‘English Laws for Women in the Nincteenth Cen- 
“tury ; in 1862, The ‘ Lady of Garaye ; in 1863, a novel entitled ‘Lost 
and Saved.’ Her subsequent public appearances have been chiefly 
on topics of social importance ; and the recent improvement in the 
English marriage laws may be traced primarily to the eloquent plead- 
ings and untiring exertions of Mrs. Norton. ‘This lady,’ says a writer 
‘in the ‘ Quarterly Review,’ ‘is the Byron of our modern poetesses. She 
has very much of that intense personal passion by which Byron’s poetry 
is distinguished from the larger grasp and deeper communion with 
man and nature of Wordsworth. She has also Byron’s deautiful 
intervals of.tenderness, his strong pracfical thought, and his forceful 
expression. It is not an artificial imitation, but a natural parallel,’ 
Phe truth of this remark, both as to poetical and personal similarity 
of feeling, will be seen from the following impassioned verses, _ 
addressed by Mrs. Norton to- the late Duchess of Sutherland, to 
Whom she dedicated her Poems. The simile of the swan flinging 
aside the ‘turbid drops’ from her snowy wing is certainly worthy of 
Byron. But happily Mrs.. Norton has none of Byron’s misanthropy 
or cold hopelessness. 


; . Lo the Duchess of Sutherland. 


Once more, my harp! once more, although I thought 
Never to wake thy silent strings again. 
A wandering dream thy gentle chords have wrought, . 
And my sad heart, which long hath dwelt in pain, 

Soars, like a wild bird from a cypress bough, 
Into the poet’s heaven, and leaves dull grief below ! 


And unto thee—the beautiful and pure— 
Whose Jot is cast amid that busy world 
Where only sluggish Dullness dwells secure, 
> And Fancy’s generous wing is faintly furled ; 
To thee—whose friendship kept its equal truth 
e Through the most dreary hour of my embittered youth 


<* 


| = I dedicate the Jay. Ah! never bard, 
; In days when poverty was twin with song; 
Nor wandering harper, lonely and ill-starred, 
Cheered by some castle’s Chief. and harboured long; 
5 Not Scott’s Last Minstrel, in his trembling lays, 
: Woke with a warmer heart the earnest meed of praise! 


{ For easy are the alms the rich roan spares 
= To sons of Genius, by misfortune bent; 
But thou gav’st me, what women seldom dares, 


EL. w7-3 


. Sha!l pause, to conjure up a vision of its grace! 


CF 


CYCLOPEDIA OF ~—_ [ro 1876. 


Belief—in spite of many a cold dissent— 
When, slandered and maligned, I stood apart 
From those whose bounded power hath wrung, not crushed, . 
my heart. 


Thou, then. when cowards lied away my name, 4 
And scoffed to see me feebly stem the tide ; : 
When some were kind on whom I had no claim, 
And some forsook on whom my love relied, 
And some, who might have battled for my sake, 
Stood off in doubt to see what turn the world would take. 


Thou gav’st me that the poor do give the poor, 
Kind words and holy wishes, and true tears ; 
The loved, the near of kin could do no more, 
Who changed not with'the gloom of varying years, 
But clung the closer when I stoed forlorn, de 


And blunted Slander’s dart with their indignant scorn. 


For they who credit crime, are they who feel 
Their own hearts weak to unresisted sin 5 e 
Memory, not judgment, prompts the thoughts which steal 
O’er minds like these, an easy faith to win 3 y 
And tales of broken truth are still believed 
Most readily by thosg who have themselves deceived. 


But like a white swan down a troubled stream, 
Whose ruffling pinion hath the power to fling t 
Aside the turbid drops which darkly glean, “ 
And mar the freshness of her snowy wing— 
So thou, with queenly grace and gentle pride, 
Along the world’s dark wayes in purity dost glide: 


Thy pale and pearly cheek was never made . 
To crimson with a fdint false-hearted shame 5 @ 
Thou didst not shrink—of bitter tongues afraid 5 
Who hunt in packs the objects of their blame ; 
To thee the sad denial still held true, 
For from thine own good thoughts thy heart its mercy drew. 


And though my faint and tributary rhymes 
Add nothing to the glory of thy day, _ 
Yet every poet hopes that after-times 
Shall set some value on his votive lay ; 


’. And I would fain one gentle deed record, 


Among the mény such with which thy life is stored. 


So when these lines, made in a mournful hour, 
Are idly opened to the stranger’s eye, (a 
A dyeam of thee, aroused by Fancy’s power, 
Shall be the first to wander floating by ; 
And they who never saw thy lovely face 


im a poem entitled ‘ Autumn’ there is a noble simile: 


I know the gray stones in the rocky glen, 

Where the wild red deer gathegone by one, 
And listen, startled, to the tread of men 

Which the betraying breeze hath backward »'own! 

So—with such dark majestic eyes, where shone 
Less terror than amazement—nobly came 

Peruvia’s Incas, when, through lands unknown, 
The cruel conqueror with the blood-stained name 
Swept with pursuing sword and desolating fame. 


= Aa rae * 


“MRS. NoRTON.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 59 


In ‘The Winter’s Walk,’ a poem written after walking with Mr. 
Rogers the poet, Mrs. Norton has the following graceful and pictur- 
esque lines: 


Gleamed the red sun athwart the misty haze 
Which veiled the cold earth from its loving gaze, 
Feeble and sad as hope in sorrow’s hour— 

But for thy soul it still had warmth and power; 
Not to its cheerless beauty wert thou blind ; 

To the keen eye of thy poetic mind 

Beauty still lives, though nature’s flowerets die, 
And wintry sunsets fade along the sky! 

And nought escaped thee as we strolled along, 
Nor changeful ray, nor bird’s faint chirping song. 
Blessed with a fancy easily inspired, 

All was beheld, and nothing nnadmired ; 

From the dim city to the clouded plain, 

Not ove of all God’s blessings given in vain. 


The affectionate attachment of Rogers to Sheridan, in bis last and 
evil days, is delicately touched upon by the poetess: 


And when at length he laid his dying head 

; - On the hard rest of his neglected bed, 
: He found (thou,h few or none around him came 
Whom he had toiled for in his hour of fame— 
Though by his Prince unroyally forgot, 
And left to struggle with his altered lot), 
By sorrow weakened, by disease unnerved— 
Faithful at least the friend he had not served: 
For the same voice essayed that hour to cheer, 
Which now sounds welcome to his grandchild’s ear; 
And the same hand, to aid that life’s decline, 
Whose gentle clasp so late was linked in mire. 


Picture of Twilight. 


O Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth 

To dim enchantmeuts ; melting heaven with earth, 

Leaving on craggy hills and run ving streams 

A softness hike the atmosphere of creams; 

Thy hour to all is welcome! Faint and sweet 

Thy light falls round the peasant’ homeward feet, 

Who, slow returning from his task of toil, 

Sees the low sunset gild the cultured soil, 

And, though such radiance round him brightly glowa, 

Marks the small-spark his cottage-window throws 

Still as his heart forestalls his weary pace, 

Fondly he dreams of each familiar face, 

Recalls the treasures of his narrow life— « 
_ His rosy children and his sunburut wife, 

To whom his coming is the chief event 

Of simple days in cheerful labour spent. 


“he rich man’s chariot hath gone whirling paet, 
And these poor cottagers have only cast 

One careless glance on all that show of pride, 
Then to their tasks turned quietly aside ; 

But him they wait for. him they welcome homes 
Fixed sentinels look forth to sce him come} 
The fagot sent for when the fire grew dim, 

‘The frugal meal prepared. are all for him: 
For him the watching of that sturdy boy, 


W8O?- FS CYCLOPADIA OF 


’ For him those smiles of tenderness and joy, 
For himn—who plods his sauntering way along, 
Whistling the fragment of some village song! 

Dear art thou to the lover, thou sweet light, 
Fair fleeting sister of the mournful Night! < 
As in impatient hope he stands apart, ‘ 
Companioned only by his beating heart, 

And with an eager fancy oft beholds , E 
The vision of a white robe’s fluttering folds. 


Not Lost, but Gone Before. ~~ ee 
How mournful-seems, in broken dreams, And the orphan’s tears lament for years 

The memory of the day, ’ A friend and father gone. $ 
When icy Death hath sealed the breath - 

Of some dear form of Clay ; For death and life, in ceaseless strife, : 


; Beat-wild on this world’s shore, 
When pale, unmoved, the face we loved, And all our calm is in that balm, 


The face we thought so fair, ‘Not lost, but gone before.’ ~ 
And the hand Sies cold, whose fervent : ‘s 
hold O world wherein nor death, nor sin, 
. Once charmed away despair. Nor weary warfare dwells; — 
; , : Their blessed home we parted from 
Oh, what could heal the grief we feel With sobs and sad farewells 5 é 


For hopes that come no more, a> 
Had we ne’er heard the Scripture word, | Where eyes awake, for whose dear sake 


‘ Not lost, but gone before.’ Our own with tears grow dim, 
And faint accord of dying words mu 
Oh, sadly yet with vain regret Are changed for heaven s sweet hymn 5 
The widowed heart must yearn 5 % 
~ And mothers weep their babes asleep Oh! there at last, life’s trials past, } 
In the sunlight’s vain return ; We'll meet our loved Guce more, 7 
_ Whose feet have trod the path to God—_ 
The brother’s heart shall rue to part ‘Not last, but gone before.* 3 
From the one through childhood : 
known; “ : Pa 
THOMAS KIBBLE HERVEY—ALARIC A. WATTS. . 


¥ 
¥ 


Mr. Hervey, a native of Machester (1804-1859), for some years | 
conducted the ‘Atheneum’ literary journal, and contributed to varl- 
ous other periodicals. He published ‘ Australia, and other Poems, 
1824: «The Poetical Sketch-book,’ 1829; ‘Iltustratiens of Modern 
Sculpture,’ 1832; ‘The English Helicon,’ 1841; &c. His verses are 
characterised by delicate fancy and feeling. < 2 

The Convict Ship. . | 
Morn on the water! and, purple and bright, e ae 
Bursts on the billows the flushing of light ; 
O’er the glad waves, like a child of the sun, 
See the tall vessel goes gallantly on; _ 
Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail, | F 
And her pennon streams onward, like hope, in the gale; 
The winds come around her, in murmur and song, 
And the surges rejoice as they bear her along; 
See ! she looks up to the golden-edged clouds, 
An@ the sailor sings gaily aloft in the shrouds * 
Onward she glides, amid ripple and spray, ig 
Over-the waters—away. and away! 
Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part, . - 
Passing away, like a dream of the heart! ; 


~~ = 


coe 


Saenvex:] ” ENGLISH LITERATURE. = SBI 


Who—as the beautiful pageant sweeps by, 
~« Music around her, and sunshine on high— 
~ Pauses to think, amid glitter and glow, 
Oh ! there be hearts that are breaking below! 


Night on the waves !—and the moon is on high, 
Hung, like a gem, on the brow of the sky, 
Treading its deaths in the power of her might, 
x And turning the clouds, as they pass lier, to fight ! 
: Look to the waters !—asleep on their breast, 
Seems not the ship like an isiand of rest? 
Bright and alone on the shadowy main, i 
Like aheart-cherished home on some desolate plain! : 


ee Who—as she smiles in the silvery light, 

Spreading her wings on the bosom of night, 

Aione on the deep, as the moon in the sky, 
: A phantom of beauty—could deem, with a sigh, 
z.¢e 3 That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin, 
And that souls that are smitten jie bursting within! 
Who, as he watches her silently gliding. 
Remembers that wave after wave is dividing 
Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever, - 
Hearts which are parted.and broken for ever ! 
Or deems that he watches afloat on the wave, 
The death-bed of hope, or the young spirit’s grave! 


°Tis thus with our life, while it passes along, 

Like a vessel at sea, ainidst sunshine and song! 

Gaily we glide. in the gaze of the world, 

With streamers aficat, and with canvas unfurled, 

All gladness and glory, to wandering eyes, 

Yet chartered by sorrow and freighted with sighs: 

Fading and false is the aspect it wears, 

As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears} 

And the withering thoughts which the world cannot know, 
a Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below 3 

= Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore 

Where the dreams cf our chijidhood are vanished and o’e,, - 


_ The ‘ Poetical Sketches’ (1822) and ‘Lyrics of the Heart’ (1850) of 
“Mr. Auartc ALEXANDER Warts (1799-1864) are similar to the pro- - 
‘ductions of Mr. Hervey. Their author—a native of London—was 
connected with the periodical press, and was also among the first 
editors of those illustrated annual volumes once so numerous, in 
which poems and short prose sketches from popular or fashionable 
writers of the day were published. The ‘Literary Souvenir’ ran to 
ten volumes (1824-34), and the ‘Cabinet of Modern Art’ to three 
volumes (1835-38). Though generally very poor in point of literary 
merit, these illustrated annuals unquestionably fostered a taste for 
art among the people. In/1853, a pension of £300 was settled upon 
Mr. Watts. 
= GEORGE DARLEY—SIR AUBREY AND AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE. 
“@Pcritic has said that many ‘pensive fancies, thoughtful graces, 
and intellectual interests blossom beneath our busier life and our 
“more rank and forward literature.’ Some of these we have had the 
pleasure of pointing out, and among the graceful contributors of such 


62 ; CYCLOP-EDIA OF [To 1876. 


a 


poetry, we may include Mr. Darey, author of « Sylvia, or the May — 


‘Queen’ 1827; of ‘ Thomas a Becket,’ and ‘ Ethelstan,’ dramas; ‘Errors - 


ot Extasic, and other Poems.’ Mr. Darley—who was a native of Dub- ~ 
lin—died ata comparatively early age in 1846. He was in the lat- | 
ter part of his life one of the writers in the ‘ Athenzeum,’ and an _ac- 
complished critic. —Srm AUBREY DE VERE (died in 1846) was author of 
two dramatic poems, ‘Julian, the Apostate,’ 1822, and the ‘ The Duke 
of Mercia,’ 1823; also of ‘A Song of Faith, and other Poems,’ 1842. The ' 
last volume is dedicated to Wordsworth, who had perused and ‘re- — 
warded with praise’ some of the pieces.—Sir Aubrey’s third son, — 
AvuBrery THOMAS DE VERE (born in 1814), has published several pieces — 
both in verse and prose—‘ The Waldenses, with other Poems,’ 1842; © 
‘The Search after Proserpine,’ 1843; ‘Mary Tudor, a Drama,’ 1847; 
‘Sketches of Greece and Turkey,’ 1850; ‘ The Infant Bridal, and other — 
Poems,’ 1864, &e. 4 
ARCHBISHOP TRENCH. : J 


Though of late chiefly known as a theologian and prose author, — 
RIocHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH early attracted attention by some poems ~ 
evincing genuine feeling and graceftl expression. * The Story of © 
Justin Martyr, and other Poems,’ appeared in 1830: ‘Sabbation,’ — 
‘Honor Neale,’ &c. in 1888; ‘Elegiac Poems,’ 1850; ‘Poems from | 
Eastern Sources,’ 1851, &c. This accomplished divine is a native of 
Dublin, born in 1807. Having studied for the church, he was some = 
time engaged im different places as curate. In 1845, he became Rector - 
of Itchin-Stoke, near Alresford; Hulsean Lecturer at Cambridge in — 
1846; Professor and Examiner at King’s College, London, in 1847; 
Dean of Westminster in 1856; and in 1864 he succeeded Dr. Whately © 
as Archbishop of Dublin. 


- 
a 
13 


: Evening Hymn. : 

To the sound of evening bells What a still and holy time! 

All that lives to rest repairs, Yonder glowing sunset seems 
Birds unto their leafy dells, Like the pathway to a clime 

Beasts unto their forest lairs. Only seen till now in dreams. ~ 
All things wear a home-bound look, Pilgrim ! here compelled to roam, 

From the weary hind that plods Nor allowed that path to tread, 
Through the corn-fields, to the rook Now, when sweetest sense of home 

Sailing toward the glimmering woods. On all living hearts is shed, 
*Tis the time with power to bring Doth not yearning sad, sublime, 

Tearful memories of home At this season stir thy breast, 
To the sailor wandering That thou canst not at this time _ 

On the far-off barren foam. Seek thy home and happy rest ? ; . 

Some Murmur, when their Sky is Clear, * gy 

Some murmur. when their sky is clear If but one streak of light, _.. 

And wholly bright to view, One ray of God’s good mercy gild 
If_one small speck of dark appear The darkness of their nights . 

In their great heaven of blue. Tn palaces are hearts that ask, 


And some with thankful love are filled, In discontent and pride, 


a —~R AY 2s ee Se, Se 


rk ew Ste Lo a Fra ha ay i oe ‘ : 
TRENCH] ~~ ENGLISH LITERATURE, 63 
‘Why life is such & dreary task, How Love has in their aid 
And all good things denied. (Love that not ever seems to tire) 
And hearts im poorest huts admire Such rich provision made, 


THOMAS. AIRD—JAMES HEDDERWICK. 

A few poems of wild imaginative grandeur, with descriptive 
sketches of Scottish rural scenery and character, have been written 
by THomas Arrp, born at Bowden, county of Roxburgh, August 
28, 1802. Educated at the university of Edinburgh, Mr. Aird 
formed the acquaintance of Professor Wilson, Mr. Moir, and other 
contributors to ‘ Blackwood’s Magazine; and in this favourite peri- 
odical he published most of the poetical pieces collected into one 
volume, 1848, and reprinted in 1856. Two volumes of prose sketches 
have also proceeded from his pen—‘ Religious Characteristics,’ 1827, 
and ‘The Old Bachelor in the Old. Scottish Village,’ 1848. For 
nearly a quarter of a century, Mr. Aird conducted a Conservative 
weekly newspaper, ‘The Dumfries Herald.’ Resident in a beautiful 
country, with just employment enough to keep the mind from rust: 
ing, and with the regard of many friends, his life glided on in a 
simple and happy tranquillity as rare among poets as it is enviable. 
He died at Dumfries on the 25th of April 1876. 


From ‘ The Devil's Dream on Mount Aksbeck.’ 


Beyond the north where Ural hills from polar tempests run, 
A glow went forth at midnight hour as of wnwonted sun; 
Upon the north at midnight hour a mighty noise was heard, 
As if with all his trampling waves the Ocean were unbarred; 
And high a grizzly Terror hung, upstarting from below, 
Like fiery arrow shot aloft from some unmeasured bow. 


*T was not the obedient seraph’s form that burns before the Throne, 
Whose feathers are the pointed flames that tremble to be gone: 
With twists of faded glory mixed, grim shadows wove his wing ; 
An aspect like the hurrying storm proclaimed the Infernal King. 
And up he went, from native might, or holy sufferance given, 

As if to strike the starry boss of the high and vaulted heaven, 


Aloft he turned in middle air, like falcon for his prey, 
And bowed to all the winds of heaven as if to flee away ; 
. Till broke a cloud—a phantom host, like glimpses of a dream, 
Sowing the Syrian wilderness with many a restless gleam : 
He knew the flowing chivalry, the swart and turbaned train, 
That far oad pushed the Moslem faith, aud peopled well his reign: 


With stooping pinion that ontflew the Prophet’s winged steed, 

‘ In pride throughout the desert bounds he Jéd the phantom speed ; 
But prouder yet he turned alone, and stood on Tabor hill, 
With scorn as if the Arab swords had little helped his will: 
With scorn he looked to west away, and left their train to die, 
Like a thing that had awaked to life from the gleaming of his eye. 


2 What hill is like to Tabor hill in beanty and in fame ? 

There. in the sad days of his flesh, o’er Christ a glory came ; 
And light outflowed him like a sea, and raised his shining brow; 
And the voice went forth that hade all world’s to God’s Beloved bow. 
One thought of this came o’er the fiend. and raised his startled form, 
And up he drew his swelling skirts, as if to meet the storm 


= ~~ 


“CYCLOPADIA OF 


With wing that stripped the dews and birds from off the boughs of Night, Z; 


Down over T'abor’s trees he whirled his fierce distempered flight; 
And westward o’er the shadowy earth he tracked his earnest way, 
Till o’er him shone the utmost stars that hem the skirts of day; 
Then higher ’neath the sun he flew above all mortal ken, 

Yet looked what he might see on carth to raise his pride again. 


He saw a form of Africa low sitting in the dust; ~ 

The feet were chained, and sorrow thrilled throughout the sable bust. 
The idol and the idol’s priest he hailed upon the earth, 

Aud every slavery that brings wild passions to the birth. = 
All forms of human wickedness were pillars of his fame, 

All sounds of human misery his kingdom’s loud acclaim. 


Exulting o’er the rounded earth again he rode with night, 

Vill, sailing o’er the untrodden top of Absbeck high and white, 

He closed at once his weary wings, and tonched the shining hill; 
For less his flight was easy strength than proud unconquered will: 
For sin had dulied his native strength, and spoilt the holy law 

Of impulse whence the archangel forms their earnest being draw. _ 


7 


At last, from out the barren womb of many thousand years, 

A sound as of the green-leaved earth his thirsty spirit cheers; 
And oh! a presence soft and cool came o’er his burning dream, * 
A form of beauty clad about with fair creation’s beam: 

A low sweet voice was in his ear, thrilled through his inmost soul, 
And these the words that bowed his heart with softly sad control : 


‘No sister e’er hath been to thee with pearly eyes of love; 

No mother e’er hath wept for thee, an outcast from above; 

No hand had come from ont the cloud to wash thy scarred face; 
No voice to bid thee lie-in peace, the noblest of thy race : 

But bow thee to the God of love, and all shall yet be well, 

And yet in days of holy rest and gladness thou shalt dwell. 


‘ And thou shalt dwell ’midst leaves and rills far from this torrid heat, 
And I with streams of cooling milk will bathe thy blistered feet? 
And when the troubled tears shall start to think of all the past, 

My mouth shall haste to kiss them off. and chase thy sorrows fast : 


And thou shalt walk in soft white light with kings and priests abroad, = 


And thou shalt summer high in bliss upon the hilis of God.’ 
[The fiend sprung upward in haughty defiance.] 


His pride would have the works of God to’shew the signs of fear, . 
With flying angels to and fro to watch his dread career : ¥ 
But all was calm: he felt Night’s dews upon his sultry wing, 

And guashed at the impartial laws of Nature’s mighty King; 
Above control, or show of hate, they no exception made, : 
~But gave him dews, like aged thorn, or little grassy blade. 2 


Terrible like the mustering manes of the cold and curly sea, 
So grew his eye’s enridged gleams: and doubt and danger flee: +> 
Like veteran band’s grim valour slow, that moves to avenge its chief 
Up slowly-drew the fiend his ferm, that shook with proud relief: — < 
And he will upward go, and pluck the windows of high heaven, 
And stir their calm insulting peace, though teufold hell be given. 


Quick as the levin, whose blue forks lick up the life of man,” 
Aloft he sprung, and through his wings the piercing north wind ran 
Till, like a glimmering lamp that’s lit in lazar-house by night, : 


& 


*~ 


x 


a 


a 


{Here he was visited by a dream or series of visions. While plunged inthe lake ~ 
of Goud’s wrath, and fixed there, as it seemed, for thousands of 


1 years, in dull, passive — 
lethargy, a new heavenly vision burst upon the fiend.] = 


a SF a eet > Se 2 af; = 
eee . : 
HEDDERWICK.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. a 6s 


+ To see what mean the sick man’s cries, and set his bed aright, 
Which in the damp and sickly airthe sputtering shadows mar, 
So gathered darkness high the fiead, tili swallowed like a star. 


_ What judgment from the tempted heavens shall on his head go forth? 
Down headlong through the firmament he fell upon the north. . 
The stars are up untroubled all in the lotty fields of air: 
The will of God’s enough, without His red right arm made bare. 
T'was He that gave the fiend a space. to prove him still the same; 
Then bade wild Hed, with hideous lzugh, be stirred her prey to claim. 


Among the other volumes of verse about this time we may mention 
‘The Lays of Middle Age, and other Poems,’ 1859, by JAMES HEDDER- 
Wick, Glasgow. These ‘Lays’ are the fruit of a thoughtful poetic 
mind, loving nature, and ‘whatsoever things are pure and lovely, and 
of good report.’ : | 


Middle Age.- 


Fair time of calm resolve—of sober thought ! 
z Quiet half-way hostelry on Life’s long road, 
In which to rest and re-adjust our load! 
High table-land, to which we have been brought 
By stumbling steps of ill-directed toil! 
Season when not to achieve is to despair ! 
Last field for ns of a full fruitful soil! 
Only spring-tide our freighted aims to bear 
Ouward to ali our yearning dreams have sought! 


How art thou changed! Once to our youthful eyes 
Thin silvering Jocks and thought’s imprinted lines 

: j Of sloping age gave weird and wintry signs; 

But now, these trophies ours we recoguize 

Only a voice faint-rippling to its shore, 

And a weak tottering step, as marks of eld. 

None are so far but some are on before ; 

Thus still at distance is the goal beheld 

And to improve the way is truly wise: 


Farewell, ye blossomed hedges! and the deep 
. Thick green of summer on the matted bough! 
os n The languid*autumn mellows round us now: 
P : Yet Fancy may its vernal beauties keep, 
Like holly leaves for a December wreath. 

: To take this gift of life with trusting hands, 
aa. And star with heaventy hones the night of death, 
er : Is all that poor humanity demands 
To lull its meaner fears in easy sleep. 


LORD MACAULAY. 


__ In 1842 Toomas BAprineton Macaunay surprised and gratified the 
lovers of poetry and of classic story by the publication of his ‘ Lays 
of Ancient Rome.’ Adopting the theory of Niebuhr—now generally 
acquiesced in as correct—that the heroic and romantic incidents re- 
lated by Livy of the early history of Rome are founded merely on 
ancient ballads and legends, he selects four of those incidents as 
‘themes for his verse. Identifying himself with the plebeians and 
_tribunes, he makes them chant the martial stories of Horatius Cocles, 
-the battle of the Lake Regillus, the death of Virginia, and the pro- 


& 


~ + 
wa 
2s 


iv 


mee 


"(eee CYCLOPEDIA OF 


phecy of Capys. The style is homely, abrupt, and energetic, carry- - 
ing us along like the exciting narratives of Scott, and presenting brief 
but striking pictures of local scenery and manners. The incidents 
and characters so happily delineated were hallowed by their antiquity 
and heroism. - 
‘The whole life and meaning of the early heroes of Rome,’ says 
the enthusiastic Professor Wilson, ‘are represented in the few iso- 
lated events and.characters which have come down; and what 
a source of picturesque exaggeration to these events and characters 
there is in the total want of all connected history! They have 
thus acquired a ‘pregnancy of meaning which renders them the 
richest subjects of poetic contemplation; and fo evolve the sen- 
timent they embody in any form we choose is a proper exer- - 
cise of the fancy. tor the same reason, is not the history which 
is freest of the interpreting reflection that characterises most modern 
histories, and presents most strictly the naked incident, always that 
which affords the best, and, as literature shews, the most frequent 
subjects of imagination? The Roman character is highly poetical, 
bold, brave, and independent—devoid of art’ or subtlety—full of 
faith and hope—devoted to the cause of duty, as comprised in the 
two great points of reverence for the gods and love of country. 
Shakspeare saw its fitness for the drama; and these ‘* Lays of Ancient 
Rome” are, in their way and degree, a further illustration of the 
truth. Mr. Macaulay might have taken, and we trust will yet take, 
wider ground; but what he has done he has done nobly, and like ‘“an 
antique Roman.”’ Previous to this, during his collegiate career, the 
~ poet-historian had shewn his fitness todeal with picturesque incidents ~ 
and characters in history. His noble ballads, ‘The battle of Naseby;’ 
‘Ivry, a song of the Huguenots;’ and ‘The Armada, a Fragment,’ ~ 
are unsurpassed in spirit and grandeur except by the battle-pieces of — 
Scott. Os Sg a 
The ancestors of Lord Macaulay were long settled in the island of 
- Lewis, Ross-shire. His grandfather, the Rev. John Macaulay, was — 
successively minister of South Uist, of Lismore, of Inveraray, and of 
Cardross in Dumbartonshire. In Inveraray, he met with Johnson — 
and Boswell on their return from the Hebrides in the autumn of ~ 
1773. He died at Cardross in 1789. Two years previous to his death, 
a daughter of Mr. Macaulay was married to Thomas Babington, Esq., — 
of Rothley Temple, Leicestershire—many years the representative of — 
Leicester in Parliament—and thus an English connection was formed, — 
from which, at a subsequent period, Lord Macaulay derived the scene * 
of his birth, his Christian name, and many of his early associations. 
Zachary Macaulay (1768-1838), son of the Scottish minister, was sent — 
when a boy to the West Indies. He was disgusted with the state of — 
slavery in Jamaica, and afterwards, on his return to Great Britain, — 
resided-at Clapham, and became an active associate of Clarkson and — 
Wilberforce. He married Selina, daughter of Mr. Thomas Mills, a — 


a ee Oe ae ee ed 


hi 


e od ‘ F: f ‘A : 
en ee ee eee ee Le ee 


“ 


s 


MACAULAY.].. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 67 


bookseller in Bristol, and had, with other children, a son destined to 
take a high place among the statesmen, orators, essayists, and histo- 
rians of England, 

Thomas Babington Macaulay was born at Rothley Temple, the 

_ seat of his paternal uncle, on the 25th of October, 1800. At the age 
of twelve he was placed under the care of the Rev. Mr. Preston, 
first at Shelford, afterwards near Buntingford, in the neighborhood 
of Cambridge. As a schoolboy he was noted as being an insatiable 
reader; and he sent a defence of novel-reading to the serious journal 
of his father’s friends, the ‘Christian Observer.’ This passion for 
novel-reading adhered to him to the last.* In his nineteenth year he 
was entered of Trinity College, Cambridge; he gained two prizes for 

_ English verse, one in 1819 on ‘Pompeii,’ and one two years after- 
wards on ‘Evening.’ He gained the,Craven scholarship in 1821, took 
his degree of B. A. in 1822, became Fellow of his college in 1824, and 
took his degree of M. A. in 1825. He had distinguished himself by 
‘contributions to ‘Knight’s Quarterly Magazine’ in 1823 and 1824; 
and in August, 1825 appeared his celebrated article on Milton in the. 

‘Edinburgh Review.’ This essay, though afterwards condemned by 
its author as ‘containing scarcely a paragraph such as his matured’ 
judgment approved,’ and as ‘overloaded with gaudy and ungraceful 
ornament,’ arrested public attention in no ordinary degree, and was 

’ bailed as the precursor (which it proved to be) of a series of brilliant 

~ contributions to our critical literature. Having studied at Lincoln’s 
Inn, Mr. Macaulay was called to the bar in 1826, and joined the 
Northern Circuit. In 1827, Lord Lyndhurst—generously discarding 
political feeling, as he did also in the case of Sydney Smith—ap- 
pointed Macaulay Commissioner of Bankruptcy. 

Three years afterwards, a distinguished Whig nobleman, the Mar- 
quis of Lansdowne, procured his return to parliament for the borough 
of Calne, and he rendered effective service in the Reform debates of 

_ 1831 and 1832. The speeches of Macaulay were carefully studied 
and nearly all committed to memory, but-were delivered with anima- 
tion and freedom, though with too great rapidity and in too uniform 

_ a tone and manner to do full justice to their argument and_ richness 

of illustration. In 1832 he was appointed Secretary to the Board of 

_ Control, and the same year the citizens of Leeds returned him as 

_ their representative to the House of Commons. In 1834 he proceeded 

_ to India as legal adviser to the Supreme Council of Calcutta, and was 
placed at the head of a Commission for the reform of East India 
legislation. He took an active part in the preparation of the Indian 

- criminal code, enriching it with explanatory notes, which are described 
as highly valuable. He returned to England in 1838, and in the fol- 
lowing year was triumphantly and almost without expense returned 
to parliament for the city of Edinburgh, which he continued to re- 


—-—- — 


e+ Dean Milman’s Memoir of Lord Macaulay, written for the Annual Journal of the 
_ Royal Society. 
2 é 


¥ 


68. CYCLOPADIA OF 


present until 1847, In the Melbourne administration he held the 
office of Secretary at War, and in that of Lord John Russell, Pay- 


master cf the Iorces, with a seat in the cabinet. During this time — 


he had written most of his essays, and published his ‘Lays of An- 
cient Rome.’ ier Shige 5 

As member for Edinburgh, his independence of character is said to 
have rendered him somewhat unaccommodating to certain of his 
constituents; his support of the Maynooth grant was resented by 
others; and his general political principles, so decidedly liberal, 
and so strongly and eloquently expressed, were opposed to the 
sentiments of the Conservative citizens of Edinburgh. Thus a com- 
bination of parties was formed against him, and it proved successful. 
He was rejected by the constituency at the general election in 1847. 
This defeat forms the subject of a striking copy of verses by Ma- 
caulay, but which were not published until after his death: part of 
these we subjoin. The electors of Edinburgh redeemed, or at least 


palliated, their error by returning Macaulay again to Parliament, free 
5 (s) 


‘of expense, and without any movement on his part~ This was in 
1852. He had previously published the first two volumes of his 
‘History of England, which appeared in 1849, and were read with 
extraordinary avidity and admiration. Other two volumes were 
published in 1855, and a portion of a fifth volume after the death of 
the author. In 1849 he was elected Lord Rector of the university 
of Glasgow, and presented with the freedom of the city. While en- 
gaged on his History, Macaulay turned aside to confer a graceful 
and snbstantial favour on Mr. Adam Black, publisher, Edinburgh. 


Mr. Black had solicited literary assistance from his distinguished — 


friend for a new edition (the eighth) of his ‘ Encyclopedia Britan- 
nica.’ ‘The request was complied with; ‘and,’ says Mr. Black, ‘it is 
but justice to hismemory that I should-record, as one of the many in- 
stances of the kindness and generosity of his heart, that he made it a 
stipulation of his contributing to the Encyclopedia that remuneration 
should not beso much as nientioned.’ On this generous footing, Ma- 
caulay contributed five carefully: finished biographies—Atterbury, 
Bunyan, Goldsmith, Johnson, and Pitt—the last appearing in 1859. 
From failing health he withdrew from parliament in January 1856. In 
1857 various honours were showered on the popular author; he was 
elected a foreign member of the French Academy, a member of the 
Prussian Order of Merit, High Steward of Cambridge, and a peer of 
Great Britain under the title of Baron Macaulay of Rothley. His 
health, however, was gone; he laboured under derangement of the 
action of the heart, and felt, says Dean Milman, ‘inward monitions: 
his ambition (as the historian of England) receded from the hope of 
reaching the close of the first Brunswicks; before his last illness he 


had reduced his plan to the reign of Queen Anne. His end, though — 


not without warning to those who watched him with friendship and. — 
affection, was sudden and singularly quiet; on December 28, 1859, 


ee Me 
v aA a4 a 
+. Yel pak ee 


[ro ’1876, 


ara. Tae 


oe Rumor ean, og Nese th 


~ 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 69. 


~ MACAULAY.) 


. 


f 


_he fell asleep and woke not again. He was buried in Westminster. 
_ Abbey, in Poets’ Corner, his favourite haunt.’ ; 

_ Lord Macaulay’s memory and conversational powers were the won- 
_ der and envy of ail his contemporaries. He was‘ constantly heaping 
“up stores of knowledge, as his reverend biographer remarks, and. 
_ those stores ‘could not overload his capacious and retentive memory, 
~ which disdained nothing as beneath it, and was never perplexed or 
- burdened. by its incalculable possessions.’ He has'been accused of 

talking too much, and Sydney Smith alluded to the ‘ eloquent flashes 

of silence’ with which it was sometimes, though rarely, relieved; but 
_ this was a jocular exaggeration, and in general society Macaulay sel- 
dom demanded a larger share than all were willing to yield to him. 

Lines Written in August 1847. 


The day of tumult, strife, defeat, was o’er ; 
Worn out with toil, and noise, and scorn, and spleen, 

I slumbered, and in slumber saw once more ° 
bars A room in an old mansicn, long unseen. 


That room, methought, was curtained from the light ; 
- Yet through the curtains shone the moon’s cold ray 
Full on a cradle. where, in linen white. ~ 

Sleeping life’s first soft sleep, an infant lay. 


Pale flickered on the hearth the dying flame, 
And all was silent in that ancient. hall, 

Save when by fits on the low night-wind came 
‘The murmur of the distant waterfall. 


And lo! the fairy queens who rule our birth 

Drew nigh to speak the new-horn baby’s doom : 
With noiseless step. which left no trace on earth, 
3 From gloom they came, and vanished into gloom. 


Not deigning on the boy a glance to cast, 
Swept careless by the gorgeous Queen of Gain 5 
More scornful still, the Queen of Fashion passed, _ 
With mincing gait, and sneer of cold disdain. 


The Queen of Power tossed high her jewelled head, 
- And o’er her shoulder threw a wrathful frown ; 
: : - The Queen of Pleasure on the pillow shed . 
v. Scarce one stray rose-leaf from her fragrant crown. 


Still fay in long procession followed _-fay ; 
< . And still the little couch remained unblest: 
= But, when those wayward sprites had passed away, 
Came One, the last, the mightiest, and the best. 


-O glorious lady, with the eyes of light, 
And laurels clustering round thy lofty brow, 

Who by the cradle’s side didst watch that night, 
Warbling a sweet, strange music, who wast thou? 


‘Yes, darling; let them go;’ so ran the strain: 

‘Yes; let them go, Gain. Fashion, Pleasure, Power, 
And all the busy elves to whose domain 

Belongs the nether sphere, the fleeting hour. 


* Without one envious sigh, one anxious scheme, - - 
The nether sphere, the fleeting hour regign 5. 


CYCLOPADIA OF 


Mine is the world of thought, the world of dream, 
Mine all the past, and all the future mine, 


‘Fortune, that lays in sport the mighty low, 
Age, that to penance turns the joys of youth, 
Shall leave untouched the gifts which I bestow, 
The sense of beauty, and the thirst of truth.... 


‘ Ard even’so. my child, it is my pleasure : 
That thou not then alone should’st feel me nigh, 
When in domestic bliss and studious leisure, 
Thy weeks uncounted come, uncounted fly; 


‘Not then alone, when myriads, closely pressed 
Around thy car, the shout of triumph raise ; 

Nor when, in gilded drawing-rooms, thy breast 
Swells at the sweeter sound of woman’s praise, 


*No: when on restless night dawns cheerless morrow, 
When weary soul and wasting body pine, 

Thine am i still. in danger, sickness, sorrow; 
In conflict, obloquy, want, exile, thine. 


‘Thine, where on mountain waves the snowbirds scream, 
Where more than Thule’s winter barbs the breeze, 

Where scarce, through lowering clouds, one sickly gleam 
Lights the drear May-day of antarctic seas. 


‘Thine, when around thy litter’s track all day 
White sand-hilis shall reflect the blinding glare 
Thine, when through forests breathing death, thy way 
All night shall wind, by many a tiger’s lair. 


‘Thine most, when friends turn pale. when traitors fly, 
When, hard beset, thy spirit, justly proud 

For truth, peace, freedom, mercy. dares defy 
A sullen priesthood and a raving crowd. 


‘Amidst the din of all things fell and vile, . 
Hate’s yell, and Envy’s hiss; und Folly’s bray, 
Remember me, and with an enforced smile 
See riches, baubles, flatterers, pass away. 


‘Yes, they will pass; nor deem it strange: 
They come and go as comes and goes the sea: 
And let them come and go; thou. through all change, 
Fix thy firm gaze on virtue and on me,’ 


Epitaph on a Jacobite (1845). 


To my true king I offered. free from stain, 
Courage and faith; vain faith and courage vain. 
For him I threw lands, honours, wealth. away, 
And one dear hope that was more prized than they. 
For him I languished iu a roreign clime, 

Gray haired with sorrow in my manhood’s prime; 
Heard on Lavernia Scargill’s whispering trees, 
And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees; 

Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep, 

Each morning started from the dream to weep; 
Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave 

The resting-place I asked, an early grave. 

O thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone, 
From that proud country which was once mine own, 
By those white cliffs I never more must see, ° 


x 


ro doe eee 


ab 


‘ 
a aol 


= 
* 


ere r eo S Oe, paRee shy 
ah! AS mis gic iitior =, ~ 


;- 


» 
- "MACAULAY. ] 


ENGLISH LITERATURE, 71 


_By that dear nen abe which I spake like thee, 
Forget all feuds, und shed one English tear 
O’er English dust—a broken heart lies here. 
Ketracts from ‘ Horatius.’ 

The following are extracts from the first of the ‘ Lays of Ancient Rome,’ founded 
on the legend of Horatius Cocles. ‘‘he Lays or ballads must, however, be read con- 
tinuously to be properiy appreciated, for their merit does not live in particular pas- 
ages, but in the rapid movement and progressive interest of the story, and the Roman 
spirit and bravery which animate the whole. 

[Horatius offers to defend the Bridge.]} 


‘Then out spake brave Horatius, 
The captain of the gate: 

‘To every man upon this earth 
Death cometh soon or late. 

And how can man die better 
Than facing fearful odds, 

For the ashes of his fathers, 
And the temples of his gods, 


« And for the tender mother 
Who dandled him to rest, 

And for the wife who nurses 
His baby at her breast, 

And for the holy maidens 
Who feed the eternal flame, 

’ To save them from false Sextus 

That wrought the deed of shame! 


‘Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 
With all the speed ye-may ; 
I, with two more to help me, 
Will hold the foe in play. 
In yon strait path a thousand 
May well be stopped by three, 
Now, who will stand on either hand 
~ And keep the bridge with me?’ 


Then out spake Spurius Lartius: 
A Ramnian proud was he: ” 
‘Lo, I will stand at thy right hand 
And keep the bridge with thee.’ ’ 
And out spake strong Herminius: 
Of Titian blood washes 
_ £T will abide on thy left side, 
And keep the bridge with thee,’ 


‘ Horatius,’ quoth the Consul, 
‘ As thou say’st, so let it be.’ 

And straight against that great array 
Forth went the dauntless three. 

For Romans in Rome’s quarrel 
Spared neither land nor gold, 

Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 
In the brave days of old. 


Then none was for a party ; 
Then all were for the state; 
Then the great man helped the poor, 
And the poor man loved the great; 
Then land was fairly portioned ; 


Then spoils were fairly sold: 
The Romans were like brothers 
In the brave days of old. 


Now Roman is to Roman 
More hateful than a foe, 
And the tribunes beard the high, 
And the fathers grind the low. 
As we wax bot in faction, 
In battle we wax cold; 
Wherefore men fight not as they fought 
In the brave days of old. 


[The bridge is hewn down; Lartius 
and Herminius escape, and Horatius is 
left alone.] 


Alone stood brave Horatius, 
But constant still in mind ; 
Thrice thirty thousand foes before, 
And the broad flood behind. 
‘Down with him!’ cried false Sextus, 
With a smile on his pale face, 
‘Now yield thee,’ cried Lars Porsena, 
‘ Now yield thee to our grace.’ 


Round turned he, as not deigning 
Those craven ranks to see3 
Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, 
To Sextus nought spake he; 
But he saw on Palatinus 
The white porch of his home; 
And he spake to the noble river 
That rolls by the towers of Rome 


‘O Tiber, Father Tiber! 
To whom the Romans pray, 


- A Roman’s life, a Roman’s arms, 


Take thou in charge this day!’ 
So he spake, and sneaking sheathed 
The good sword by his side. 
And, With his harness on his back, 
Plunged headlong in the tide. 


No sound of joy or sorrow 
Was heard from either bank ; 
But friends and foes in dumb surprise, 
With parted lips and straining eyes, 
Stood gazing where he sank; 
And when above the surges 


~ 


g) 


72 4 CYCLOPATDIA OF 4 (TO 7876. 
They saw his crest appear, For boys with hearts as bold 
All Rome seut forth a rapiurous cry, As his who kept the bridge so well 
And even the ranks of ‘Tuscany In the brave days cf old. . 
Could scarce forbear to cheer, = 
And in the nights of winter, > 
[How Horatius was rewarded.]} When the cold north winds blow, 
And the Jong howling of the wolves 
They gave him of the corn-land, Is heard am.dst the snow; 
_ ‘That was of public right, When round the lonely cottage ~ 
Asmuch as two stroug oxen ; Roars loud the tempest’s din, 
Could plough from morn till night: And the good logs of Algidus 
And they made a molten image, Roar louder yet within ; ef 
And set. it up on high, 
And there it stands unto this day When the cldest cask is opened, 
To witness if I lie. And the largest lamp is lit, n 
: When ‘ne chestnuts glow in the embers, 
It stands in the Comitium, And the kid turns on the spit; ~ 
Plain for all folk to see; When young and old in circle > ee 
Horatius in his harness, Around the firebrands close; — _ 
Halting upon one knee: When the girls are weaving baskets ~ = . 
And underneath is written, And the lads are shaping ows; . 
In letters all of gold, ha a 
How vali:ntly he kept the bridge When the goodman mends his armour, f 
- In the brave days of old. And trims his helmet’s plume; > 
When the goodwife’s shuttle merrily - - 
And still his name sounds stirring : Goes flashing through the loom 3 Sal 
~ Unto the men of Rome, With weeping and with laughter 
As the trumpet-blast that cries to them Still is the story told, 
To charge the Volscian home: How well Horatius kept the bridge ) 
And wives still pray to Juno In the brave days of old. Biss. ie 
Ivry. “ag 


Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! 
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre! > 
Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, +4) a 
Through thy corn-fields-greep. and sunny vines, O pleasantland of France! — 
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, _ a. 
Again let rapture light the eyes of-all thy mourning daughters, z 
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, a a 
For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls anuoy. 
Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war; 
Hurrah ! hurrat! for Ivry, and Henry of Navarre. 


Oh! how our hearts were beating, when. atthe dawn of day, 
We saw the army of the I_eague drawn out in long array ; 

With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, : 

And Appenzcel’s stout infantry. and Egmont’s Flemish spears. — ae 
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ! eS vie” 
And dark Mayenne was in the midst. a truncheon in his hand! 2 
And as we looked on them, we thought. of Seine’s empurpled flood, | 
And good Coligni’s hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; ea 
Aud we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, 
To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. 


The king is come to inarshal us, in all his armour drest; 
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. 


He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; a 
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. - ° ae 
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing towing, ae, 
Down all our line, a deafening shout. ‘ God save our lord the King.? a 
And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may— = ae ; 

“= 


an = 


‘avTounj <> ENGLISH LITERATURE. > 3 


ne RD a For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray— 
Si ae Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, 
a And be your,oriflamine to-day the helmet of Navarre.’ 


Harrah! the foes are moying! Hark to the mingled din 
\ 2 > Ss ./'9 
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin, 
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre’s plain, 
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. 
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 
Charge for the golden lilies—upon them with thelauce! 
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, 
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ; 
2 And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, 

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. 


Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein. 
D’Aumale hath cried for quarter. he Flemish Count is slain. 
Their rauks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale ; 
The field.is heaped with bleeding steeds. and flags, and cloven mail. 
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, 
“Remember St. Bartholomew,’ was passed from man to man; 
But out spake gentle Henry: ‘No Frenchman is my foe: 

Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go.’ 

“4 Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, 
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ! 
Right well fougit all the Frenchmen who fought for France to-day ; 


‘ And many a lordiy banner God gave them for a prey. 
But we of the religion have borne us best in fight; 
And the good Jord of Rosny hath ta’en.the cornet white; 
Our own true Maximi.ian the cornet white hath ta’en, 
The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false Lorraine. 
5S Up with it high; unfurl it wide; that allthe host may know - 
‘ How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought his church such 
woe. 
Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their Joudest points of war, 
-. Fling the red shreds, a foot-cloth meet for Henry of Navarre. 


_ Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne! 
Weep, weep, aud rend your hair for those who never shall return. 

_ Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, 

: ~That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen’s souls! 
S Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright ; 

. “Ho! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night, 

For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, 
a And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the brave. 
ae _Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are; 

And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre. 


E: - o.W. BE. AYTOUN—THEODORE MARTIN. 


_ ‘The same style of ballad poetry, applied to incidents and characters 
- in Scottish history, was adopted with distinguished success by PRo- 
FESSOR WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AyTOUN, author of ‘Lays of the 
~ Scottish Cavaliers,’ 1849, and ‘ Bothwell,’ a tale of the days of Mary, 
~ Queen of Scots,’ 1856. The ‘ Lays’ range from the field of Flodden 
_ to the extinction of the Jacobite cause at Culloden, and are animated 
- bya fine martial spirit, intermingled with scenes of pathos and mourn- 
- ful regret. The work has gone through a great number of editions. 
- Ina similar spirit of nationality, Mr. Aytoun published a collected 
and collated edition of the old ‘ Scottish Ballads,’ two volumes, 1858. 


SSL CVCEQPADIAOR 


74 


In satirical and humorous composition, both in poetry and prose, Mr. 
Aytoun also attained celebrity. His tales and sketches in ‘ Black- 


wood’s Magazine’ are marked by a vigorous hand, prone to-carica- — 


ture; and he is author of a clever satire—‘ Firmilian, a Spasmodic 
‘Tragedy, by Percy T. Jones,’ 1854. 
Mr. THEODORE Martin, Mr. Aytoun wrote ‘The Book of Ballads, - 
by Bon Gaultier’—a series of burlesque poems and parodies contri- 
buted to different periodicals, and-collected into one volume; and to 
the same poetical partnership we owe a happy translation of- the 
ballads of Goethe. 

Mr. Aytoun was a native of Edinburgh, born in 1813. Having” 
studied at the university of Edinburgh, and afterwards in Germany, 
he was admitted to the Scottish bar in 1840. In 1845 he was ap- 
pointed to the chair of Rhetoric and Belles-lettres in Edinburgh Uni- 
versity, and in 1852 he was made sheriff of Orkney. His poetical 
talents were first displayed in a prize poem, ‘ Judith,’ which was 
eulogized by Professor Wilson, afterwards the father-in-law of the 
young poet. He died at Blackhills, near Elgin, August 4, 1865.— 
Mr. Martin is a native of Edinburgh, born in 1816. He is now a par- 
liamentary solicitor in London. Besides his poetical labours with 
Mr. Aytoun, Mr. Martin has translated Horace, Catullus, and Goethe’s 


~ 


In conjunction with his friend, ~ 


> 


‘Faust; also the ‘ Vita Nuova’ of Dante; the ‘Corregio’ and ‘ Alad- 


din’ of the Danish poet Cfhienschlager, and ‘ King Rene’s Daugh- — 


ter,’ a Danish lyrical drama by Henrik Herts. 


Mr. Martin was se- — 


lected by Her Majesty to write the ‘ Life of the Prince Consort,’ the ~ 
first volume of which appeared in 1874, and was highly creditable to 


the taste and judgment of the author. 


ried to Miss Helen Faucit, an accomplished and popular actress. 
The Burial-march of Dundee.—From the ‘Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers? — 


I 
Sound the fife, and cry the slogan— 
Let the pibroch shake the air 
With its wild triumphant music, 
Worthy of the freight we bear. 
Let the ancient hills of Scotland 
Hear once more the battle-song 
Swell within their glens and valleys 
___As the clansmen march along! 
Never from the field of combat, 
Never from the deadly fray, 
Was a nobler trophy carried 
Than we bring with us to-day ; 
Never since the valiant Douglass 
_ On his dauntless bosom bore 
Good yan g Robert’s heart—the -price- 
ess— 
To our dear Redeemer’s shore ! 
Lo! we bring with us the hero— 
Lo! we bring the conquering Greme, 
Crowned as best beseems a victor 
From the altar of his fame ; 
Fresh and bleeding from the battle 


Whenee his spirif took its flight, 


In 1851 Mr Martin was mar- | 


*Midst the crashing charge of squadrona, 4 


And the thunder of the fight ! 
Strike, I say, the notes of triumph, 
As we march o’er moor and lea ! 
Is there any here will venture 
To bewail our dead Dundee? 
Let the widows of the traitors . 
Weep until their eves are dim 1 
Wail ye may full well for Scotland— 
Let none dare to mourn for him! 
See! above his glorious body 
Lies the royal banner’s fold— 
See! his valiant blood is mingled 
With its crimson and its gold. 
See how calm he looks and stately, 
Like a warrior on his shield, 
Waiting till the flush of morning Js 
Breaks along the battle field! ~ 
See—Oh never more, my comrades, 
Shall we see that falcon eye 
Redden with its inward lightning, 
As the hour of fight drew nigh ! 


: MARTIN. | 


Never shall we hear the voice that, 

_ Olearer than the trumpet’s call, 

Bade us strike for king and country, 
Bade us win the field, or fall! 


4 Hi; 
On the beights of Killiecrankie 
Yester-morn our army lay: 
Slowly rose the mist in columns 
From the river’s broken way; 
Hoarsely roared the swollen torrent, 
And the Pass was wrapped in gloom, 
~ When the clansmen rose together 
From their lair amidst the broom. 
~ Then we belted on our tartans, 
And our bonnets down we drew, 
As we felt our broadswords’ edges, 
And we proved them to be true; 
_ And we prayed the prayer of soldiers, 
And we cried the gathering-cry, 
_ And we clasped the hands of kinsmen, 
And we swore to do or die! 
Then our leader rode before us, 
On his war-horse black as. night— 
Well the Cameronian rebels 
Knew that charger in the fight !— 
And a ery of exultation 
From the bearded warriors rose ; 
For we loved the house of Claver’se, 
And we thought of good Montrose. 
But he raised his hand for silence— 
‘Soldiers! I have sworn a vow ; 
Ere the evening-star shall glisten 
-On Schehallion’s lofty brow, 
Hither we shall rest in trlamph 
Or another of the Greemes 
Shall have died in battle-harness 
Tor his country and King James! 
Think upon the royal martyr— 
Think of what his race endure— 
Think on him whom butchers murdered 
On the field of Magus Muir: 
By his sacred blood I charge ye, 
By the ruined hearth and shrine— 
By the blighted hopes of Scotland, 
By your injuries and mine— 
Strike this day as if the anvil 
Lay beneath your blows the while, 
- Be they Covenanting traitors, 
_ Or the brood of false Argyle 5 
Strike! and drive the trembling rebels 
Backwards o’er the stormy Forth ; 
Let them tell their pale Convention 
-~ How they fared within the North, 
- Let them tell that Highland honour 
___Ts not to be bought nor sold, 
- That we scorn their prince’s anger 
. _ As we loathe his foreign gold 
Strike! and when the fight is over, 
Tf you look in vain for me, 
. Where the (ead are lying thickest 
Search for him that was Dundee!’ 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. ee 2 


et Tr 
Loudly then the hills re-echoed 
With our answer to his call, 
But a deeper echo sounded 
In the bosoms of us all. 
For the lands of wide Breadalbane, 
Not a maz who heard him speak 
Would that day have left the battle. 
Burning eye and flushing cheek 
Told the clansmen’s fierce emotion, 
And they harder drew their breath; 
For their souls were strong within them, 
Stronger than the grasp of Death. 
Soon we heard a challenge-trumpet 
Sounding in the Pass below, 
And the distant tramp of horses, 
And the voices of the foe: 
Down we crouched amid the bracken, 
Till the Lowland ranks drew near, 
Panting like the hounds in summer, 
When they scent the stately deer.’ 
From the dark defile emerging, 
Next we saw the squadrons come, 
Leslie’s foot and Leven’s troopers 
Marching to the tuck of drum; 
Through the scattcred wood of birches 
O’er the broken ground and heath, 
Wound the long battalion slowly, 
Till they gained the field beneath 3. 
Then we bounded from our covert. ° 
Judge how looked the Saxons then, 
When they saw the rngged mountain 
Start to life with armed men! ~ 
Like a tempest down the ridges 
Swept the hurricane of steel, 


~ Rose the slogan of Macdcnald— 


Flashed the broadsword of Lochiel! 


_Vainly sped the withering volley 


Amongst the foremost of our band— 
On we poured until we met them 
Foot to foot, and hand to hand. 
Horse and man went down like drift-wood 
When the floods are black at Yule, 
And their carcases are whirling 
In the Garry’s deepest pool, 
Horse and man went down before us— 
Living foe there tarried none 
On the field of Killiecrankie, 
Whep that strbborn fight was done ! 


IV. 
And the evening-star was shining’ 
On. Schehallion’s distant head, 
When we wiped our bloody broadswords, 
And returned to count the dead. 
There we found him gashed and gory, 
Stretched upon the cumbered plain, 
As he told us where to seek him, 
In the thickest of the slain. 
And a smile was on his visage, 
For within his dying ear 
Pealed the joyful note of triumph, 


76 : 2 CYCLOP/EDIA OF 
And the clansmen’s clamorous cheer: Than outlive the land’s disgrace ! 

So, amidst the batrle’s tnunder, O thou lion-hearted warrior! r ie 
Shot, and steel. and scorching flame, Reck not of the after-time : : 

In the glory of his manhood Honour may: be deemed dishonour, —- 
Passed the spirit of the Greme! Loyalty be called a crime. ; 


a at 


Sleep in peace with kindred ashes 


v. Of the noble and the true, - 
Open wide the vaults of Athol, - Hands that never failed their country, : 
Where the bones of heroes rest— Hearts that aever baseness knew. * 
Open wide the hallowed portals Sleep !—and till the latest trumpet 
To receive another guest ! Wakes the dead from earth and sea, < 
Last of Scots, and last of freemen— Scotland shall not boast a braver : 
Last of all that dauntless race Chieftain than our own Dundee! 
Who would rather die unsullied, aad 2 
Sonnet to Britain, by the D: of W- From ‘ Bon Gaultier.’ ' 
Halt! Shoulder arms! Recover! As vou were! ’ 5 


Right wheel! Eyes left ! Attention! Stand at ease! - 
O Britain! O my country! words like these : 

Have made thy name a terror and a fear . “tee 
To all the nations. Witness Ebro’s banks, 5 ee 
Assaye, Toulouse, Nivelle, and Waterloo, “as 
Where the grim despot muttered Sawve quipeut! : 
And Ney fled darkling—silence in the ranks}; <i 
Inspired by these, amidst the iron crash 

Of armies, in the centre of his troop 

The soldier stands—unmovable. not rash— 

Until the forces of the foeman droop; 2 7 
Then knocks the Frenchman to eternal smash, as 
Pounding them into mummy.. Shoulder, hoop! . 


FRANCES BROWN. 


This lady, blind from infancy, is a more remarkable instance of 
the poetical faculty existing apart, as it were, from the outer world — 
than that of Dr. Blacklock. FRANcEs Brown, daughter of the post- — 
master of Stanorlar, a village in the county Donegal, Ireland, was 
born in 1816. When only eighteen months old, she lost her eyesight 
from small-pox. She learned something from hearing her brothers ~ 
and sisters reading over their tasks; her friends and relatives read to — 
her such books as the remote village afforded, and at length she be- ~ 
came acquainted with Scott's novels, Pope’s Homer, and Byron’s — 
‘Childe Harold.” She wrote some verses which appeared-in the — 
‘Trish-Penny Journal,’ and in 1841 sent a number of- small poems to — 
the ‘Atheneum.’ The erlitor introduced her to public notice: her — 
pieces were greatly admired; and in 1844 she ventured on the publi- — 
cation of a volume, “The Star of Attezhei, the Vision of Schwartz, — 
and other Poems.’ Shortly afterwards, a small pension of £20a year — 
was settled on the poetess; and the Marquis of Lansdowne is said to 
have presented her with a sum of £100. -In 1847 she issued a second — 
volume, ‘ Lyrics’ and ‘Miscellaneous Poems,’ and she has contri- 
buted largely to perizdical works. The poetry of Miss Brown, espe- 
cially her lyrical pieces, is remarkable for clear poetic feeling and dic- 
tion; while ‘the energy displayed, from her childhood, by this al — 
most friendless girl, raises,’ as the editor of her first volume remarked, 
‘at once the interest and the character of her muse.’ - gan 


_~ « 


prow} = ~—-« ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 17 
: eee ns - The Last Friends. 


One of the United Irishmen, who lately returned to his country, after many years _ 
of exile, being asked what had induced ‘him to revisit Ireland when ail his friends 
were gone, answered: ‘I came back to see the mountains.’ : 


. . I come to my country, but not with the hope : 
- That brightened any youth like the cloud-lighting bow, 
=, For the vigour of soul, that seeined mighty to cope 
at With time and with fortune, hath fled from me now; 
: + And love, that ijumined my wanderings of yore, 
Hath perished, and left but a weary regret ; 
For the star that can rise on my midnight no more— 
But the hills of my country they welcome me yet. 


The hue of their verdure was fresh with me still, 

When my path was afar by the Tanais’ lene track 5 
ox ; From the wide-spreading deserts and ruins, that fill 

“The Jands of o!d story, they summoned me back ; 

They rose on my dreains through the shades of the West, 
They breathed upon sands which the dew never wet, 

For the echoes were hushed in the home I loved best— 
But I knew that the mountains would welcome ine yet! 


The dust of my kindred is scattered afar— 
They lie in the desert, the wild, and the wave ; 
For serving the strangers through wandering and war, 
‘| he isle of their memory could grant them no grave. 
And J, I return with the memory of years, , 
Whose hope rose so high, though in sorrow it set 5 
They have left on my soul but the trace of their tears— 
ss But our mountains remember their promises yet! 


Oh, where are the brave hearts that bounded of old? 
; And where are the faces my childhood hath seen? 
i For fair brows have furrowed, and hearts have grown cold, 
But our streams are still bright, and our bills are still green 5 
Ay, green as they rose to the eyes of ny youth, 
When brothers in heart in their shadows we met: 
; And the hills have no memory of sorrow or death, 
rae For their summits are sacred to liberty yet ! 


Like ocean retiring, the morning mists now 
Roll back from the mountains that girdle our land ; 
And sunlight encircles each heath-covered brow, 
For which time hath no furrow and tyrants no brand : 
Oh. thus let it be with the hearts of the isle— 
; Efface the dark seal that oppression hath set ; 
Give back the lost glory again to the soil, 
x For the hills of my country remember it yet! 
— June 16, 1843. 


+ 


LORD HOUGHTON. 


Several volumes of graceful, meditative poetry, and records of 
foreign travel, were published between 1833 and 1844 by RicHARD 
~Moncxron Minnes, called to the House of Peers in 1863 as BARON 

Hovueuton. These are: ‘Memorials of a Tour in Greece,’ 18383; 
- ‘Memorials of a Residence on the Continent,’ 1838; ‘ Poetry for the 
People,’ 1840; ‘Poems, Legendary and Historical,’ 1844; ‘Palm 
Leaves,’ 1844. Lord Houghton was born in that enviable rank of 
society, the English country-gentleman. He is eldest son of the late 
eR 


Bete me 


R. P. Milnes, Esq., of Frystone Hall, Yorkshire. In 1831, in his 
twenty-second year, he took his degree of M.A. at Trinity College, 
Cambridge. In 1887, he was returned to the House of Commons as 
representative of the borough of Pontefract, which he continued to 
represent till ,his elevation to the peerage. In parliament, Lord 
Hcughton has. been distinguished by his philanthropic labours, his 


4 at ~ : Cost OP a esa ae nee See ee eee OE he - a 
f ie A oe ee 6 Pe ds 3 
3 : f a ga te Oe PT! Fle PS 
= > < . ‘ Fy fe Pi = ae 
7 ‘ ny mS Sh 


8 CYCLOPAEDIA OF Ero 1876. 


efforts in support of national education, and generally his support of 


ali questions of social amelioration.and reform. In 1848 he edited 
the ‘ Life and Remains of John Keats;’ and in 1873-76 published 
two volumes of biographical sketches, entitled ‘Monographs, Per- 
sonal and Social,’ abounding in anecdote and in. interesting illustra- 
tions of English social life and literature. In 1876 the collected 
Poetical Works of Lord Houghton were published in two volumes. 


St. Mark’s at Venice. 


Walk in St. Mark’s the time the ample space 
Lies in the freshness of the evening shade, 

When, on each side. with gravely darkened face 
The masses rise above the light arcade ; 

Walk down the midst with slowly tunéd pace, 
But gay withal, for there is high parade 

Of fair attire and fairer forms, which pass 

Like varying groups on a magician’s glass. ... 


Walk in St. Mark’s again some few hours after, 
When a bright sleep is on each storied pile— 
When fitful music and inconstant laughter 
Give place to Nature’s silent moonlight smile: 
Now Fancy wants no faery gale to waft her 
To Magian haunt, or charm-engirded isle; 
All too content, in passive bliss, to see 
This show divine of visible poetry. 


On such a night as this impassionedly 

The old Venetian sung those verses rare} 
‘That Venice must of needs eternal be, 

For Heaven had looked through the pellucid air, ~ - 

« And cast its reflex on the crystal sea, 

Aud Venice was the image pictured there ;’ 
I hear them now, and tremble, forI seem — 
As treading on an unsubstantial dream. 


That strange cathedral! exquisitely strange— 
That front, on whose bright varied tints the eye 

Rests as of gems—those arches whose high range 
Gives its rich-broidez-d border to the sky— 

Those ever-prancinjr steeds! My friend, whom change 
Of restless will has led to lands that lie > 

Deep in the East, does not thy fancy set 

Above those domes an airy minaret? 


: The Men of Old. 
I know not that the men of old I heed not those who pine for force 
Were better than men now, A ghost of time fo raise, 


Of heart more kind, of hand more bold, As if they thus could check the course 
- Of moze ingenious brow: Of these appointed days. 


~~ ‘ ; 73 
Su ac : oe. 4 a ae 
— HOUGHTON. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 79 
Still is it true, and over-true, Blending their souls’ sublimest needs 
That I delight to close With tasks of every day, 
This book of life self-wise ard new, They went about their gravest deeds 
~ And let my thoughts repose As noble boys at play. 
- On ail that hub e happiness : 
~~ The world has since toregone— And what if Nature’s fearful wound 
The daylight of contentedness They did not probe and bare, 
That on those faces shone! For that their spirits never swooned 


To watch the misery there— 
_ With rights, though not too closely For that their love but flowed more fast, 


scanned. Their charities more free, 
Enjoyed, as fur as known— Not conscious what mere drops they cast 
With will, by no reverse unmanned— Into the evil sea. 
; With pulse of even tone—- 
~ They from to-day and from to-night A man’s best things are nearest him, 
Expected nothing more Lie close about his feet, 
Than yesterd2y and yesternight It is the distant and the dim 
Had proffered them before. That we are sick to greet: 
24 For flowers that grow our hands beneath 
To them was life a simple ari We struggle and aspire— 
Of duties to be done, Our hearts must die, except they breathe 
A game where each man took his part, The air of fresh desire. 


A race where al] must run; E 
A battle whose great scheme and scope But. brothers, who up Reason’s hill 


They little cared to know, Advance with hopeful cheer— 
Content, as men-at-arms, to cope Ob! loiter not; those heights are chill, 
Each with his fronting foe. As chill as they are clear ; 
Man now his virtue’s diadem And still restrain your haughty gaze, 
Puts on, and proudly wears— ‘ The loftier that ye go, 
Great thougats, great feelings, came to Remembering distance leaves a haze 
them, On all that lies below. 


Like inst.ncts, unawares: 


From the ‘ Long-ago.’ 


~ On that deep-retiring shore Death. to those who trust in good, 
— Frequent pearls of beauty lie, Vindicates his hardest blow ; 
Where the passion-waves of yore Ob ! we would not, if we could, 
__Fiercely beat and mounted high; Wake the sleep of Long-ago! 
Sorrows that ave sorrows still 
Lose the bitter taste of woe; Though the doom of swift decay 
‘Nothiny’s altogether ill Shocks the soul where life is strong, 
In the griefs of Long-ago. Though for frailer hearts the day 
“t Lingers sad and overlong— 
_ Tombs where lonety love repines, Still the weight will find a leaven, 
* Ghastly tenements of tears. ' _ Still the spoiler’s hand is slow, 
Wear the look of happy sbrines~ While the future has its heaven, 
Through the golden mist of years: And the past its Long-ago. 
4 * FITZGREENE HALLECK. 


Without attempting, in our confined limits, to range over the fields 

of American literature, now rapidly extending, and cultivated with ar- 

__dour and success, we have pleasure in including some eminent trans- 

- -atlantic names in our list of popular authors. Mr. HALLecK became 

generally known in this country in 1827 by the publication of a vo- 

lume of ‘ Poems,’ the result partly of a visit to England. In this vo- 

- lume afe some fine verses on Burns, on Alnwick Castle, &c., and it 

— includes the most elevated of his strains, the martial lyric, ‘Marco 

_ Bozzaris.’ Our poet-laureate, Mr. Tennyson, has described the po- 
 etical character: ; : 


mes 
Ba 


} 


f 


80 * <CYCLOPAEDIA OF oe Snore 


The poet in a golden clime was born, a 
With golden stars above ; 

Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of secrn, 
The love of love. 


He saw through life and death, through good and ill, 
He saw through his own soul—___ ’ 
The marvel of the everlasting will 
An open scroll. ; ~ 
_ Mr. Halleck, in his beautiful verses, ‘On viewing the Remains of a 
Rose brought from Alloway Kirk .in Autumn, 1822,” bad previously 
identified, as it were, this conception of the laureate’ S pe the. 
history of the Scottish poet : 


Strong sense, deep feeling, passions strong, 
A hate of tyrant and of knave, 
A love of right, a scorn of wrong; 
Of coward and of slave; eos 
A kind, true heart, a spirit hich, a 
P That could not fear, and would not bow 
, Were written in his manly eye, “ 
And on his manly brow. 
Praise to the bard !—his words are driven, 
Like flower-seeds by the far winds sown, 
Where’er beneath the sky of heaven 
The birds of Fame are flown! 


~ Mr. Halleck was a native of Guildford, Connecticut, born in 1790. 
He resided some time in New York, following mercantile. pursuits, — 
In 1819 he published ‘Fanny,’ a satirical poem in the oltava riéma 
stanza. Next appeared his volume of ‘ Poems,’ as already stated, to — 
which additions were made in subsequent republications, His works 
are comprised in one volume, and it is to be regretted that his muse — 
was not more prolific. He died November 19, 1867. His ‘Life and 
Letters’ were published in one volume in 1869 by James Grant Wil- _ 
son of New York, who has also edited the poetical works of Halleck — 
(1871), and written a short Memoir of Bryant, in the ‘ Western — 
Monthly,’ November, 1870, 


Marco Bozzarts. 


The Epaminondas of Modern Greece. He’fell in a nght- attack upon ‘the Turkish — 
camp at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platea, August 20, 1-23, and expired in the © 


moment of victory. His last words were: ‘ ‘10 die for liberty i is a pleasure, and Oh 
a pain.’ 


At midnight, in his guarded tent. As wild his thoughts, and gay of w ing, 
‘The Turk was dreaming cf the hour As Eden’s garden bird. 
“When Greece, her knee in suppliance 
bent, _ At midnight, in the forest shades, 
Should tremble at his power ; Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 
In dreams, through camp and court, he True as the steel of their tried blades, ; 
bore Heroes in heart and hand. « + ‘ 
The trophies of a conqueror ; There had the Persian’s thousands stood, : 
In dreams his song of triumph heard, There had the glad earth drunk their 
Then wore his monarch’s signet-ring, blood 
Then pressed that monarch’s throne—a Or old Platea’s day ; E 
a+. Mig; And now there breathed that haunted ar ; 


_. The sons of sires who conquered there 
~ With arm to strike and soul to dare, 
As quick, as far as they. 


- An hour passed on, the Turk awoke; 
- _ That bright dream was hisdast; ~ 
- He*woke to hear his seutries Shriek : 
_ ‘to arms! they come! the Greek! the 
Greek !? 
~ He woke to die, ’midst flame and smoke, 
~ And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 
~ And death-shots tailing thick and fast 
Like forest-pines before the blast, 
_ Or lightnings from the mountain cloud ; 
And heard with voice as trumpet loud, 
'» _ Bozzaris cheer his band : 
‘Strike, till the last armed-foe expires ; 
‘Strike, for your altars and your fires ; 
- ‘Strike, for the green graves of your sires, 
t God, and your native land!’ 


- They fought, like: brave men, long and 
ce well, 
. They piled that ground with Moslem 
- . slain, “ 
They conquered—but Bozzaris fell, 
_ _ Bleeding at eyery vein, 
_ His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile-when rang their proud hurrah, 
And the red field was won; 
_ Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly as to a night’s repose, 
Like flowers at set of sun. 


_ Come to the bridal-chamber, Death ! 

» _ Come tothe mother’s when she feels 
For the first time her first-born’s breath 3 

Come when the blessed seals 

_ Which close the pestilence are broke, 

_ And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 

~ Come in Consumption’s ghastly form, 

~ The earthquake’s shock, the ocean storm ; 

$ Come when the heart beats high and 

: _ warm, 

With banquet-song, and dance, and 

ie wine— 

_ And thou art terrible; the tear, 

_ The groan. the knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear, 

5 Of agony or thine... eo 


’ 


a 


But to the hero, when his sword 
_ Has won the battle for the free 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. Oe 


8i 


\ 


Thy voice sounds hke a prophet’s word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard 
‘Whe thanks of millions yet to be, 
Come, when his task of fume is wiought; 
Come with her laurel-leat blood-bought ; 
Come in her crowning hour, and then 


_ Thy sunken eyes’ unearibly light 


To him is welcome as the sight 
Of sky and stars to prisoned men 3 
Thy grasp is weleome as the hand 
Of brother in a foreign land ; 
‘Thy Summons welcome as the cry 
Which told the Indian isles were nigh 
‘To the world-seeking Genoese, 
When the land-wind from woods of palm 
Aud orange groves, and fields of balm, 
Blew o’er the Haytien seas. 


Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 
Greece nurtured in her glory’s time, 
Rest thee: there is no prouder grave, 
Even in her own proud clime; 
She wore no funeral weeds for thee, 
Nor bade the dark hearse wave its 
plume, 
Like torn branch from Death’s leafiess 
tree 
In sorrow’s pomp and pageantry, 
The heartless luxury of the tomb; 
But she remembers thee as one 
Long loved, and for a season gone. 
For thee her poet’s lyre is wreathed, - 
Her marble wrought, her music breathed; 
Wor thee she rings the birthday bells; 
Of thee her babe’s first lisping tells; 
For thine her evening prayer is said 
At palace couch and cottage bed. 
Her soldier closing with the foe, 
Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow; 
His plighted maiden, when she fears 
For him, the joy of her young years, 
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears 5 
And she. the mother of thy boys, 
Though in hereye and faded eheek 
Is read the grief she will not speak, 
The memory of her buried joys ; 
And even she who gaye thee birth, | 
Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, 
Talk of thy doom without a sigh: 
For thou art Freedom’snow, and Fame’s; 
One of the few. the immortal names, 
That were not born to die! 


, EDGAR ALLAN POE. 


_ _ This singular and unfortunately degraded man of genius—the 
- Richard Savage, of American literature—was born at Boston, Janu- 


ary 19, 1809. 


He was left destitute when a child by the death of his 


_ parents (strolling players), but was adopted and liberally educated. by 
- @ benevolent Virginian planter, Mr. Allan. All attempts to settle. 
Bs 


=. a a - a. = r. . Se -y® Te 2 ae 5 fa . a 43 -e Le ce tas - 
7] a > oe i je i ee rt e ent Re —e fe Y ae SS 2 
. em = ’ en aie a ‘8 ha se 


= R mee AL. i Sack 3 ie 
82 : CYCLOPEDIA OF - - [ro 1876. 


vita respectably in life failed. He was reckless, debauched, and un-: 
mcnageable. He was expelled from college and from a military 
acedemy in which he was placed by Mr. Allan; he enlisted in the 
army, but soon. deserted; and after various scenes of wretchedness, . 
he pecame a contributor to, and occasional editor of, several Ameri- 
can periodicals, His prose tales attracted notice from their ingenuity 
and powerful, though morbid and gloomy painting; and his poem of 
‘The Raven,’ coloured by the same diseased imagination, but with 
bright gleams of fancy, was hailed as the most original and striking 
~ poem that America had ever produced. Poe died in a hospital at 
Baltimore, the victim of intemperance, October 7, 1849. A complete 
edition of the works of Poe, with Memoir by John H. Ingram, was 
published in 1875, in four volumes—three of them prose, and one 
poetry. The editor clears the memory of the unfortunate poet from 
certain charges brought against him by Griswold, the American 
editor. Some of the criticisms by Poe collected in this edition of his 
works are marked by a fine critical taste and acuteness. 


The Raven. 


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, ~ 

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— 

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door: 

‘“°Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘ tapping at my chamber-door— 
Only this, and nothing more,”? ~ 


Ah! distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, . 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow : 
From my books surcease of serrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—. 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— avy 
Nameless here for evermore. 


And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before ; 
So that now, to stijl the beating of my heart, I stood repeating : 
“Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door— 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door; 

This it is, and nothing more.’ 


Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 
‘Sir,’ said I, ‘ or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; 
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, shal 
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door, 
? That I scarce was sure I heard you ’—here I opened wide the door—— 
. Darkness there, and nothing more. 


Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, _- 

Dreaming, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; ~ 

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, ‘ Lenore !’—_ 

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, ‘ Lenore !’—= 
Merely this, and nothing more, 

Back into the chamber turning, all my son! within me burning, 

Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before. 

‘Surely,’ said I— surely that is something at my window lattice; 

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— 


a 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 83 


Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore. 
: : "Tis the wind, and nothing more.’ 


Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. 
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber-door— 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above ny chamber door— 

Perched and sat, and nothing more, 


Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 


‘By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 


‘Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, tou,’ I said, ‘art sure no craven. 
Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly shore— 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night’s Plutonian shore!’ 

Quoth the Raven: * Nevermore.’ 


Much I marvelled this ungainly fow] to hear discourse so plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore 5 
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber-door— 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber-door, 
With such a name as ‘ Nevermore,’ 


But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour, 
Nothing further then he uttered ; not a feather then he fluttered— 
Till I scarcely more than muttered : ‘ Other friends have flown before— 
On the morrow /e will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’ 
Then the bird said : ‘ Never more.’ 


Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 


_ ‘Doubtless,’ said I, ‘ what it utters is its only stock and store, 


Caught from some vnhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore— 
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore. 

Of ‘* Never—never more.”’ 


But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door ; 
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking, 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— 
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 
: Meant in croaking ‘ Neyer more,’ 


This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; 

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, 

But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-lhght gloating o’er, 
She shall press, ah, never more! 


Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 
Swung by seraphim, whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. 
‘Wretch !’ I cried, ‘thy god hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee 
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! 
Quaif, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’ 

Quodth the Raven: ‘ Never more!’ 


‘Prophet !* said I, ‘ thing of evil !—prophet still, if bird or devil! 
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, 
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted— 
On this home by horror hannted—tell me truly. I implore— 
Is there—is there balm in Gilead ?—tell me—tell me, I implore!’ 

- Quoth the Raven: ‘ Never more, 


- 43 ~ 7 < = Ss a “ bs : = : > z ey 
84 3) CYCLOPADIA-OF - “2-7 = fro18765 
‘Prophet!’ said I, ‘ thing of evil !—prophet still, if bird or devil! — <6; 


By that heayen that bends above us—by that God we both adore, 

Tell this soul, with scrrow laden, if within the distant Aiden, 

It shall clasp a sainted maiden. whom the angels name Lenore— ~~ 

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the avgels name Lenore?’ ~ ‘4 
; Quoth the itaven: * Never more.’ » 

‘Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend !’ I shrieked upstarting— 

“Get thee back into the tempest and the night's plutonian shore! 

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath cpoxen! 

Leave my lone.iness unbroken !—quit the bust above my door! ‘ 

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!?—__ 

Quoth the Raven: ‘Never more? 


"tex 


And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting, a 
On the pallid bust of Pallas, just aboye my chamber-door; - . 
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, 
And the lamyp-light o’er him streaming, throws his shadow cn the floor 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, — 
Shall be lifted—never more! Se 


WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 


The father of the present generation of American poets, and one — 
of tl: most original of the brotherhood, is W1L1L1AM CULLEN BRYANT, — 
born at Cummington, Hampshire County, Massachusetts, November — 
3, 1794. With a precocity rivalling that of Cowley or Chatterton, — 
Bryant at the age of thirteen wrote a satirical poem on the Jéfferso- 
nian party, which was published in 1808 under the title of ‘The Em- 
bargo.’ A few lines-from this piece will shew how well the boy-poet — 
had mastered the-art of versification: °: a 


1. 


F’en while I sing, see Faction urge her claim, 
Mislead with falsehood and with zeal inflame ; . Fils ae 
{ift her black banner, spread her empire wide, . =e 
And.stalk triumphant with a Fury’s stride! ; +n 
She blows her brazen trump. and at the sound bey 
A motley throng. obedient, flock around ; 
A mist of changing hue around she flings, ~ ‘ 
_ And Darkness perches on her dragon wings! : 
" Ob, might some patriot rise. the gloom dispel, ee 

Chase Error’s mist, and break her magic spell! 
But vain the wish—for, hark, the murmuring meed . tt 

> Of hoarse applause from yonder shed proceed ! we 
Enter and view the thronging concourse there, 
Intent with gaping month and stupid stare; 
While ‘n their midst their supple leader stands, : 
Har.2gues aloud and flourishes his hands. e- 
To adulation tones his servile throat, ; 
And sue= successful for each blockhead’s vote. 1 - 


‘From this perilous course of political versifying, the young author — 
was removed by being placed at Williams College. He wasadmitted — 
to the bar, and practised for several years with fair success; but in — 
1825, he removed to New York, and éntered upon that literary life 9 
which he has ever since followed. In 1826 Mr. Bryant became editor ~ 
of the ‘New York Evening Post,’ and his conneetion. with that” 
‘journal still subsists. His poetical works consist of ‘Thanatopsis — 
an exquisite solemn strain of blank verse, first published in 1836; 


. . ae ae 


ENGLISH'LITERATURE. 85 


‘The Ages, a survey of the experience of mankind, 1828; and 
various pieces scattered through periodical works. Mr. Washington 
“Irving, struck with the beauty of Bryant’s poetry, had it collected 
‘and published in London in 1882. ‘The British public, he said, had 
expressed its delight at the graphic descriptions of American scenery 
and wild woodland characters contained in the works of Cooper. 
- ‘Thesame keeneye and just feeling for nature,’ he added, ‘the same 
- indigenous style of thinking and local peculiarity of imagery, which 
_ give such novelty and interest to the pages of that gifted writer, will 
-ybe found to characterise this volume, condensed into a narrower com- 
pass, and sublimated into poetry.’ 
From this opinion Professor Wilson—who reviewed the volume in 
_‘*Blackwood’s Magazine’—dissented, believing that Cooper’s pictures 
-are infinitely richer in, local peculiarity of imagery and thought. 
~*The chief charm of Bryant’s genius,’ he considered, ‘ consists in a 
- tender pensiveness, a moral melancholy, breathing over all his con- 
_templations, dreams, and reveries, even such asin the main are glad, 
and giving assurance of a pure spirit, benevolent to all living crea- 
tures, and-habitually pious in the felt omnipresence of the Creator. 
His poetry overflows with natural religion—with what Wordsworth 
calls the religion of the wocds.’ This is strictly applicable to the 
‘ Thanatopsis ’ and ‘ Forest Hymn;’ but Washington Irving is so far 
right that Bryant’s grand merit is his nationality and his power of 
painting the American landscape, especially in its wild, solitary, and 
magnificent forms. His diction is pure and lucid, with scarcely a 
flaw, and he is master of blank verse. Mr. Bryant has translated the 
‘liad’ and ‘ Odyssey,’ 4 vols. (Boston, 1870-1872.) 


From ‘ Thanatepsis.’ 
z Not to thy eternal resting-place 
; : Shalt thourretire alone, nor couldst thon wish 
s Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings, 
The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good— 
= Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past— 
Allin one mighty sepulchre! The hills, _. 
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun—the vales, 
Stretching in pensive quietness between— 
The venerable woods, rivers that move- 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, 
Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste— ; 
' Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man! ‘The golden sun, 
a The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
es. Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. -T'ake the wings. 
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolis the Oregon, and hears no sonnd 
Save his own dashings ; yet, the dead are there, 


86 


CYCLOPA:DIA. OF 


And millions in those solitudes, since first 

The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone. 
So shalt thou rest. And what if thou shalt fall 
Unheeded by the living, and no friend 

Take note of thy departure! All that breathe 
Will snare thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of Care 
Plod on, and each one as before will chase 

His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave 


Of ages glide away, the sons of men— 
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, 


Shall one by one be gathered to thy side: 


7 

a 

: 

Their mirth and their employments, and shall come . 
And make their bed with thee. As the long train 4 
The youth in life’s green spring, aud he who goes 4 
‘a 

And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man— - oa 
NiGg 

4 


By those who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan that moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 


Scourged to his dungeon: but, sustained and suothed 


By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 


The Wind-flower. 


Lodged in sunny cleft 
Where the cold breezes come not, blooms alone 
The little wind-flower, whose just-opened eye " 
Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at, i 
Startling the Joiterer in the naked groves 
With unexpected beauty, for the time 
Of blossoms and green leaves is yet afar. 


The Disinterred Warrior. - 


Gather him to his grave again, 
And solemnly and softly Jay, 
Beneath the verdure of the plain, 
The warrior’s scattered bones away. 
Pay the deep reverence, taught of old, 
The homage of man’s heart to death 5 
Nor dare to trifle with the mould 
Once hallowed by the Almighty’s 
breath. ‘ 


The soul hath quickened every part— 
That remnant of a martial brow, 
Those ribs that held the mighty heart, 
‘That strong arm—strong no longer 
now. 
Spare them, each mouldering relic spare, 
Of God’s own image; let them rest, 
Till not a trace shall speak of where 
The awful likeness was impressed. 


For he was fresher from the Hand 
That formed of earth the human face, 
And to the elements did stand 


In many a flood to madness tossed, 
In many a storm has been his path, 

He hid him not from heat or frost. P 
But met them, and defied their wrath. ~~ 


In nearer kindred than our race. ‘ : 
“ 


Then they were kind—the forests here, 
Rivers. and stiller waters, paid 
A tribute to the net and spear 
Of the red ruler of the shade. eg 
Fruits on the woodland branches lay, 
Roots in the shaded soil below, <a 
he stars looked forth to teach his way, 
The still earth warned him of the foe, 


A noble race! But they are gone, 
With their old forests wide and deep, 
And we have built our homes upon” 
Fields where their generations sleep. 
Their fountains slake our thirst at noon, 
Upon their fields our harvest waves, 
Our lovers woo beneath their moon— 4h 
Ab! let us spare at least their graves! 


ae Poe Se 

by Pat re a? tae 
| Bog ee Sas eal s 
es ; E 

SS a ‘ 2 


“BRYANT.] 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


87 


An Indian at the Burying-place of his Fathers. 


It is the spot I came to seek— 

” My fathers’ ancient burial-place, 

Ere from these vales, ashamed and weak, 
- Withdrew our wasted race. 
—Itis the spot—l know it well— 

Jf which our old traditions tell. 


For here the upland bank sends out 
- A-ridge toward the river-side ; 
J know the shaggy hills about, 
The meadows smooth and wide; 
The plains that, toward the eastern sky, 
Fenced east and west by mountains lie, 


_A white man, gazing on the scene, 
. Would say a lovely spot was here, 
And praise the lawns, so fresh and green, 
Between the hills so sheer. 
I like it not—I would the plain 
.Lay in its tall old. groves again. 


The sheep are on the slopes around, 
The cattle in the meadows feed, 
_And labourers turn the crumbling ground, 
- Or drop the yellow seed, 
And prancing steeds, in trappings gay, 
_Whir! the bright chariot o’er the way. 


Methinks it were a nobler sight 
To See these vales in woods arrayed, 
Their summits in the golden light, 
Their trunks in grateful shade 5 
And herds ot deer, that bounding go 
O’er rills and prostrate trees below. 


And then to mark the lord of all, 
The forest hero, trained to wars, 
‘Quivered and plumed, and lithe and tall, 
And seamed with glorious scars, 
Walk forth, amid his train, to daie 
The wolf, and grapple with the bear. 


This bank. in which the dead were laid, 
~ Was sacred when its soil was ours 3 
‘Hither the artless Indian maid 

Brought wreaths of beads and flowers, 


And the gray chief and gifted seer 
Worshipped the God of thunders here, 


But now the wheat is green and high 
On clods that hid the warrior’s breast, 
And scattered in the furrows lie 
‘The weapons of his rest; 
And there, in the loose sand, is thrown 
Of his large arm the mouldering bone. 


Ah, little thought the strong and brave, 
Who bore their lifeless chieftain forth, 
Or the young wife that weeping gave - ..- 
Her first-born to the earth, * 
That the pale race, who waste us now, 
Among their bones should guide the 
plough! 


They waste us—ay, like April snow 
In the warm noon, we shrink away ; 
And fast they follow, as we go 
Toward the setting day— 
Till they shall fill the land, and we 
Are driven into the western sea. 


But I behold afearful sign, 
To which the white man’s eyes are 
blind ; 
Their race may vanish hence, like mine, 
And Jeave no trace behind, 
Save ruins o’er the region spread, 
And the white stones above the dead. 


Before these fields were shorn and tilled, 
Full to the brim our rivers flowed ; 
The melody of waters filled 
The fresh and boundless wood : 
And torrents dashed, and rivulets played, 
And fountains spouted in the shade. 
Those grateful sounds are heard no 
more: 
The springs are silent in the sun ; 
The rivers, by the blackened shore, 
With lessening current run ; 
The realm our tribes are crushed to get, 
May be a barren desert yet! 


R. H. DANA—N. P. WILLIS—-O. W. HOLMES. 


Ricuarp Henry Dana (born 


at Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 


1787) was author of a small volume, ‘The Buccaneer, and other 
Poems’ (1827), which was hailed as an original and powerful con- 


tribution to American literature, 


He had previously published 


“The Dying Raven,’ a poem (1825), and contributed essays to a 


“periodical work. 


‘The Buccaneer’ is founded on a tradition of a 


murder committed on an island on the coast of New England by a 


88 3 CYCLOPEDIA OF = [7 1876, 


pirate, and has passages of vivid, dark painting rescinbhing the style 
of Crabbe. : 

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS (1806-1867) was a prolific and popular - 
American writer, who excelled in light descriptive sketches. He 
commenced author in 1827 with a volume of fugitive pieces; which — 
was well received, and was followed in 1831 — and. 1885 by two 
volumes of similar character. In 1835 he published two volumes of — 
prose, ‘ Pencillings by the Way,’ which formed agreeable reading, _ 
though censurable on the score of personal disclosures invading the 
sanctity of private life. On this account, Willis was sharply 
criticised and condemned by Lockhart in the ‘Quarterly Review.’ 
Numerous other works of the same kind—‘ Inklings of Adventure’ : 
(1436), ‘Dashes of Life’ (1845), ‘Letters from Watering-places’ E 
(1849), ‘People I have Met’ (1850), &c., were thrown off from -, 
time to time, amounting altogether to thirty or forty separate 
publications; and besides this constant stream of authorship, Mr. 
Willis was editor of the ‘New York Mirror’ and other periodi- — 
cals. Though marred by occasional affectation, the sketches of Willis ~~ 
are light, eraceful compositions. ? 

OLIvER WaENDELL Hommes (born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, / 
in 1809) contributed various pieces to American periodicals, and in=4 
1836 published a collected edition of his ‘Poems.’ In 1843 he pub- — 
lished ‘Terpsichore,’ a poem; in 1846, ‘ Urania;’ in 1850, ‘Astreea, — 
- the Balance of Allusions,’ a poem; and in 1858, ‘The Autocrat of — 
the Breakfast Fable,’ a series of light and genial essays, full of fancy 
and humour, which ‘has been successful both in the Old and the New 
World. Mr. Holmes is distin guished as a physician. He practised in 4 
Boston; in 1836 took his degree of M.D. at Cambridge; in 1888 was — 
elected Professor of Anatomy and Physiology in Dartmouth College; 4 
and in 1847 succeeded to the chair of Anatomy in Harvard Univer. - 
sity. In 1849 he retired from general practice. Some of the quaint — 
sayings of Holmes have a flavour of fine American humour : 

Give me the luxuries of life, and I will dispense with its necessaries. : any 

Talk about conceit as much as -you like, it is to human character what salt is to 
the ocean; it keeps it sweet, and renders it endurable. Say, rather, it is like the — 
natural unguent of the sea-fowl’s plumage, which enables him to shed the rain that — 
fulis on him, and the wave in which he dips. “a 

‘Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind over-tasked. A weak mind does — 
not accumulate force enough to hurt itself. Stupidity often saves a man from going 
mad. Any decent person ought to go mad, if he really holds such and such opinions, _ 
It is very much to. his discredit; in every point of-view, if he does not. I am very 
much ashamed of some people for retaining their reason, when they know perfectly __ 
well that if they were not the most stupid or. the most selfish of human beings, they : i 
would become non-compotes at once. 

What aconmfort.a dull but kindly person is. to be sure, at times! A eround-glass “ 
shad» over a gas-lump does not bring more solace to our dazzled eye than such aone - 
to our minds. There are men of esprit who are excessively exhausting to some — 

eople. They are the talkers that have what may be called the jerky minds, ee 
say bright things on all possible subjects, but their zigzags rack you to death. After — 
2 jolting half- hour with these jerky companions, talking with a dull friend affords : 


great relief. It is like taking a cat in your lap after holding a squirrel. 
Don’t you know how hard it is for some people to get out of a room after their 


Yi 


ia 


“HOLMES ] 


=< ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 89 


sic is over? We rather think we do They want to be off, but they don’t know 


~ how to mauage it. One would think they had been built in your room, and were 


waiting to be launched. I have contrived a sort of ceremonial inclined plane-for 
such visitors, which, being lubricated with certain smooth phrases, | back them down, 


~Metaphorically speaking, stern foremost, into their native elemeut of out-of-doors. 


: The Buccancer’s Island. —By DANA. 
: The island lies nine leagues away. 2 
= Along its solitary shore, 
< Of craggy rock and sandy bay, 
No sound but ecean’s roar, 
Save where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home, : 
Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam. 


But when the light winds lie at rest, 
And on the glassy heaving sea, 
The black duck, with her glossy breast, 
‘i ; Sits swinging silently— 
; How beautiful! no ripples break the reach, 
And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach, 


And inland rests the green, warm dell; 
The brook comes tin kling down its side; 
From out the trees the Sabbath bell 
Rings cheerful far and wide, 
Mingling its sound with bleatings of the flocks, 
That fed upon the vale ainong the rocks, 


Nor holy bell, nor pastoral bieat, 
In former days within the vale ; H 
Flapped in the bay the pitate’s sheet: 
Curses were on the gale; 
Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered men; 
Pirate and wrecker kept their revels then. 


as — - Phirty-five.—By W113, 


O weary heart! thou ’rt half-way home { * 
We stand on life’s meridian height— 
As far from childhood’s morning come, 
As to the grave’s forgetful night. _ 
Give Youth and Hope a parting tear— 
Look onward with a placid brow— 
3 Hope promised but to bring us here, 
* __. And Reason takes the guidance now 
One backward look—the last—the last ! 
EB» * ' .« One silent tear—for Youth is past! 


Who goes with Hope and Passion back z 
Who comes with me and Memory on? 
Oh, lonely looks the downward traek—’ 
Joy's music liuushed— Hope’s roses gone? 
To Pleasure and her giddy troop “ 
Farewell. without 2 sigh or tear ! 
But heart gives way. and spirits droop, 
: To think that Love may :eave us here! 
ae Have we no-charm when Youth is flown ?— 
Midway to death left sad and lone! 


Yet stay !—as ‘twere a twilight star 
That sends its thread across the waye, 
I see a brightening light, from fur, 
Steal down a path beyond the grave | 
a2 And now—bless God ! its golden line 


~ EL vii~4 


99 


as a 


CYCLOPADIA OF fro 1876. 


Comes o’er—and lights my shadowy way— 
And shews the dear hand clasped in mine! 
But, list what those sweét voices Say: = 
‘The better land ’s in sight, 
And, by its chastening hght,~ 
All love from life’s midway is driven, 
Save her whose clasped hand will bring thee on to heaven 3? 


The American Spring.—By Hous. 
Winter is past; the heart of Nature warms 
Beneath the wrecks of unresisted storms ; 
Doub: ful at first, suspected more than seen, 
The southern slopes are fringed with tender green; - 
On sheltered banks. beneath the dripping eaves, 
Spring’s earliest nurslings spread their g¢ owing leaves, 
Bright with the hues from wider pictures won, 
White, azure, golden—drift, or sky, or sun: . 
The snowdrop. bearing on her patient breast ¢ ; 
The frozen trophy torn from Winter’s crest; 
The violet gazing on the arch of blue 
Till her own iris wears its deepened hue 5 
The spendthrift crocus, bursting through the mould 
Naked and shivering, with his cup of gold, 
Swelled with new life the darkening elm on high 
Prints her thick buds against the spotted sky; 
On all her boughs the stately chestnut cleaves 
The guminy shroud that wraps her embryo leaves 5 
The housefly. stealing from his narrow grave, 
Drugged with the opiate that November gave, 
Beats with faint wing against the snowy pane, 
Or crawls tenacions 6’er its lucid plain 5 
From shaded chinks of Jichen-crusted walls 
In languid curves the gliding serpent crawls ; 
he bog’s green harper, thawing from his sleep, 
Twangs a‘hoarse uote and tries a shortened leaps ~ 
On floating rails that face the softening noons 
The still shy turtles range their dark platoons, 3 
Or toiling. aimless, o’er the mellowing fields, “4 
Trail through the grass their tesselated shields. 
At last young April, ever frail and fair, 
Wooed by her playmate with the golden hair, 
Chased to the margin of receding floods, . 
O’er the soft meadows starred with opening buds, 
Tn tenrs and blushes sighs herself away, 
‘And hides her cheek beneath the flowers of May. 
Then the proud tulip lights her beacon blaze,. 
Her clustering curls the hyacinth displays, 
O’er her tall blades the crested fleur-de-lis see 
Like blue-eyed Pallas towers erect and free, 
With yellower flames the lengthened sunshine glows, 
And love lays bare the passion-breathing rose ; 
Queen of the lake, along its recdy verge 
The rival lily hastens to emerge, 
Her snowy shoulders glistening as she strips, a 
Till morn is sultan of her parted lips, | 


Then bursts the song from every leafy glade, - d 
The yielding season’s bridal serenade : 

Then flash the wings returning Summer calls 
Through the deep arches of her forest halls ; é' s 
The blue-bird breathing from his azure plumes, P. 
The fragrance borrowed where the myrtle blooms, 


. 


: 


. = 7 r » - 
Ro te 


> 


LONGPELLOW:) ENGLISH LITERATURE. | ol 


The thrush, poor wanderer, dropping meekly down, 
»Clad in his remnant of autumnal brown ; 
The oriole, drifting like a flake of fire, 
Rent by the whirlwiud from a blazing spire. 
The robin jerking his spasmodic throat 
Repeats, staccato, his peremptory note; 
Tue crack-brained boboiink courts his crazy mate 
Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his weight. 
Nay, in his cage the lone canary sings. 
Feels the soft air, and spreads his idie wings. 
Why dream I here within these caging walls, 
Deaf to her voice while blooming Nature calls, 
While from heaven’s face the long-drawn shadows roll, 
And all its sunshine floods my opening soul! 


H. W. LONGFELLOW. 


- Henry Wapsworta LoNGFELLOW, a distinguished American 
author both in prose and verse, was born in Portland, Maine, in 
1807. Having studied at Bowdoin College, Brunswick, the poet, after 
three years’ travelling and residence in Europe, became Professor of 
Modern Languages in his native college. This appointment he held 


_ from 1829 to 1855, when he removed to the chair of Modern Lan- 


guages aad Literature in Harvard University, Cambridge. While a 
youth at college, Mr. Longfellow contributed poems and criticisms 
to American periodicals. In 1833 he published a translation of the 
Spanish verses called ‘Coplas de Manrique,’ accompanying the poem 
‘with an essay on Spanish poetry. In 1835 appeared his ‘ Outre-Mer, 
or Sketches from beyond Sea,’ a series of prose descriptions and 
reflections somewhat in the style of. Washington Irving. His next 
work was also in prose, ‘Hyperion, a Romance’ (1889), which in- 


 stantly became popular in America. In the same year he issued his 


first collection of poems, entitled ‘Voices of the Night.’ In 1841 
‘appeared ‘ Ballads, and other Poems;’ in 1842, ‘Poems on Slavery; 
in 1843, ‘The Spanish Student,’ a tragedy; in 1845, ‘The Poets and 


Poetry of Europe;’ in 1846, ‘The Belfry. of Bruges;’ in 1847, 


. 


* Evangeline,’ a poetical tale in hexameter verse; in 1849, ‘ Kavanagh,’ 
a prose tale; and ‘The Seaside and the Fireside, a series of short 
poems; in 1851, ‘The Golden Legend,’ a medieval story in irregular 
rhyme; and in 1855, ‘The Song of Hiawatha,’ an American-Indian 
tale, in a still more singular style of versification, yet attractive from 
its novelty and wild melody Thus: 


Ye who love the haunts of Nature, Throngh their palisades of pine-trees, 
Love the sunshine of the meadow, And the thunder in the mountains, 
- Love the shadow of the forest, Whose innumerable echoes. 
ve the wind among the branches, Flap like eagles in their eyries 5 
And the rain-shower and the sn ow-storm,- Listen to these wild traditions, 
And the rushing of great rivers To this Song of Hiawatha! 


_ In 1858 appeared ‘ Miles Standish:’ in 1863, ‘Tales of a Wayside 


-Tnn; in 1866. ‘Flower de Luce;’ in 1867, a translation of Dante; in 


1872, ‘The Divine Tragedy,’ a sacred but not successful drama, em- 
‘bodying incidents in the lives of John the Baptist and Christ; and 


ag 


92 


the same year, ‘ Three Books of 


CYCLOPADIA OF ~ 


[ro 1876. 
Song; in 1875, ‘The Masque of 


Pandora.’ Other poems and translations have appeared from the 
fertile pen of Mr. Longfellow; and several collected editions of his 
Poems, some of them finely illustrated and carefully edited, have 


been published. 


He is now beyond all question the most popular of 


the American poets, and has also a wide circle of admirers in Europe. 


If none of his larger poems can be 


considered great, his smaller pieces 


are finished with taste, and all breathe a healthy moral feeling and 
fine tone of humanity. An American critic (Griswold) has said justly 


that of all their native poets he be 


st deserves the title of artist. 


Excelsior. 


The shades of night were falling fast, 

As through an Alpine village passed 

A youth, who bore, ’mid snow and ice, 

A banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 


His brow was sad; his eye beneath, 

Flashed hke falchion from its sheath ; 

And like a silver clarion rung, 

The accents of that anknown tongue, 
Exce'sior ! 

In happy homes he saw the light ; 

Of household fires gleam warm and bright; 

Above, the spectral glueiers shone, 

And from his lips escaped a groan, 
Excelsior ! 


‘Try not the Pass!’ the old man said; 
‘ Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
“The roaring torrent is deep and wide!’ 
And loud the clarion voice replied, 
Excelsior! 


‘O stay,’ the maiden said, ‘and rest 
Thy weary head upon-this breast !’ 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 


A Psalm of Life. 


Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
* Life is but an empty dream !’ 

For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem. 


-Life is real! Life is earnest ! 
And the grave is not its goal; 
‘Dust thou art, to dust returnest,’ 
Was not spoken of the soul. 


Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
Ts our destined end or way ; 
But to act, thnt.each to-morrow 

_ Find us farther then to-day. ~° 
Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
And our hearts, though stout and brave, 


- But still he answered with a sigh, 
Kxcelsior ! . 
‘ Beware the pine-tree’s withered branch { 
Beware the awfal avalanche!’ - 
This was the peasant’s Jast good-night. — 
A voice replied far up the height, 
Excelsior ! 


At break of day, as heavenward 

The pious monks of Saint Bernard 

Uttered the oft-repeated prayer; 

A voice cried through the startled air, 
Excelsior! ~~ 


A traveller, by the faithful hound, 

Half-buried in the snow was found, 

Still grasping in his hand of ice 

That banner with the strange device,. 
Excelsior! 


There in the twilight cold and gray, 

Lifeless, but besutiful, he lay. 

And from the sky, serene and far, — 

A voice fell, hke a falling star, 
Excelsior ! 


Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave; 


In the world’s broad fteld of battle, 
In the bivouae of Life. 

Be not like dumb, driven cattle! 
Be a heroin the strife. 


Trust no future, howe’er pleasant ! 
Let the dead Fast bury its dead ; 

Act—act in the living Present! 
Heart within, and God o’erhead ! 


ie 


Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, - 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Foot-prints on the sands of Times 


, 


* 


pe - 


“woNcFELtow.]. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


aS ‘Foot-prints, that perhaps another, 


Sailing o’er Life’s solemn main, 
‘A foriorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart aguih. 


- 


Saint Augustme! well hast thon said, 
That of our vices we can frame 

-A Jadder, if we will but tread 
Beneath our feet each deed of shame ! 


- All common things, cach day’s events, 


-_ 


That with the hour begin and end, 
Our pleasures and our discontents, 
Are rounds by which we muy ascend. 


The low desire. the base design, 
That makes another’s virtues less; 

The revel of the treacherous wine, 
And all occasions of excess 5 


The longing for ignoble things ; 
The strife for triumph 
truth ; E 
The hardening of the heart that brings 
Irieverence for the dreams of youth; 


All thoughts of ill ; ali evil deeds. 


That have their root in thoughts of 


ill; 
Whatever hinders or impedes . 
The action.of the nobler will: 


All these must first be trampled down 
Beneath our feet, if we would gain 


Tn the bright fields of fair renown 
The right of eminent domain. 


God’s-Acre ! 


6! 


more than 


93 
Let us, then, be mp and doing, 
With a heait for any fate; 
Still acbieving, still pursuing, 
Learn to lavour and to wait. s 


The Ladder of St. Augustine. 


We have not wings, we cannot soar; 
But we have feet to scale aud climb 

By slow degrees, by more and more, 
The cloudy summits of our time. 


The mighty pyramids of stone 

That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, 
When nearer seen and better known, 
. Are but gigantic flights of stairs. 


The distant mountains that uprear 
Their solid bastions to the skies, 
Are crossed by pathways, that appear 

As We to higher levels rise. 


The heights by great men reached and 
kept 5 
Were'not attained by sudden flight, 
But they, while their companions slept, 
Were toiling upward in the night. 


: 
Standing on what too long we bore 
With shoulders bent, and downcast 
eyes. 
We may discern—unseen before— 
A path to higher destinies. ; 


Nor deem the irrevocable Past 
As wholly wasted, wholly vain, 

If, rising on its wrecks, at last 
To something nobler we attain. 


% God s- Acre. 
-. ; T like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls 
“* : The buria!-ground God’s-Acre! Itis just; 


Z ~ It consecrates each grave within its walls, 
io And breathes a benison o’er the sleeping dust. 


Yes, that blessed name imparts 
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown 

The seed that they had garnered in their hearts, 
Their bread of Jife; alas! no more their own. 


ge. Into its furrows shall we all be cast, 

Tn the suve faith that we shall rise again 

At. the great harvest, when the archangel’s blast 
Shall winnow, lke a fan, the chaff aud erain, 


mo Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, 
3 - -.. In the fair gardens of that second birth; 
. And each bright blossom mingle its perfume 


With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth, 


With thy rade plonzhsbare. Death, turn un the sod, 
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow ; 
This is the field and Acre of our God, 
This is the place where human harvests grow | 


94 


CYCLOPADIA OF 


Autumn in America. 


With what a glory comes and goes the year! 

The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers 
Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy 

Life’s newness, and earth’s garniture spread out; 
And when the silver habit of the clouds 

Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with 

A sober gladness the old year takes up 

His bright inheritance of golden fruits, 

A pomp ani pageant fill the splendid scene. 


There is a beautiful spirit breathing now 
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, 


And, froma beaker full of richest dyes, 

Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, 

And dipping in warm light the pillowed clouds. 
Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, 

Lifts up her purple wing; and in the vales 

The gentle wind, a sweet and passion:te wooer, 
Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life 

Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, 
And silver beech, and maple yellow-leafed, 

Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down 


By the wayside aweary. 
The golden robin moves. 


Through the trees 
The purple finch, 


That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, 
A winter bird comes with its plaintive whistle, 


And pecks by the witch-hazei ; whilst aloud 
From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings 3 
And merrily, with oft repeated stroke, 

Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. 


Oh, what a glory doth this world put on 

For him who with a fervent heart goes forth, 

Under the bright aad glorious sky, and looks 

On duties well performed, and days well spent ! 

For him the wind, ay. and the yellow leaves, 

Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings; 
? He shall so hear the so'emn hymn, that Death 

Has lifted up for all, that he shall go 

To his long resting-pJace without a tear 


A Rainy Day. 


A cold, uninterrupted rain, 

That washed each southern 
pane, 

And madea river of the road 3 

A sea of mist that overflowed 

The house, the barns, the gilded vane, 

* And drowned the upland and the plain, 

Through which the oak-trees, broad and 
high. 

Like phantom ships went drifting by; 

And, hidden behind a watery screen, 

The sun unseen. or only seen 

As a faint pallor in the sky— 

Thus cold and colourless and gray, 

The morn of that: autumnal day, 

As if reluctant to begin, 

Dawned on the silent Sudbury Inn, 

And all the guests that in it lay. 


window- 


Full late they slept. They did not hear 

The challenge of Sir Chanticleer, 

Who on the empty threshing-fioor, 

Disdainful of the rain outside. 

Was strutting with a-martial stride, 

As if upon his thigh he wore 

The famous broadsword of the Squire, 

And said. ‘ Behold me. and admire!’ 

Only the Poet seemed to-hear 

In drowse or dream. more near and near 

Across the border-land of sleep 

The hlowing of a blifhesome horn, 

That Janghed the dismal day to scorn 3 

A splash of hoofs and rush of wheels 

Through sand and mire like stranding 
keels, : a 

As from the road with sudden sweep, __ 

The mail drove up the little steep, ~ 


{To 1876. 


vw F 


‘ 


J 
1 


And stopped beside the tavern door; 
A moment stopped, and then again, 
With crack of whip and bark of dog, 


ENGLISH LITERATURE, 


Plunged forward throuch the sea of fog, 
And all was silent as before— 
All silent save the dripping rain, 


ri. 


CVARLES SWAIN. 


; A native of Manchester, and carrying on business there as an 
engraver, CHARLES SWAIN (1803- 1874) became known asa poet in 
the pages of the ‘ Literary Gazette’ and other literary journals. His 
collected works .are: ‘Metrical Essays,’ 1827; ‘The Mind and 
other Poems,’ 1831 ; ‘ Dramatic Chapters, Poems, and Songs, 1847 ; 
‘English Melodies,’ 1849; ‘Art and Fashion,’ 1863; and ‘ Songs and 
Ballads,’ 1868. Some of Mr. Swain’s songs and domestic poems— 
which are free from all mysticism and exaggerated sentiment—have 
been very popular both at home and abroad. They have great 

2 epwecthess. tenderness, and melody. 


The Death ef the Warrior King. 


There are noble heads bowed down and 
N ale, 
Deep sounds of woe arise, 
ae tears flow fast. around the couch 
ee Where a wounded warrior lies ; 
The hue of death is gathering dark 
Upon his lofty brow, 
And the arm of might ‘and valour halls, | 
Weak as an infant’s now. 


-- Isaw him ’mid the battling hosts, 
Like a bright and/leading star, 
ele panne, helm, and falchion gleam- 


And f . the bolts of war. 
~ When, in his plenitude of power, 
He trod the Holy Land, 
~ I saw the routed Saracens 
, Fee from his blood-dark brand. 
i saw him in the banquet hour 
_ . Forsake the festive throng, 
‘ To seek his favourite minstrel’s haunt, 
- _ And give his soul to song; 
_ For dearly as he loved renown, 
b * He loved that spell-wrought strain 
- Which bade the brave of perished days 
light Conquest’s torch again. 


‘Then seemed the bard to cope with Time, 
And triumph o’er his doom— 

Another w orld i in freshness burst 
Obliviou’s mighty tomb! 

Again the hardy Britons rushed 
Like lions to the fight. 

While horse and foot—helm, shield, and 

lance, 

Swept by his visioned sight! 


But battle shout and waving plume, 
The drum’s heart-stirring beat, 

The glittering pomp of prosperous war, 
The rush of million feet, 

The magic of the minstre Vs sone, 
Which told of victories 0” er, 

Are sights and sounds the dying kirg 
Shall see—shall hear no more ! 


It was the hour of deep midnight, 
In the dim and quiet sky, 
When, 7 ith sable cloak and ’broidered 
pa 
A funeral train swept by ; 
Dull and sad fell the torches’ glare 
On many a stately crest— 
They bore the noble warrior king 
To his last dark home of rest. 


bf 


4 SYDNEY DOBELL—ALESANDER SMITH—GERALD MASSEY. 


‘Under the pseudonym of 


‘Sydney Vendys, 
~ (1824-1874) published several claborate poetical works. 


SYDNEY DOBELL 
He was 


born at Cranbrook, Kent,in 1824, but spent the greater part of his youth 
in the neig hbourhood of Cheltenham, where his father was engaged in 


_ business as a wine-merchant. 


whose regular employment was in his father’s 
Basted to write a dramatic poem, ‘ The Roman,’ published i in 1850. 
Part the First; 


_ 1864 appeared ‘ Balder, 


In his intervals of leisure the young poet 


s counting-house—con- 
In 


in 1855, ‘Sonnets on the 


: paps CYCLOPADIA OF 


War,’ written in conjunction with Mr. A Smith ; Ane in, 1856, 
; ‘Eneland i in Time of War. A man of cultivated intellectual tastes 
and benevolence of char acter, Mr. Dobeil seems to have taken up 
some false or exaggerated theories of poetry and philosophy, and to 
have wasted fine “thoughts and conceptions on uncongenial themes. 
The great error of some of our recent poets is the want of simplicity 
and nature. They heap up images and sentiments, the ornaments 
of poetry, without aiming at order, consistency, and the natural 
development of passion or feeling. "We have thus many beautiful 
and fanciful ideas, but few complete or correct poems. Part of this 
defect is no doubt to be attributed to the youth of the poets, for 
taste and judgment come slowly even where genius is abundant, but 
part also is due to neglect of the old masters of song. In Mr, 
Dobell’s first poem, however, are some passages of finished blank 
verse: Ai 
The Italian Brothers. 


I had a brother: 

We were twin shoots from one dead stem. He grew 
Nearer the sun, and ripened into beauty ; ; 
And I, within the shadow of my thoughts, 
Pined at his side and loved him. He was brave, 
Gallant and free. I was the silent slave 
Of fancies; neither laughed, nor fought, nor played, 
And loved not morn nor eve for very trenibling 
At their long wandering shades. In childhood’s sports 
He won for me, and I looked on aloof ; 
And when perchance I heard him called my brother, 
Was proud and happy. So we grew together, - 

: Within our dwelling by the desert plain, > 
Where the roe leaped, 
And froin his icy hills the frequent wolf 
Gave chivairy to slaughter. Here and there a 
Rude heaps, that had been cities, clad the ground ; 

- With history. And far and ear, where grass 

Was greenest, and the uneonscions coat browsed free, 
The teeming soil was sown w ith desolations, 
As though Time—str iding o’er the field he reaped— 
Warmed with the spoil, rich droppings for the gleaners 
Threw round his barvest way. Frieze. pedestal, 
Pillars that bore throngh years the weight of glory, ~ 
And take their rest. ‘i ‘ombs, arches, monuments, 
Vainly set up to save a name. as though 
The eternal saved the perishable ; urns, 


Which winds had emptied of their dust, but left : 


Full of their immortality. In shronds 

Of reverent leaves, rich works of wondrous beauty 
Lay sleeping—like the Children in the Wood— 
Fairer than they. 


The Ruins of Ancient Rome. * 


Upstood 
The hoar unconscious walls, bisson and bare, 
Like an old man deaf, blind, and gray, in whom 
The years of old stand in the sun, and murmur 
Of childhood and the dead. From parapeis 


eg Uae See 


if 


3 


print 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 97° 


-- Where the sky rests, from broken niches—each 
a ~ More than Olympus—for gods dwelt in them— 
Below from senatorial hanuts and seats 
Imperial, where the ever-passing fates 
Wore ont the stone, strange hermit birds croaked forth 
» . Sorrowful sounds, like watchers on the height 
Crying the hours of ruin. When the clouds 
“ ~— Dress: d every myrtle on the walls in mourning, 
8 _ ~ With calm prerogative the eternal pile 
: ; Impassive shone with the unearthly light 
Of immortality. When conquering suns 
Triumphed in jubilant earth, it stood out dark 
With thoughts of ages: like some mighty captive 
E _ Upon his death-bed in a Christian land, 
pire And lying, through the chant of psalm and creed, 


Risk Unshriven and stern, with peace upon his brow, 

3 . ~ And on his lips strange gods. 

: ¢ Rank weeds and grasses, 
vs ' Careless and nodding, grew, and asked no leave, 


Where Romans trembled. Where tle wreck was saddest, 
Sweet pensive herbs, that had been gay elsewhere, 
With conscious mien of place rose tall and still, 
BD And bent with duty. Like some village children 
Who found a dead king on a battie-field, 
And with decorous care and reverent pity 
Composed the lordly ruin, and sat down 
Grave without tears. At length the giant lay, 
And everywhere he was begirt with years, 
And everywhere the torn and mouldering Past 
Hung with theivy. For Time, smit with honour 
Of what he slew, cast his own mantle on him, 
That uone should mock the dead. 


In 1871 Mr. Dobell published a spirited political lyric, entitled 
- * England’s Day.’ 
_ The day has gone by when the public of this country could be 
_justly charged with neglect of native genius. Any manifestation of 
original intellectual power bursting from obscurity is instantly recog- 
nised, fostered, and applauded. ‘The ever-open periodical press is 
ready to welcome and proclaim the new comer, and there is no lack 
of critics animated by a tolerant and generous spirit. In 1853 ap- 
“peared ‘Poems’ by ALEXANDER SmitTH (1830-1867), the principal 
piece in the collection being a series of thirteen dramatic scenes, en- 
“titled ‘A Life Drama.’ The manuscript of this volume had been 
submitted to the Rev. George Gilfillan, and portions of it had been 
laid before the public by that enthusiastic critic, accompanied with a 
- Strong recommendation of the young author as a genuine poet of a 
high order. Mr. Smith (born in Kilmarnock) had been employed as a 
designer of patterns in one of the Glasgow factories, but the publi- 
‘cation of his poems marked him out for higher things, and he was 
elected to the office of Secretary to the Edinburgh University. 
Thus placed in a situation favourable for the cultivation of his ta- 
‘lents, Mr. Smith continued his literary pursuits. He joined with Mr. 
- Dobell, as already stated, in writing a series of War Sonnets; he con 
~ tributed prose essays to some of the periodicals; and in 1857 he came 


oe 


’ 


98 "-C¥CLOPAEDIA OF “7- > 1 fre 1896 


forward with a second volume of verse, ‘City Poems,’ similar in 


style to his first collection. In*1861 appeared “Edwin of Deira.’ ~ 


Nearly all Mr. Smith’s poetry bears the impress of youth—excessive 
imagery and ornament, a want of art and regularity. In one of 
Miss Mitford’s letters we read: ‘ Mr. Kingsley says that Alfred Ten- 
nyson says that Alexander Smith’s poems shew fancy, but not imagi- 
nation; and on my repeating this to Mrs. browning, she said it was 


exactly her impression.’ The young poet had, however, a vein-of — 


fervid poetic feeling, attesting the genuineness of his inspiration, 
and a fertile fancy that could form brilliant pictures. With diligent 
study, simplicity, distinctness, and vigour might have been added, 
had the poet not been cut down in the very flower of his youth and 
genius. His prose works, ‘ Dreamthorp,’ ‘A Book of Essays, ‘A Sum- 


mer in Skye,’ and ‘ Alfred Hagart’s Household,’ are admirably writ- 
ten. A Memoir of Smith, with some literary remains, was published — 


in 1868, edited by P. P. Alexander. 


Autumn. 


The lark is singing in the blinding sky, 

Hedges are white with May.. The bridegroom sea 
is toying with the shore. his wedded bride, 

And, in the fullness of his marriage joy, 

He decorates her tawny brow with shells, 

Retires a sp2ce to see how fair she looks, 

Then proud, runs up to kiss her, All is fair— 

All giad. from grass to sun! Yet more Llove 
Than this, the shrinking day, that sometimes comes 
In Winter’s front, so fair ’mong its dark peers, 

It seems a straggler from the files of June, 

Which in its wanderings had lost its wits, 

And half its beauty ; and, when it returned, 
Finding its old companions gon: away. 

It joined Novemb2r’s troop. then marching past}; 
And so the frail thing comes,.and greets the world 
With a thin crazy smile, then bursts in tears, 

And all the while it holds within its hand 

A few half-withered flowers. 


Unrest and Ohildhood. 


Unrest! unrest! The passion-panting sea 
Watches the unveiled beauty of the stars ? 
Like a great hungry soul. The unqniet clouds 
Break and dissolve, then gather in a mass, 

And float like mighty icebergs through the blue. 
Summers, like blushes, sweep the face of earth ; 
Heaven yearns in stars. Down comes the frantic rain 3 
We hear the wail of the remorseful winds 

In their strange penance. And this wretched orb 
Knows not the taste of rest; a maniac world, 
Hom:less and sobbing through the deep she goes, 


{A chiid runs past.] 


O thon bright thing, fresh from the hand of God; 
The motions of thy dancing limbs are swayed 
By the unceasing music of thy being! 


* Y ae , - eee 
+ Ree as ae ee Sd i - 7, 


‘MASSEY. | - ENGLISH LITERATURE. 99 


Nearer I seem to God when looking on thee. 

’Tis ages since He made his youngest star, 

His hand was on thee as ’twere yesterday. 

Thou later revelation! Silver stream, — 

Breaking withJaughter from the lake divine 
Whence all things flow. O bright and singing babe, 
What wilt thou be hereafter ? 


ay 


GERALD Massey, born at Tring, in Hertfordshire, in the year 1828, 
has fought his way to distinction in the face of severe difficulties. Up 
to his seventeenth or eighteenth year he was either a factory or an 
errand boy. He then tried periodical writing, and after some ob- 


 scure efforts, produced in 1854 the ‘Ballad of Babe Christabel, and 


other Poems.’ a volume that passed through several editions; in 1855, 
‘ War Waits; in 1856, ‘ Craigcrook Castle, and other Poems.’ Mr. 
Massey is author also of ‘ Havelock’s March,’ 1861; ‘Tale of Eter- 
nity,’ 1869; and of various other pieces in prose and verse. By these 
publications, and with occasional labours asa journalist and lecturer, 
he has honourably established himself in the literary profession. His 
poetry possesses both fire and tenderness, with a delicate lyrical 
fancy, but is often crude and irregular in style. It is remarkable 
that the diligence and perseverance which enabled the young poet to 
surmount his early troubles, should not have been employed to cor- 
rect and harmonize his verse. Ofall the self-taught English poets, 
Bloomfield seems to have been the most intent on studying good 


models and attaining to correct and lucid composition. A prose 


~ work, ‘Shakspeare and his Sonnet,’ by Mr. Massey, is ingenious and 


well written. 
Conclusion of Babe Christabel. 


In this dim world of clouding cares, 

We rarely know, till wildered eyes 

See white wings lessening up the skies, 
The angels with us unawares. 


And thou hast stolen a jewel, Death! 
Shall light thy dark up like a star, 
A beacon kindling from afar 

Our light of love, and fainting faith. 


Through tears it gleams perpetually, 
And glitters through the thickest glooms, 
Till the eternal morning comes 

To light us o’er the jasper sea. 


With our best branch in tenderest leaf, 
We’ve strewn the way our Lord doth come ; 
And, ready for the harvest-home, 

His reapers bind our ripest sheaf. 


Our beautiful bird of light hath fled: 
Awhile she sat with folded wings—- 
Sang round us a few hoverings— 

Then straightway into glory sped. 


' And white-winged angels nurture her; 
With heaven’s white radiance robed and crowned, 


~ 
1 


100 CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876, 


And all love’s purple glory round, ae . By 
She summers on the hills of myrrh. ‘ 


Through childhood’s morning-land, serene 
She walked betwixt us twain, like love; 
While, in a robe of light above, 

Her better angel waiked unseen. 


Till life’s highway broke bleak and wild; 
Then, Jest her starry garments trail 
In inire, heart bleed, and courage fail, 7 

The angel’s arms caught up the child. 


Her wave. of life hath backward rolled _ 
To the great ocean ; on whose shore 
We wander up and down, to store 

Some treasures of the times of old: 


And aye we seek and hunger on 
Yor precious pearis and relies rare, 
strewn on the sands for us to wear 
At heart, for Jove of her that’s gone. . 
O weep no more! there yet is balm 
In Gilead! Love doth ever shed , 
Rich healing where it nestles—spread 5 
O’er desert pillows some green palm ! ~s 


Strange glory streams through life’s wild renis, 
And through the open dvor of death = 
We see the heaven that beckoneth 

To the beloved guing hence. 


God’s ichor fills the hearts that bleed 3 
The-best fruit loads the broken bough ; ant 
And in the wounds our sufferings plough, 

Immortal love sows sovere.gn seed. 


pe 


DAVID GRAY, | 
In 1862 appeared a small volume, ‘The Luggie, and ofher Poems,’~ ~ 
by Davip Grey (1888-1861), with a memoir of the author by James — 
Hedderwick, and a prefatory notice by R. M. Milnes, afterwards 
Lord Houghton. Gray was born on the banks of the Luggie,* and — 
reared in the house of his father, a handloom weaver at Merkland, — 
near Kirkintillock. David was one of a large family, but he was in- 
tended for the church, and sent to Glasgow, where he supported him~ — 
self by teaching, and attended classes in the university for four sea- — 
sons. The youth, however, was eager for literary fame; he had 
written thousands of verses, and published from time to time pieces — 
in the ‘Glasgow Citizen,’ a journal in which Alexander Smith had — 
also made his first appearance in all the glory of print. In his — 
twenty-second year Gray started off for London, as ambitious and — 
self-confident, and as friendless as Chatterton when he left Bristol on — 


= 


a Similar desperate mission. Friends, however, came forward. Gray 


* The Iuggie flows past Merkland at the foot of a precipitous bank. and shortly after. 
wards loses itself among the shedews of Oxgang. with its fine old mansion-honse and — 
rookery. and debouches into the Kelvin. one of the tributaries of the Clyde. celebrated — 
in Scottish song: Itis a mere unpretending rivulet -HEDDERWICK’s Jlcinoir of Gray. 


. 


2 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 101 


had corresponded with Sidney Dobell and Mr: Monckton Milnes, 


‘and he became acquainted with Mr. Lawrence Oliphant, and with 


two accomplished ladies—Miss Coates, Hampstead, and Miss Marion 
er J oe ° . . . 
_James, an authoress of considerable reputation. Assistance inmoney 


and counsel was freely given, but consumption set in, and the poor 
‘poet, having longed to return to his native place, was carefully sent 


* back to Merkland. ‘There he wrought hopefully at his poems, and 


oo 


when winter came, it was arranged that he should remove to the south 


jof England. ‘ 


1 Mr. Milnes, the kind ladies at Hampstead, and some Scottish friends 
(Mrs. Nichol, widow of Professor Nichol, Mr. William Logan, and - 


- others), supplied the requisite funds, and Gray was placed in a 


~ hydropathic establishment at Richmond. Thence he was removed, 


_ through the kindness of Mr. Milnes, to Devonshire; but the desire 


for home again returned, and in the middleof January 1861, the 


- invalid presented himself abruptly at Merkland. ‘Day after day,’ 


"* 


says Mr. Hedderwick—‘ week after week—month after month—life 
* was now ebbing away from him for ever.’ But ‘even under the 


_ strong and touching consciousness of an early doom—with the dart 


of death, like the sword of Damocles, continually suspended over him 
and visible—Gray continued to weave, in glory, if not in joy, his poetic 
fancies.’ His ardent wish was. to see his poems in print, and they 


_ were sent to the press. One page was immediately put in type, and 


the dying poet had the inexpressible gratification of seeing and read- 


ing it on the day preceding his death. This was part of a description 
~ Of a winter scene on the banks of the Luggie: 


~ A Winter Scene. - 


Se How beautiful! afar on-moorland ways, 
s Bosomed by mountains, darkened by huge glens 


(Where the lone altar raised by Druid hands 

Stands like a mournful phuntom), hidden clouds 
~ Let fali soft beauty, till each green fir branch 

Is p umed and tasselled. till each heather stalk 

Is delicately fringed. The sycamores, 


Ni Through all their mystical entanglement 


Of bcughs, are draped with silver. All the green 


“ - Of Sweet leaves plaving with the subtle air 


In dainty murmuring ;. the obstinate drone 


oo | Of limber bees that in the monkshood bells 
‘ie House diligent ; the imperishable glow 


~ The young poet received this specimen page as ‘ good news,’ and 


2 


Of summer suishine never more confessed 
The harmony of nuture, the divine 
Diffusive spirit of the Beautiful, 
d Out in the snowy dimness, half revealed, 
Si Like ghosts in glimpsing moonshine, wildly run’ 
ii The children in bewildering delight. 


- paid he could now subside tranquilly ‘ without tears’ into his eternal 


rest. A monument was erecied to his memory at Kirkintilloch in: 


a 


on. 


1865, Mr. Henry Glassford Bell, the sheriff of Glasgow, delivering an 


7 
Ps 


eS BE SSL fa en ae ee eee ee 


a “ ~~ 7 Yee : i +7 Pi as a ean ¢ 
4% ibe #i: . ~ e * a 4 ps 7 ae aA wv 


55% 


“7 


102 " €YCLOPEDIA OF —sérro 1875, 


interesting speech on the occasion. The monument bears the follow-. 
img inscription, from the pen of Lord Houghton: ‘ This monument 
of affection, admiration, and regret, is erected to Davip GRAy, the ~ 
poet of Merkland, by friends from far and near, desirous that his 
grave should be remembered amid the scenes of his rare genius and 
early death, and by the Luggie, now numbered with the streams 
illustrious in Scottish song. Born 29th January 1838; died 8d De- 
cember 1861.’ Three of the most active of the literary friends of 
David Gray—namely, Lord Houghton, Mr. Hedderwick (the accom- 
plished and affectionate biographer of. the poet), and Sheriff Bell 
(whose latest literary task was editing a new edition of Gray’s Poems) — 
—have borne testimony to the rich though immature genius of this 
young poet, and to the pure and noble thoughts which fired his am- 
bition, and guided his course through the short period of his life. — 
Besides his» principal poem, ‘The Luggie,’ Gray wrote a series of 
Sonnets entitled ‘In the Shadow,’ which are no less touching than 
beattiful_in composition, and greatly superior to the poetry of 
Siichael Bruce, written under similarly affecting circumstances. 
An Auiumnal Day. 

Beneath an ash in beauty tender leaved, : 

And through whose boughs the glimmering sunshine flowed 

In rare ethereal jasper, making coel 

A chequered shadow in the dark green grass, 

s I lay enchanted. At my head there bloomed 

A hedge of sweet-brier, fragrant as the breath : 

Of maid beloved, when her cheek is laid E 

To yours in downy pressure, soft as sleep. 

A bank of harebells, flowers unspeakable 

For half-transparent azure, nodding, gleamed ig 

As a fain’ zephyr. laden with perfuine, j 

Kissed them to motion, gently, with no will. 

pefore me streams most dear unto my heart, 

Sweet Luggie, sylvan Bothlin—fairer twain 

‘Than ever sung themselves into the sea. r 

Lucid Afgean, gemmed with sacred isles— 

Were rolled together mn an emerald vale 3 


And into the severe bright noon, the smoke “ 
Tn airy circles o’er the sycamores | 
Upcurled—a lonely little cloud of blue j = 
Above the happy hamlet. _ Far away, f 2 
A gently rising hill with umbrage clad, iz 


Hazel and glossy birch and silver fir. 


Met the keen sky. Oh, in that wood, I know, 

The woodruff and the hyacinth are fair ; * 
kn their own season; with the bilberry i 
Of dim and misty blue, to childhood dear. ~ . 
Here on a sunny August afternoon, - % 
A vision stirred my spirit half-awake . ‘oie 


To fling a pzrer lustre on those fields ? 
That knew my boyish footsteps ; and to sing 
Thy pastoral beauty, Luggie, into fame. 

Lf t% must be that I Die young. 


If it must be; if it must be, O God! 
That I die young, and make no further moans; 


Geax | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 103 


_That, underneath the unrespective sod, 
In unescutchconed privacy, my bones 
Shall crumble soon—then give me strength to beax 
The last convulsive throe of too sweei breath ! 
I tremble from the edge of life to dare 
The dark and fatal leap, having no faith, 
No glorious yearning for the Apocalypse : 
But like a child that in the night-time cries 
For light, I crv ; forgetting the eciipse 
Of knowledge and our human destinies, 
O peevish and uncertain soul! obey 
The law of life in patience till the day. 


All Fair Things at their Death the Fatrese 


Why are all fair things at their death the fairest ¢ 
Beauty, the beautifullest in decay ? 

Why doth rich sunset clothe each closing day 
With ever new appavelling the rarest ? 

Why are the sweetest imefories all born 

Of pain and sorrow? Monrneth not the dove, 
In the green forest gloom, an absent love ? 
Leaning her breast against that cruel thorn, 
Doth not the nightingale, poor bird, complain 
And integrate her uncontrollable woe 

To such perfection, that to hear is pain? 
Thus Sorrow and Death—alone realities— 
Sweeten their ministration, and bestow 

On troublous life a relish of the skies ! 


Spring. 
Now, while the long-delaying ash assume3 
The delicate April green, and loud, and clear, 
Through the cool, yellow, twilight glooms, 
The thrush’s song enchants the captive ear; 
Now, while a shower is pleasant in the falling, 
Stirring the still perfuine that wakes around ; 
Now that doves mourn, and from the distance calling, » 
The cuckoo answers with a sovereign sonnd— 
Come with thy native heart, O true and tried ! 
But leave all books; for what with converse high, 
Flavoured with Attic wit, the time shall glide : 
On smoothly, as a river fleweth by, 
Or as on stately pinion, through the gray 
Evening, the culver cuts his liquid wuy : 


THOMAS RAGG—THOMAS COOPER. 


Two other pocts sprung from the people, and honourubly dis- 
tinguished for self-cultivation, merit notice. THomas HR4suG was 
born in Nottingham in 1808. In 1823 he issued his first publication, 
‘The Incarnation, and other Poems,’ being at that time engaged in a 
lace factory. ‘The Incarnation’ wes part of a philosophical poem 
on ‘The Deity,’ and was published for the purpose of ascertaining 
whether means could be obtained for the publication of the whole. 


In consequence of the favourable critical notices, two gentlemen in 
the West of England—whuse names deserve to be recorded—Mr. 
Mann of Andover, and Mr. Wyatt of Stroud, offered to become 
Tesponsible for the expenses of bringing out ‘The Deity,’ and the 


/ 


104 - CYCLOPEDIA OF 


[ro 1876, 


then venerable James Montgomery undertook to revise the manuscript. 
It was published in 1834 with considerable success, In 1885 he pro- 
duced *The Martyr of Verulam, and other Poems;’ in 1887, ‘ Lyrics 
fromthe Pentateuch;’ in 1840, ‘ Heber and. other Poems;’ in 1847, ~ 
‘Scenes and Sketches;’ in i855, ‘Creation’s Testimony to its Au- ~ 
thor;’ and in 1858, ‘ Man’s Dreams and God’s Realities.” The poet 
had been successively newspaper reporter and bookseller; but in 1858 
Dr. Murray, Bishop. of Rochester, offered him ordination in the - 
church, and he is now vicar of Lawley, near Wellington, Salop. 


The Earth full of Love.—From ‘ Heber.’ 


The earth is full of Jove, albeit the storms . mal 
Of passion mar its influence benign, : 
And drown its voice with discords. Every flower 

That to the sun its heaving breast expands : ; cee 
Is born of love. And every song of bird 4 
That floats, mellifluent, on the balmy air, ‘ 
Is but a love-note. “Heaven is ful! of love; 

Its starry eyes run o’er with tenderness, 

And soften every heart that-meets their gaze, 

As downward looking on this wayward world 

They light it back to God. But neither stars, 

Nor flowers, nor song of birds, nor earth, nor heaven, 
So tell the wonders of that glorious name, | 
As they shall be revealed, when comes the hour - 
Of nature’s consummation, hoped-for long, © < 
When, passed the checkered vestibule of time, . 

The creature in immortal youth shall bloom, 
And good, unmixed with.ill, for ever reign. 


Va oat 


% 


s y o 


THOMAS CoopER, ‘the Chartist,’ while confined in Stafford jail, -~ 
1842-44, wrote a poem in the Spenserian stanza, entitled ‘ The Pur- 
gatory of Suicides,’ which evinces poetical power and fancy, and has — 
gone through several editions. ‘This work was published in 1845;° 
and the same year Mr. Cooper issued a series of prose tales and — 
sketches, ‘ Wise Saws and Modern Instances.’ In thefollowlng year _ 
he published ‘ The Baron’s Yule Feast, a Christmas Rhyme.’ Though * — 
addressed, like the ‘Corn-law Rhymes’ of Elliott, to the working- — 


classes, and tinged with some jaundiced and gloomy views of society, 
there is true poetry in Mr. Cooper’s rhymes. ‘The following is a -, 
scrap of landscape-painting—a Christmas scene: $ 
: 9 

How joyously the lady bells Sparkles so far transcending gems, Ss 
Shout, though the bluff north breeze The bard would gloze who said their 
Loudly his boisterous bugle swells! sheen - 
And though the brooklets freeze, Did not out-diamond $3 4 
How fair the leafless hawthorn tree All brightest gauds that man hath seen, © 
Waves with its hoar-frost tracery ! Worn by earth’s proudest king or queen, - 
While eens throw o’er stalks and In pomp and grandeur throned! e 
stems * 

In 1848 Mr. Cooper became a political and historical lecturer, set 


up cheap political journals, which soon died, and wrote two novels, — 
‘Alderman Ralph,’ 1853, and ‘The Family Feud,’ 1854. He was — 
tinged with infidel opinions, but these he renounced, and commenced 7 


mene kG ra 


2 
je 
es 


ia 
“MACKAY. } 


“ENGLISH LITERATURE. 105 

~ a course of Sunday evening lectures and discussions in support of 

> Christianity. He has also written an account of his ‘Life, which 
has reached a third cdition. 


.. LORD JOHN MANNERS—HON. MR. SMYTHE. 
». Aseries of poetical works, termed ‘ Young England’ or ‘ Trae- 
- tarian Poetry’ appeared in 1840 and 1841. ‘England's Trust, and 
other Poems,’ by Lorp Jonn MaAnnurs; ‘ Historic Fancies,’ by the 

Hon. Mr. SMyTHeE (afterwards Lord Strangford); ‘The Cherwell 
~ Water Lily,’ &c., by the Rev. F. W. Faser. The chief object. of 
_ these works was to revive the taste for feudal feeling and ancient 
sports, combined with certain theological and political opinions 
_ characteristic of a past age. The works had poetical and amiable 
’ feeling, but were youthful, immature productions; and Lord John 

-Manners must have regretted the couplet which we here print in | 
 ditalics, and which occasioned uo small ridicule: . 

. No; by the names inscribed in History’s page, 
4 ~ Names that-are England’s nob est heritage ; 
Names that shali live for yet unnumbered years 
Shrined in our hearts.with Cressy and Poictiers ; 

, Let wealth and commeree, laws and learning die, 7 

ont, But leave us stili our old nobicity. 
_ Lord John has since applied himself to politics. He held office in the 
Conservative administrations from 1852 to 1867, and again in Mr. 
. Disraeli’s administration of 1874, being appointed Postmaster-general. 
His lordship is author also of ‘Notes of an Irish Tour,’ 1849; * Eng- 
- lish Ballads and other Poems,’ 1850; ‘A Cruise in Scotch Waters;’ 
‘ and several pamphlets on religious and political questions. 

_ Lord Strangford (the seventh viscount) also took,a-part in public 
- affairs, and promised to become an able debater, but ill health with- 
drew him from both politics and literature. He died in 1857, at the 
_ age of forty. 

S CHARLES MACKAY. 


~ Among the authors of the day, uniting political sympathies and 
aspirations with lyrical poetry, is Dr. CHarites Mackay. Some of 
“his songs are familiar as household words both in this country and 
in America, and his influence as an apostle or minstrel of soctal re- 
form and the domestic affections must have been considerable. Dr. 
. Mackay commenced his literary career in 1834, in his twentieth year, 
by the publication of a small volume of poems. Shortly afterwards 
he became connected with the ‘ Morning Chronicle’ daily journal, 

and continued in this laborious service for nine years. In 1840, he 
‘published ‘The Hope of the World,’ a poem in verse of the style of 
Pope and Goldsmith. In 1842 appeared ‘The Salamandrine,’ a poet- 
-ieal romance founded on the Rosicrucian system, which supplied 
Pope with-the inimitable aérial personages of his ‘Rape of the 
-Lock.’ ‘The Salamandrine’ is the most finished of Dr. Mackay’s 
LR: . : 5 r 


: Se : 


106 CYCLOP-EDIA OF _~ — fro 1876 


works, and has passed through several editions. From 1844 to 1847, 
our author -couducted a Scottish newspaper, the ‘ Glasgow Argus;’ 
and while resident in the north, he received the honorary distinction 
of LL. D. from the university of Glasgow. : 
Returning to London, he resumed his connection with the metro- 
politan press, and was for several years editor of the ‘ Illustrated Lon- 
don News,’ in the columns of which many of his poetical pieces first 
appeared. His collected works, in addition to those already enume- 
rated, consist of ‘ Legends of the Isles,’ 1845; ‘ Voices from the Crowd,’ 
1846; ‘ Voices from the Mountains,’ 1847; ‘Town Lyrics,’ 1848; ‘Egeria, 
or the Spirit of Nature,’ 180; ‘The Lump of Gold,’ &c., 1856; ‘Songs | 
for Music,’ 1857; ‘ Under Green Leaves,’ 1858; ‘A Man’s Heart,’ 1860; 
“Studies from the Antique,’ 1864, &c. Some prose works have also 
proceeded from the pen of Dr. Mackay—‘ The Thames and its Tribu- 
taries,’ two volumes, 1840; ‘ Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Le- 
lusions,’ two volumes, 1852, &c. In 1852, Dr. Mackay made a tour in _ 
America, and delivered a course of lectures on Poetry, which he has 
repeated in this country. His transatlantic impressions he has em- 
bodied in two volumes of lively description, bearing the title of ‘ Life — 
and Liberty in America.’ The poet, we may add, isa native of Perth, 
born ii 1814, while his father, an officer in the army, was on recruiting 
service. He was in infancy removed to London, and five years of 


his youth were spent in Belgium. 


Apologue from ‘ Egerta.’ 

In ancient time, two acorns, in their cups, 
Shaken by winds and ripeness from the tree, 
Dropped side by side into the ferns and grass. 
‘ Where have I fallen? to what base region come?? 
Exclaimed the one. ‘The joyous breeze no more 
Rocks me to slumber on the sheltering bough ; 
The sunlight streams no longer on my face ; 
I look no more from altitudes serene © 
Upon the world reposing far below; 
Its plains, its hills, its rivers, and its woods. 
To me the nightingale sings hymns no more} 
But I am made companion of the worm, 
And rot on the chill earth.” Around me grow 
Nothing but useless weeds, and grass, and fern, 
Unfit to hold companionship with me. 
Ah me! most wretched! rain. and frost, and dew, 
And all the pangs and penalties of earth, . 
Corrupt me where I jie—degenerate.’ = 
And thus the acorn made its daily moan. 

The other raised no murmur of complaint, 
And looked on with no contempt upon the grass, 
‘Nor called the branching fern a worthless weed, ‘ 
Nor scorned the woodland flowers that round it blew. 
All silently and piously it lay 
Upon the kindly bosom of the earth. 4 
It blessed the warmth with which the noonday sun 
Made fruitful a]] the ground; it loved the dews, 
The moonlight and the snow, the frost and rain, i 
And all the change of seasons as they passed.” % 


“MACKAY. ] __ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 107 


; It sank into the bosom of the soil: 
The bursting life, inclosed within its husk, 
Broke through its fetters 5 it extended roots, 
And twived them freely in the grateful ground 3 
It sprouted up, and looked upon the lignt ; 
The sunshine fed it ; the embracing air 
Endowed it with vitality and strength; 
The rains of heaven supplied it nourishment, 
And so trom month to month, and year to year, 
It grew in beauty and in usefuln ss, 
Until its large circumference inclosed 
Shelter for flocks and herds; until its boughs 
Afforded homes for happy multitudes, 
The dormouse, and the chafliuch, and the jay, 
And countless myriads of minuter life; 
r Until its bole, too vast for the embrace 

Of human arms, stood in the forest depths, 

The model and the glory of the wood. 

Its sister-acorn perished in its pride. 


Love New and Old. 


And were they not the happy days And are they not the happy days 

When Love and I were young, When Love and J are old, 
_ When earth was robed in heavenly light, And silver evening has repiaced 

And all creation sung ? A morn and noon of gold? 

When gazing in my true love’s face, Love stood alone mid youtuful joy, 
Through greenwood alleys lone, But now by sorrow tried, 

I guessed the secrets of her heart, It sits and calmly looks to heaven 
By whispers of mine own. * With angels at its side. 


Song—Tubal Cain. 


- Old Tubal Cain was a man of might 
; In the days when Earth was young; 
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright 
The strokes of his hammer rung ; 
And he lifted high his brawny hand 
On the iron glowing clear, 
Tili the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, 
As he fashioned the sword and spear. 
~ * And he sang: * Hurra for ny handiwork! 
Hurra, for the spear and sword! 
Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well, 
For he shall be king and lord!’ 
To Tubal Cain came many a one, 
- As he wrought by his roaring fire, 
<a And each one prayed fora strong steel blade 
As thecrown of his desire: 
And he made them weapons sharp and strong, 
Till they shouted loud for glee, 
And gave him gifts of pearl and gold, 
And spoils of the forest free. 
And they sang: ‘ Hurrah for Tubal Cain, 
Who has given us strength anew! 
Hurrah for the smith, hurra for the fire, 
And hurrah for the metal true !? 
But a sudden change came o’er his heart 
Ere the setting of the sun, 
_ And Tubal Cain was filled with pain 
For the evil he had done; 
He saw that men, with rage and hate, 
Made war upon their kind. . 
That the land was red Rh the blood they. shed, 


ry 


108 “= CYCLOPADIA OF  ° ~ . fro 1876, 


In their Just for carnage blind. 

And he said: * Alas! that ever I made, —- 
Or that skill of mine should pian, 

The spear and the sword for nen whose joy 

- Is to slay their feliow-man 

And for many 2 day old ‘iubal Cain 
Sat broodiug o’er his woe; 

And his hand 1orebore to smite the ore, 
And his furnace smouldered low, 


But he rose at last witha cheerful face, ~ oy 
Aud a bright courageous eye, 
And bared his strong right arm for work, ‘ 


While the quics iames mounted high. 
And he sang: * Hurra for my handiwork! ? 
And the red sparks hit the air; 
‘Not uloue for the blade was the bright steel made 5? 
And he fashioned the first ploughshare, : . 
And men, taught wisdom from tue past, ~y 
Tn trieudsinp joined their hands, 
Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, 
Aud pluugued the willing lands; mar 
And ¢ang: - Hurrah for ‘Yubal Cain! - a 
Our staunch good friend is he; 
And for the ploughshare und the plongh 
‘Yo him our praise shall be. f a 
But while oppression lifts its head, ; “ss 
Or a tyrant would be lord, 
Though we may thank him for the plough, 
We'll not forges the sword 


PHILIP JAMES BAILEY—RICHARD HENRY HORNE. : 


Purip James Barwey was born at Basford, county of Notting- — 
ham, in 1816. He was educated in his native town and at Glasgow 
University, after which he studied for the bar. In 1849 he produced © 
his first and greatest poem, ‘ Festus,’ subsequently enlarged, and now ~ 
in its fifth edition. The next work of the poet was * The Angel 
World,’ 1850, which was followed in 1855 by the ‘ Mystic,’ and in — 
1858 Mr. Bailey published ‘The Age, a Colloquial Satire.’ All of— 
these works, excepting the last, are in blank verse, and have one ten-_ 
dency and object—to describe the history of a divinely instructed — 
mind or soul, soaring upwards to communion with ‘the universal — 
life.’ With the boldness of Milton, Mr. Bailey passes “the flaming 
bounds of space and time,’ and carries his ‘Mystic’ even into the 
presence of the ‘fontal Deity.’ His spiritualism and symbolical | 
meanings are frequently incomprehensible, and his language crude” 
and harsh, with affected archaisms. Yet there are fragments of 
beautiful and splendid imagery in the poems, and a spirit of devo- 
tional rapture that has recommended them to many who rarely read” 
poetry. The ‘Colloquial Satire’ is a failure—mere garrulity and slip: 
shod criticism. Thus of war: . 

Of allconceits misgrafted on God’s Word, 
A Christian soldier seems the most absurd. 
That Word commands ns so to act in all things, - 


As not to hurt another e’en in small things. 
To fico from anger, hatred, bloodshed, strife; 


- ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 109 


a ; To pray for, and to care for others’ life. 
A Christian soldier’s duty is to-slay, 
Wound, harass, slaughter, hack in every way 
<i Those men whose souls he prays for night and day3 
= With what consistency let prelates say. 
He ’s told to love his enemies: don't scoff ; 
He does so; ahd with rifles picks them cf. 
a. He ’s told to do to all as he’d be done 
By, and he therefore blows them from a gun, 
‘Lo bless his foes, he ‘ hangs fein up like fun.’ 


_ We may contrast this doggerel with a specimen of Mr. hailey’s 
‘tmbitious blank verse, descriptive of the solitary, mystic :ecluse, 
-dweling ‘lion-like within the desert? 


Lofty and passionless as date-palm’s bride, 
High on the upmost summits of his soul— 
Wrought of the elemental light of heaven, 
And pure aud plastic flaie that soul could shew, 
Whose nature, like the perfume of a flower 
Enriched w th aromatic sun-cust, charms 
Aljl, and with ali ingratiates itself, =~ 
Sat dazzling Purity; for loftiest things, 
Snow-like, are purest, As in-mountain morns 
Expectant air the sun-birth, so his soul 
Her God into its supervatu al depths 
Accepted brightly aud sublimely. Vowed 

i ‘Yo mystic visions of supernal things; 

Daily endowed with spheres and astral thrones, 
His, by pre-emptive rigrt, through all time; 

’.Immerged in his own essence, Clarified 

From all those rude propensities which rule 
Man’s heart, a tyrant mob, and. venal, sell 
All virtues—ay, the crown of life—to what 

©. Passion soe’er preponent, worst deludes 
Or dettliest flatters, he, death-calm, beheld, 

a : As though through giass of some far-sighting tube, 

: TVhe restful future ; and. consumed in bliss, 

In vital and ethereal thought abstract, 

‘Lhe depth of Deity and heights of heaven. 


Or the following finc lines from ‘ Festus’ 


We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths $ 
. In feelings, not in figures on a dial. _ 
4 We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives, 
© ~  Whothinks most, feels the noblest. acts the best. 
And he whose heart beats quickest lives the longest: 
Lives in one hour more than in years do some 
- Whose fat blood sleeps as it slips along the veins. 


a ie _ Life is but a means unto an end; that end. 
ia Beginning. mean. and end to all things—God. 
a The dead have all the glory of the world. 


And on universal love: 


ae Love is the happy privilege of the mind 
naphe Love is the reason of all living things. 
A Trinity there seems of principles, 
Which represent and rue created life— 
The love of self. our fellows, and our God. 
5 In all throughout oné common feeling reigns: 
TS. Each doth maintain, and is maintaincd by the other3 ; 


430007: _ --€YCLOPADIA OF ‘fro 1876. 


_All are compatible—all needful; one 
‘Co life—to virtue one—and one to bliss: 
Which thus.together make the power, the end, 
And the perfection of created Being. 
From these three principles doch every deed, 4 
Desire, and will, and reasoning, good or bad, comes 
T'o these they all determine—sum ana scheme: 
The three are one in centre and in round; 
Wrapping the world of life as do the skies 
Our world. Hail! air of love, by which we live! 
How sweet, how fragrant! Spirit, though unseen— 
Void of gross sign—is scarce a simple essence, 
Immortal, immaterial, though it be. 
One only simple essence liveth—God— 
Creator, uncreate The brutes beneath, 
The angels high above us, with our selves, 
Are but compounded things of mind and form. 
: In all things animate is therefore cored 
An elemental sameness of existence ; 
For God, deing Love, in love created all, 
As he con.ains the whole and penetrates. 
Seraphs love God, and angels love the good: 
We love each other : and ‘these lower tives, 
Which walk the earth in thousand diverse shapes, 
According to their reason, love us too: 
The most intelligent affect us most. 
Nay, man’s chief wisdom’s love—the love of God. k 
The new religion—final, perfect, pure— 
Was that of Christ and love. His great. command— 
His all-sufficing precept—was ’t not love? 
Truly to love ourselves we must love God— 
To love God we must all his creatures love— 
To love his creatures, both ourselves and Him. 
Thus love is all that’s wise, fair, good, and happy! 
In 1867 Mr. Bailey added to his poetical works a production in 
the style of his early Muse, entitled ‘The Universal Hymn.’ 
RICHARD HENRY Horne, born in London in 1803, commenced ac- 
tive life as.a midshipman in the Mexican navy. When the war be- 
tween Mexico and Spain had ceased, Mr. Horne returned to England 
and devoted himself to literature. He is the author of several 
dramatic pieces—‘ Cosmo de Medici,’ 1887; ‘The Death of Mar- 
lowe,’ 1838; and ‘Gregory the Seventh,’ 1840. In 1841 he produced 
a ‘Life of Napoleon; and in 1848, ‘Orion, an Epic Poem,’ the 
most successful of his works, of which the ninth edition is now 
(1874) before us. In 1844 Mr. Horne published two volumes of prose 
sketches entitled ‘A New Spirit of the Age,’ being short biogra- 
phies, with criticism, of the most distinguished living authors. In_ 
1846 appeared ‘Ballad Romances;’ in 1848, ‘ Judas Iseariot, a Mys> 
tery Play; and in 1851, ‘The Dreamer and the Worker,’ two vols. 
In 1852 Mr. Horne went to Australia, and for some time held the 
office of Gold Commissioner. | 
We may note that ‘Orion’ was originally published at the price 
of one farthing, being ‘an experiment upon the mind of a nation,’ 
and ‘as there was scarcely any instance of an epic poem attainin 
any reasonable. circulation during its author’s lifetime.’ ‘This nomi: 


a 


‘HORNE,} ENGLISH LITERATURE. “ 11) 


- 


‘nal price saved the author ‘the trouble and greatly additional ex- 
_pense of forwarding presentation copies,’ which, he adds, ‘are not 
always particularly desired by those who receive them.’ Three of 
these farthing editions were published, after which there were se- 
everal at a price which ‘ amply remunerated the publisher, and left 
“the author no great loser.’ Orion, the hero of the poem, was meant 
to present ‘atype of the struggle of man with himseif—that is, the 
-eontest between the intellect and. the senses, when powerful ener- 
gies are equally balanced.’ The allegorical portion of the poem is 
defective and obscure, but it contains striking and noble passages. 


The Progress of Mankind.—From ‘ Orion.’ 
The wisdom of mankind creeps slowly on, 
; Subject to every doubt that can retard, 
> Or fling it back upon an earlier time; 
So timid are man’s footsteps in the dark, 
But blindest those who have no inward light. 
One mind perchance in every age contains 
The sum of all before, and much to come; 
Much that’s far distant still; but that full mind, 
Companioned oft by others of like scope, 
Belief, and tendency, and anxious will, 
j : A circle small transpierces and Nlumes: 
Expanding. soon its subtle radiance 
° Falls b'unted from the mass of flesh and bone. 
The man who for his race might supersede 
The work of ages, dies worn ‘out—not used, 
And in his track disciples onward strive, 
Some hair-breadths only from his starting-point : 
Yet lives he not in vain ; for if his soul 
Hath entered others, though imperfectly, 
The circle widens as the world spins round— 
His soul works on while he sleeps ’neath the grass, 
4 So let the firm Philosopher renew 
ry His wasted Jamp—the lamp wastes not in vain, 
Though he no mirrors for its rays may see, 
vie Nor trace thei through the darkness; let the Hand 
jie Which feels primeval impulses, direct 
ry A forthright plough, and make his furrow broad, 
5 With heart untiring while one field remains ; 
: So let the herald poet shed his thoughts, 
Like seeds that seem but lost upon the wind. 
"§ Work in the night, thou sage. while Mammon’s brain 
Teems with low visions on his couch of dow pier 
9 Break thou the clods while high-throned Vanity, 
Midst glaring ligh:s and tr umpets. holds its court 3 
eee? Sing thou thy song amidst the stoning crowd, 
wie Then stand apart, obscure to man, w ith God. 


=, WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. 


; _ This poet is a native of Ballyshannon, county of Donegal, Ire. 
land: 


The kindly spot. the friendly town, where every one is known, 
And nota face i in all the place but partly seems my own. 
Te was born ir 1898, ard from an early age contributed to periodical 
literature; removing to England he obtained an appointment in the 
Customs. His publications are—‘ Poems,’ 1°50; ‘Day and Night 


ae 


112. 


Songs,’ 1854; ‘Laurence Bloomfield in Ireland’ (a poem in twelve 
chapters), 1864; and ‘Fifty Modern Poems,’ 1865. 
says his ‘ works’ ciaim to be ‘ genuine in their way. 


~ CYCLOPADIA OF 


Mr. Allingham ~ 
They are free _ 


from all obscurity and mysticism, and evince a fine feeling for 
nature, as well as graceful fancy and poetic diction. Mr. Allingham 


is editor of ‘ Fraser's Magazine.’ 


To the Nightingales, - 


Yon sweet fastidious nightingales! 
The myrbe blooms in Trish vales, 
By Avondhu and rich Lough Lene, 


Was haunted on his hills and slain, % 
Aud, one to France and one to Spain, _ 
The remnant of the race withdrew ? 


Through many a grove and bowerlet Was it fromanarchy ye flew, 24 
green, And fierce Oppression’s bigot crew, - 
Fair-mirrored round the loitering skiff. Wild complaint, and menace hoarse, ‘9 
The purple peak, the tinted cliff. Misled, misleading voices, loud and © 
The glen where mountain-torrents rave, coarse? Ete - ; 
And foliage blinds their leaping wave, 


Come back. O birds. or come at last! — 
For Ireland’s furious days are past; 
And, purged of enmity and wrong, 


Broad emerald meadows filled with 
flowers, 
Embosomed ocean-bays are ours 


With all their isles; and mystic towers Her cye. her step, grow calm and 
Lonely and gray, deserted long, . strong. - 
Less sad if they might hear that perfect Why should we miss that pure delight ? + 


Brief is the journey, swift the flight ; 
And Hesper finds no fairer maids 
In Spanish bowers or English glades, 
No loves more true on any Shore, 
No lovers loving music more. 
Melodious Erin, warm of heart, 
Entreats you; stay not then apart, 
But bid the merles and throstles- know 
(And ere another May-time go) ~ 
Their place is in the second row. — 
Come to the west, dear nightingales! _ 
The rouse and myrtle bloom in Trish vales,_ H 
: A * 


ALFRED TENNYSON. a 

Mr. Tennyson, the most popular poet of his times, is the young — 
est of a poetical brotherhood of three—Frederick, Charles, and _ 

_Alfred—sons of the late Rev. George Clayton Tennyson, a Lincoln.” 


song! 
What scared ye? (ours, I think, of 
old) 
The sombre fowl hatched in the cold? 
King Henry’s Normans, mailed and 
stern, 
Smiters of galloglas and kern ? (1) 

- Or, most and worst, fraternal feud, 
Which sad Ierne long hath rued ? 
Forsook ye, when the Geraldine, 

Great chieftain of a glorious line, 


«JS 


on 


iN bilasteg Duden: 


4 


wets 


A % . , % ~ i | 
~ shire clergyman,* who is described as having been a man remarkable 


for strength and stature, and for the energetic force of his char- 
acter. This gentleman had a family of eleven or twelve children, 
seven of whom were sons. The eldest three we have mentioned were ~ 

all educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, pupils of Dr. Whewell.— 


- 


1 Galloglas—kerii—trish foot-soldier ; the first hGAvy-armed, the second light. — = 
lx The motherof the laureate was also of a clerical family, danghterof theRev. Steptoe 
Fytche. Hispaternal grandfather was a Lincolnshire squire, owner of Bayons Manorand — 
Usselby Hall--properties afterwards held by the poet’s uncle, the Right Hon Charles Ten-— 
-nyson D’Kyhecourt. who assumed the name of D’Kyncourt to commemorate his descent 
from that ancient Norman family. and in compliance with a condition attached to th 
possessi nof certain manors andestates. The eldest of the laureate’= brothers, Frederick, — 
is author of a volume of poems—gracetul. but without any original distinctive characte 
—entitled Duys and Hours, 1s64. Charles. the second brother. who dined with 4 ltred 
_as stated ahove, in the composition of a volume of verse, became vicar of Grassby. Li 
colnshire, in 1835. He took the name of Turner, on succeeding to a property in 


shire- Ju 1864, he published a volume of Sonnets. 


_ TENNYSON. j 


: ENGLISH ‘LITERATURE, ee 118 


a 


_ Alfred was born in the parsonage at Somersby (rear Spilsby) tn 1810. 
. 


* In 1829, he gained the Chancellor’s medal for the English prize poem, 
his subject being ‘Timbuctoo.’ Previous to this, in conjunction with 
his brother Charles, he published anonymously a small volume en- 
_ titled ‘Poems by. Two Brothers.’ In 1830 appeared * Poems, chiefly. 
» Lyrical, by Alfred Tennyson.’ This volume contained poenis since 
_ altered and incorporated in later collections. These early productions 
had the faults of youthful genius—irregularity, indistinctness of con- 
_ ception, florid puerilities, and occasional affectation. In such poems, 
however, as ‘Mariana,’ *Recollections of the Arabian N ights,’ and 
_-*Ciaribel,’ it was obvious that a true original poet liad arisen. In 
1833, Mr. Tennyson issued another volume, shewing an advance in 
~ poetical power and in variety of style, though the collection met with 
_ severe treatment from the critics. “For nine years the poet continued 
“Silent. In 1842, he reappeared with ‘ Poems,’ in two volumes—this 
_ third series being a reprint of some of the pieces in the former vo- 
-_ lumes; considerably altered, with many new poems, including the 
most striking and popular of all his productions. These were of 
various classes—fragments of legendary and chivalrous story, as 
~‘ Morte d’Arthur,’ ‘Godiva,’ &c.; or pathetic and beautiful, as ‘The 
May Queen’ and ‘Dora’; or impassioned love-poems, as ‘ The Gar- 
dener’s Daughter,’ ‘The Miller’s Daughter,’ ‘The Tal king Oak,’ and 
‘Locksley Hall.’ The last is thie most finished of Tennyson’s works, 
full of passionate grandeur and intensity of feeling and imagination. 
At partly combines the energy and impetuosity of Byron with the pic- 
torial beauty and melody of Coleridge. The lover of ‘Locksley Hall’ 
is ardent, generous, and noble-minded, ‘ nourishing a youth sublime’ 
“With lofty aspirations and dreams of felicity. His passion is at first 
returned : 


Ss, Lixtracts from ‘ Locksley Hall.’ 

ne Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands: 
Come Every moment. lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. — 
etl Love took up the harp of Life, and smote-on all the chords with might $ 
ig _ Smote the chord of Self} that. trembling, passed in music out of sight. 
BRA Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring. 

= And her whisper thronged my pulses with the fullness of the Spring. 
eet Many an eveying by the waters did we watch the stately ships, 
= .* ~ And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips. 


ve The fair one proves faithless. and after a tumultof conflicting passions—indigna- 
‘ion, grief, self-reproach. and despair—the sufferer finds relief in glowing visions of 
future enterprise and the world’s progress. 


a For I dipt into th» future. far as human eye could see, 

Saw the Vision of the world. and all the wonder that would be; 
‘ Saw the heavens fill with commerce, areosies of magic sails, 
i Pilots of the purple twilight. dropping down with costly bales; 


~ Heard the heavens fill with shonting. and there rained a chastly dew 


a le From the nations’ airy navies grappling in the central blue: 
ane # Far along the world-wide whisper of the south wind rushing warm, 


" With the standards of the peoples plunging throngh the thunder-storm 3 


- 


114 CYCLOPEDIA OF 


Till the war-drum throbbed-no longer, and the battle flags were furled 
In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the worid. : 

There the common sense of mo-t shall hold a fretfui realm in awe, 
And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law. 

There is a marvellous brilliancy of colouring and force of sentiment 
and expression in this poem, while the versification is perfect. The. 
ballad strains of Te inyson, and particularly his musical ‘ Oriana,’ 
also evince cousummate art; aud when he is purely descriptive, - 
bothing can exceed the minute fidelity with which he paits the 
English landscape. The poet having shifted his residence from 
Li: colushire to the Isle of Wight, his scetie-paintiung partook of the 
change.* The following is from his ‘Gardener’s Daughter:’ —= *— 


Not. wholly in the busy world, nor quite 

Beyond it. blooms the garden-that I love, 

News from the humming city comes to it 

In sound of funeral or of marriage bells ; 

And, sitting muffied in dark leaves, you hear 

The windy clanging of the minster clock ; 

Although between it and the garden lies 

A league of grass, washed by a slow broad stream, 

That, stirred with languid pulses of the oar, 

Waves all its lazy lilies. and creeps on, 
Barge laden, to three arches of a bridge 
Crowned with the minster towers. 


The fields between 4 
Are dewy-fresh. browsed by deep-uddered kine, * 
And all about the Jarge lime feathers low, ae 


The lime a summer home of murmurous wings. 


The poet, while a dweller amidst the fens of Lincolnshire, painted 
morasses, quiet meres, and sighing reeds. The exquisitely modulated 
poem of ‘The Dying Swan’ affords a picture drawn, we think, with 


« 


wonderful delicacy: 


Some bine peaks in the distance rose, 2 

And white against the cold-white sky, y 

Shone out their crowning snows; . 
One willow over the river wept. ~ 2 


And shook the wave as the wind did sigh ; PA 
~ The route from Alum Bay to Carisbrooke takes you past Parringtord, where resided 
sak ieicpcr oetege The house stands so far back as to be invisible from the road, but the 
= 


A eareless ordered garden. . oe 


Close tothe ridge of a noble down— | 
looked very pretty. and thoroughly English. In another verse of the poem from which 


I have anoted—the invitation to the Rev. F. D. Maurice—he exactly describes the sitaae — 
tion of Farringford: “Me 


For sroves of pine on either hand.  - 
To break the blast of winter. stand: ‘ of 
And further on the hoarv channel - 
Tumbles a billow on chalk and sand. £3 
Every one well aeqnainted with Tennyson’s writings will have noticed how the spirit of | 
the scenery which he has depicted has chanced from the *glooming flats.’ the ‘level — 


Waste.’ were ‘stretched wide and wild the waste enormous marsh.’ which were the re- _ 
flex of bis Lincolnshire observation, to the beantiful meadow and orchard thoronghly 
English ruralities of The Cariencerts Nauabter.and The Brook Many glimpses in the 
neighbourhood of Farringford will eall to mind descriptive passages in these last named — 
poems. — Letter in the Daily News. The laureate has also an estate in Surrey (Aldworth, - 
Haslemere) to which he retreats when the tourists and admirers become oppressive iD 
the Isleof Wight. : 3 ; 


“ 


a 


~ 


‘TENNYSON ] 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


1165 


Above in the wind was the swallow, 
Chasing itself at its own wild will; 
‘ And far through the a¢narish green and still, 
| The tangied water-courses sk pt, 
> Shot over with purple, and ereen, and yellow. 
The ballad of ‘The May Queen’ introduces similar scenery: 
When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light,. 
You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night; 
When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool : 
On the out-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool. 
‘The Talking Oak’ is the title of a fanciful and beautiful poem of 
seventy-ilve stanzas, in which a lover and an oak-tree converse upon 


the charms of a certain fair Olivia. 


The-oak-tree thus describes to 


the lover her visit to the park in which it grew: 
Extracts from ‘The Talking Oak.’ 


‘Then ran she, gamesome as the colt, 
And livelier than a lark 

She sent her voice through all the holt 
Before her and the park... . 


‘And here she came, and round me played, 
And sang to me the whole 

Of those three stanzas that you made 
About my * giant bole ;” 


*And in a fit of frolic mirth 
She strove to span my waist: 

Alas! I was so broad of girth, 
I could not be embraced. 


*J wished myself the fair young beech 
That here beside me stands, 

That round me, clasping each in each, 

’ She might have locked her hands. ... 


O mufile round thy knees with fern, 
And shadow Sumner-chace! 

Long may thy topmost branch discern 

_ The roofs of Sumner-place ! 


But tell me, did she read the name 

_ IT earved with many vows, 
hen last with throbbing heart I came 
To rest beneath thy boughs? 


*O yes; she wandered round and round 
‘Yhese knotted knees of mine, 
And found, and kissed the name she 
found. 
And sweetly murmured thine. 


*A tear-drop trembled from its scurce, 
And down my surface crept ° 

My sense of touch is something coarse, 

- But I believe she wept. 


“Then fiushed her cheek with rosy light ; 
|. She glanced across the plain; 
Nine 


7 


But not a creature was in sight: 
She kissed me once again. ~ 


‘Her kisses were so close and kind, 
That, trust me on my word, 

Hard wood I am, and wrinkled rind, 
But yet my sap was stirred: 


‘ And even into my inmcst ring 
A pleasure I discerned, * ; 
Like those blind motions of the Spring, 
That shew the year is turned... . 


‘TI. rooted here among the groves, 
But Janguidly adjust 

My vapid vegetable loves 
With anthers and with dust: 


‘For ah! my friend, the days were brief 
Whereof the poets talk, 
When that, which breathes within the 


eat, 
Could slip its bark and walk. 


‘But could I, as in times foregone. 
From spray, and branch, and stem, 

Have sucked and gathered into one 
The life that spreads in them, 


‘She had not found me so remiss ; 
But lightiv issuing through, 

TI would have paid her kiss fur kiss, 
With usury thereto.’ 


O flourish high, with leafy towers, ° 
And overlook the lea; 

Pursue thy loves among the bowers, 
But leave thon mine to me. 


O fiourish. hidden deep in fern, 
Old oak, I love thee well ; 

A thousand thanks for what I learn, 
And what remains to tell. 


110 


And the poet, in conclusion; proinisés to praise t 
more than England honours his brother-oak, 


_  C¥CLOPASDIA-OF > 5 


he mystic tree even — 


Wherein the younger Charles abode 
Vill all the paths were dim, 

And fur below the Rowndhead rode, 
And hunumed a surly hymn. 


The last two lines furnish a finished little picture. : 
Still more dramatic in effect is the portrait of the heroine of — 


_ Coventry. 


Godiva, 


She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode 


About the hall, among his dogs, alone... - 7; 
She to!d him of their tears, 
And prayed him, ‘If they pay this tax, they starve.’ 
Whereat he stared. replying, half amazed, 
‘You would not let your little finger ache | 
For such as these ?’—‘ But I would die.’ said she, 
He laughed. and s\ore by Peter and by Paul; 
Then filliped at the diamond in her ear 3. 
“O ay, ay. ays you talk ?—‘Alas ?? she said, 
‘But prove me what it is I would not do.’ 
And from a heart as roug: as Esan’s hand, ~ 
He answered : ‘Ride you naked through the town, 
And I repeal it;? and nodding as in scorn 
He parted, wit : great strides among his dogs. 
So left alone, the passions of her mind— 
As winds from all the compass shift and blow— 
Made war upon each other for an hour, 
Till pity won. She sent a herald forth, 
And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet. all 
Vhe hard condition ; but that she would loose 


. The people: therefore, as they loved her well, 


From then till noon no foot should pace the street, 

No eve look down, she passing; but that all 

Should keep within, door shut. and window barred. 
‘hen fled she to her inmost bower. and there 

Unclasped the wedded eavles of her belt, 

The grim Earl’s gift; but ever ata b eath 

She lingered. looking tike a sumimer moon 

Half-dipt in cloud: anon she shook her head, 

And showered the rippled ringlets to her knee; 

Unclad herself in haste 3 adown the stair 


Stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam. slid - 


From pillar unto pillar, until she reached 
The gateway; there she found her palfrey trapt 
In purple blazoned with armorial gold. 

‘Then siie rode forth, clothed on with chastity: 
The deep air listened round her us she rode, 
And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. 
The little wide-mouthed heads upon the spouts 
Had cunning eyes to see; the barking cur 
Made her cheek flame: her palfrey’s footfall shot 
Light horrors through her pulses: the blind walls 
Were full of chinks and holes; 2nd overhead 
Fantastic gables, crowding, stared : but she 
Not less through all bere up. till, last. she saw 
The white-flowered e!der-thicket from the field 
Gleam through the Gotuic archways in the wall. 
_ ‘then she rode back, clothed on with chastity: 


- 


5 


TENNYSON. | 


_ An extract 
poet’s modulations of rhythm. 


rt — 


‘ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, 
The fatal byword of all years to come, 

Boring a lituie auger-lole in fear; 

Peeped—but his eyes, before they had their will, 
Were shrivelled junto darkness in his head, 

And dropt betore him. 
On noble deeds, cancelled a sense misused ; 

And she, that knew not, passed: and all at once, 
With twelve great shocks of sound, the shaineless noon 
Was clashed and hammered trom a hundred towers, 
One after one: but even then she gained 
Her bower ; whence reissuing, robed and crowned, 
‘!'o neet her lord, she took the.tax away, 
And built herself an everlasting name. 


from ‘The Lotos-eaters’ will give a specimen of our 
This poem represents the luxurious 


So the Powers, who. wait 


lazy sleepiness said to be produced in those who feed upon the lotos, 
and contains passages not surpassed by the finest descriptions in the 


“Castle of Indolence.’ 


‘s 


The Loios-eaters. 


Why are we weighed upon with heaviness, 


And utterly consnimed with sharp distress, 


While all things el-e have rest from weariness ? 
_ All things have rest: why should we toil alone, 


We only toil. who are the first of things, 
And make perpetual moan, 


Still from one sorrow to another thrown. ... 


Lo! in the middle of the wood, 

The folded leaf is wooed from out the bud 
With winds upon the branch, andthere, 
Grows green and broad, and takes no care, 
Sun-steeped at noon. and in the moon 
Nightly dew fed; and turning yellow 
Fal's, and flonts adown the air. 

Lo! sweetened with the summer light. 
The full-jniced apple. waxing over-mellow, 
Drops in a silent antumn night. 

All its-allotted length of days, 

The flower ripens in its place, 


Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, 


Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil... . 


Let ns alone. Time driveth onward fast, 
And in a little while our lins are dumb. 
Let usalone. What is it that will last? 
All things are taken from us and become 
Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. 
Let us alone, What pleasnre can we have 
To war with evil? Js there anv peace 

In ever climbing up the climbing wave ? 


All things have rest. and ripen toward the grave 


In silence: ripen, fall and cease: 


“Give us long rest or death. dark death, or dreamful ease. 
How sweet it were. hearing the downward stream, 


With half-shut eyes ever to seem 
Falling asleep in a half-dreum!... 


: It is rich in striking and appropriate 
imagery, and is sung to a rhythm which is music itself. 


118 CYCLOPADIA OF | fro 1876; - 


To hear each other’s whispered speech 3 

Eating the lotos day by day, 

To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, 

And tender curving ines of creamy spray ; 

Yo lend our hearts and spirits wholiy 

Yo the influence of mild-minded melancholy ; 

To muse and brood and live again in memory, 

With those old faces of our iutaucy, 

Heaped over with a mound of grass, 

Two handfulsof white dust, shut in an urn of brass! 


The most prominent defects in these volumes of Mr. Tennyson 


were occasional quaintness and obscurity of expression, with some 
incongruous combinations of low and familiar with poetical images.— 
‘His next work, ‘ The Princess, a Mediey,’ appeared in December 1847. 
This is a story of a prince and princess contracted- by their parents 
without having seen each other. The lady repudiates the alliance ; 


but after a series of adventures and incidents as improbable and in-. 


coherent as the plots of some of the old wild Elizabethan tales and 
dramas, the princess relents and surrenders. The mixture of modern 


ideas and manners with those of the age of chivalry and romance— — 


the attempted amalgamation of the conventional with the real, the farci- 


cal with the sentimental—renders ‘The Princess’ truly a medley, and 


produces an unpleasant grotesque effect. Parts of the poem, how- 
ever, are sweetly written; there are subtle touches of thought and 


satire, and some exquisite lyrical passages. Tennyson has nothing — 


finer than these stanzas : 
Song, ‘ The Splendour Falls.’ 


The splendour falls on castle walls, 
And snowy summits old in story: 
The long light shakes across the lakes, ( 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. | 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 


O hark. O hear! how thin and clear, 
And thinner, clearer, farther going! 


O sweet and far from cliff and scar, ae 


The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: | 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 


O love, they die in yon rich sky. 
They faint on hill or field or river: 
Our echoes roll -from son! to soul 
And grow for ever and for ever. 
Blow. bugle, b'ow, set the wild echoes flving : 
And answer. echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 


The poet’s philosophy as to the sexes is thus summed up: 


For woman is not undeveloped man. 

But diverse: could we make her as the man. 
Sweet love were slain: his dearest bond is this, 
Not like to like, but like in difference. 

Yet in the long years liker must they grow; 
The man be. more of woman, she of man; 


AVS +3 » Hag py > , —< ‘6 : 
aod : re é 

hs ag ae ' 

alee 


rENNYSON.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 119 


He gain in sweetness and in moral height, 

Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world: 
She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, 
Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind 3 

Till at the last she set herself to man, 

Like perfect music unto noble words. 


In 1850 appeared, at first anonymously, ‘In Memoriam,’ a volume 
of short poems, divided into sections, but all devoted, like the Son- 
néts of Shakspeare, to one beloved object—a male friend. Mr. Ar- 
thur Hallam, son of the historian, and affianced to Mr. Tennyson’s 
sister, died at Vienna in 1833, and his memory is here embalmed in a 
series of remarkable and affecting poems, no less than one hundred 
and twenty-nine in number, and all in the same stanza. This same- 
ness of subject and versification would seem to render the work mo- 
notonous and tedious; so minute a delineation of personal sorrow is 
also apt to appear unmanly and unnatural. But the poet, though 
adhering to one melancholy theme, clothes it in all the hues of im- 
agination and intellect. He lifts the veil,.as it were, from the inner 
life of the soul; he stirs the deepest and holiest feelings of our na- 
ture; he describes, reasons, and allegorises; flowers are intermingled 
with the cypress, and faith and hope brighten the vista of the future. 
His vast love and sympathy seem to embrace all nature as assimila- 
ted with his lost friend. 

ea Thy voice is on the rolling air: 
I hear thee where the waters run 3 


Thou standest in the rising sun, 
And in the setting thou art fair. 


The ship containing his friend’s remains is thus beautifully apos- 
trophised: 
In Memoriam, TX. 


Fair ship, that from the Italian shore, As our pure love, throvfgh early light 
 Sailest the placid ocean-plains Shall glimmer on the dewy decks. 
With my lost Arthur’s loved remains, 
Spread thy full wings and wafthim o’er. Sphere all your lights arourd, above; 
Sleep gentle heavens before the prow; 
So draw him home to those that mourn Sleep gentle winds as he sleeps now, 
In vain; a favourable speed My friend, the brother of my love! 
- Ruffle thy mirrored mast, and lead 
Through prosperous floods his holy urn. My Arthur, whom I shall not see 
Be Gy ‘Till all my widowed race be run; 
All night no ruder air perplex Dear as the mother to the son, 
Thy sliding Keel, till Phosphor, bright More than iny brothers are to me. 


Arthur Hallam was interred in Clevedon Church, Somersetshire, 
situated on a still and sequestered spot, on a lone hill that overhangs 
the Bristol Channel :* 


* Memoir prefixed to Arthur Hallam’s Pemeains. by his father. the historian. Anin- 
teresting account of this voluimeis given by Dr. Joby Brown. Edinburgh. in Hore Sub- 
secive. Arthur Henry Hallam was born in London. February 1, 1811. He distinguished 
himself at Eton and at Trinity College, Cainbridge. and wasxauthor of several essays 
and poetical productions. which gave promise of future excellence. He died in his 

twenty-third year, September 15, 123, 


ae = 


120° 


The Danube to the Severn gave 
The darkened heartthat beat no more} 
They laid him by the pieasant shere, 
And in the hex ring Of the wave. 


CYCLOPEDIA OF ee 


There twice a day the Severn fills; _ 
The salt sea-water passes by; 
And hushes half the babb} ing Wye, 
And makes a silence in the piliss- 


We add one of the sections, in which description of external 
nature is finely blended with the mourner’s reminiscences: 


In Memoriam, XXII. 


The path by which we twain did go, 
Which led by tracts that pleased ns 
well 
Through four sweet years arose and 
fell, 
From flower to flower, 
snow: * 


from snow to 


And we with singing cheered the way, 
And crowned with all the season lent, 
¥rom April on to April went, 

And glad at heart from May to May: 


But where the path we walked began 
To slant the fifth autumnal slope, 


As we descended following hope, 
There sat the shadow feared of man 5 


Who broke our fair companionship, 
And spread his mantie dark and 


co 
And w tapt thee formless in the fold, 
And dulled the murmur on thy lip, 


And bore thee where I could not see 
~ Nor follow, though I walk in haste; 
And think that somewhere in the 
waste, 
The shadow sits and waits for me. 


Winter scenes are described; Christmas, with its train of sacred — 
and tender associations, comes ; ’ put the poet is in a new home: ; a 


Our father’s dust is left alone 


And silent under other snows. - 


~ With the genial season, however, his sympathies expand, and in 1 
one section of noble verse he sings the Gee of the old year and the” . 


advent of the new: 


Th Memoriam, 


Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
The flying cloud. the frosty light : 
The year is dying in the night ; 

Ring out, wild bells, ‘and let him die. 


Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
ing, happy bells, across the show : 
The: year is going, let him go; 
Ring out the false, ring in the true. 


Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 
For those that here we see no more; 
Ring out the fend of rich and poor, 
Ring in redress to all mankind. 


Ring out a slowly dying ca LUISE, 
“And ancient’ forms of party strife; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life, 
With sweeter manne rs, purer laws. 


° 


The patriotic aspirations here expressed are brought out more full 
in some of Mr. Tefnyson’s political lyries, which : are aninaiae D 
true wisdom and generous sentiment. 


= 
OVI. | 
Ring out the want, the care, the eine: 
The faithless coldness of the times ;__ 
Ring out, ring out my mournful 
rhymes, 
But ring the fuller minstrel i in. 


Ring out false pride in place and bloc 
The civic slander and the spite; - 
Ring in the love of truth and right, 

Ring in the common love of good. 


Ring out old shapes of foul di iscase 5 
‘Ring ont the narrowing lust of old 
Ring out the thousand wars of old 

Ring in the thousand years of peace. 4 


dems. an the valiant man and free, ¢ 

‘he larger heart. the kindiier hand 

Ring out the darkness of the land, | 
Ring in the Christ that is to be. 


N 2 Bene \ deca 


“ENGLISH LITERATURE. - ‘124 


the Duke of Wellington’ (1852)—a laureate offering, which he after- 
wards revised and improved, rendering it not unworthy of the hero 


= The Funeral of the Great Duke. 
_ O give him welcome, this is he, Roll of cinnon and clash of arms, 
~ Worthy of our gorgeous rites ; Aud Englaud ponring on her foes. 
For this is England’s greatest son, Such a war bad such a close. 
‘He that gained a hundred fights, Again their ravening eagle rose 
~ Nor ever lost an English gun; In anger, wheeled on Europe-shadewing 
This is he that far away. wings, = 
- Against the myriads of Assaye And barking for the thrones of kings; 
' Clashed with his fiery few and won; . Till one that’ sought but Duty’s iron 
- And underneath another sun, crown : 
Warring ova later day, On that loud Sabbath shook the spoiler 
- Round affrighted Lisbon drew down ; 
~The treble work, the vast designs A day of onsets of despair! 
Of his laboured rampart-linces, Dashed on every rocky square 
- Where he greatly stood at bay, Their snrging charges foamed themselves 
_ Whence he issued forth anew, away : 
And ever great and greater grew, Last, the Prussian trumpet blew3 
Beating from the wasted vines Throngh the long tormented air 
Back to France her banded swarms, Heayen flashed.a sudden jubilant ray, 
Back to France with countless blows, And down we swept and charged -and 
* Till o’er the hills her eagles flew overthrew. 
~ Past the Pyrenean pines, So great a soldier taught us there 
- Followed up in valley and glen What long-endnring hearts could do, 


- With blare of bugle, clamour of men, In that world's earthquake, Waterloo! 


~ Tn 1855 appeared ‘ Maud, and other Poems’—the first, an allegori- 
cal vision of love and war, treated in a semi-colloquial bizarre style, 
“yet suggestive and passionate. Maud isthe daughter of the squire, 
and ‘in the light of her youth and her grace’ she captivates a myste- 
‘rious misanthropic personage who tells the story. But Maud has 
another suitor, a ‘new-made lord,’ whose addresses are favoured by 
-Maud’s father and brother—the latter described as 


Ls i That jeweiled mass of millinery, 
= That oiled and curled Assyrian bull. . : 


~The squire gives a grand political dinner, ‘a gathering of the Tory,” 
to which the Timen-lover is not invited. He fiads, however, in the 
rivulet crossing his ground, a garden-rose, brought down from the 
Hall, and he interprets it as a message from Maud to meet her’in the 
garden among the roses at night. He proceeds thither, and invokes 
‘the fair one in a lyric which is unquestionably the charm of the vo- 
Tume. — Ii begins: 

>.> be 3 Come into the garden. Maud, 

esis: Fz -For the black bat. night, has flown. 

© 3 Come into the garden, Maud, 

. } IT am here at the gate alone; 

cies And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, 

e. avi ; Ana the musk of the rose is blown. 

~Maud obeys the call ; but her brother discovers them, insults the in- 
“truder, and a duel ensues, in which the brother is slain. The lover 
: 


E. L. Va. G—5 
~ 


+ an 

" ae ; ‘ 
to F we : x 
rua one » , = 


= : - 450 “ - 4 te Fe oo oe =e oS = 2 


122 CYCLOPRATDIALOR Sam _ [To 1876, 
flees to France, but returns to England; for ever haunted by visions 
of Maud, and then, in another section, we are startled to find him de-- 
clare himself ‘dead, long dead,’.and buried, but without finding 
peace in the grave! It is a vision, and the dreamer obtains a new 
excitement ; he rejoices to think that a war is arise in defence of the 
right : ; 


That an iron tyranny now should bend or cease, 
Yhe glory of manhood stand on his ancient height, 
Nor Britain’s one sole god be the millionaire: 
No more shall commerce be all in all, and Peace 
2 Pipe on her pastoral hillock a languid note, 
And watch her harvest ripen, her herd increase, 
Nor the cannon-bullet rust on a slothful shore, 
And the cobweb woven across the cannon’s mouth 
Shall shake its threaded tears in the wind no more, 
And as months ran on, and rumour of battle rave 
‘Tt is time, it is time, O passionate heart,’ said I— 
For I cleaved to a cause that I felt to be pure and true— 
‘Tt is time, O passionate heart and morbid eye, 
That old hysterical mock-disease should die.’ 
And I stood on a giant deck and mixed my breath 
° With a loyal people shouting a battle-cry,. 
Till I saw the dreary phantom arise and fly : 
Far into the north, and battle, andseas of death. 


And the Tyrtzan war-strain closes with a somewhat fantastic 
image: 
And now by the side of the Black and the Baltic deep, 


And deathful-grinning mouths of the fortress, flames > 
The blood-red blossom of war with a heart of fire. - 


‘Maud’ was the least successful of Mr. Tennyson’s longer poems, 
But three years afterwards (1858) the poet redeemed himself by the 
publication of ‘The Idylls of the King,’ consisting of four poems— 
‘nid,’ ‘ Vivien,’ ‘ Klaine,’ and “ Guinevere.’ This Arthurian romance ~ 
was completed in 1869, by another volume, entitled ‘The Holy Grail,’ 
and including ‘The Coming of Arthur,’ ‘Pelleus and Etarre,’ and 
‘The Passing of Arthur’—the whole of this Arthurian collection of. 
idylls forming, according to Dean Alford, ‘a great connected poem, 
dealing with the very highest interests of man,’ King Arthur being — 
typical of the ‘higher soul of man,’ as shewn in the king’s coming, — 
his foundation of the Round Table, his struggles, disappomtments, 
and departure. Of the versification of the Idylls—pure, flowing, 
blank verse—we subjoin a brief specimen : 


From ‘ The Passing of Arthur.’ . ‘ 
Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere: ; 
* Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go? 

Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? 

For now I see the true old times are dead, , 
When every morning brought a noble chance, 
And every chance brought out a noble knight. 
Such times have been not since the light that led 
The holy Elders with a gift of myrrh. 

But now the whole Round Table is dissolved, 


“qeNNYSON.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. pe oe 


Which was an image of the mighty world, | 
And I the last, go forth companionless, 
_. And the days darken round ine, and the years, 
< e Among new men, strange faces, other minds,’ 
. And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: 
‘The old order changeth, yielding place to new, 
And God fulfils himself in many ways, 
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? 
I have lived my life, and that which I have done 
May He within himself make pure! but thou, 
If thou shouldst never see my face again, 
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer 
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice 
Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 
For what are men better than sheep or goats 
That nourish a blind life within the brain, 
y If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer 
; Both for themselves and those who call them friend ? 
¥or so the whole round earth is every way 
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. 
But now farewell. Iam going a long way 
With these thou seest—if indeed I go 
{For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)— 
To the island valley of Avilion ; 
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 
Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies 
Deep-meadowed happy, fair with orchard lawns. 
- And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea, 
: Where I will heal me of my grievous wound. 
So said he, and the barge with oar and sail 
Moved from the brink like some full-breasted swan 
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, 
Ruffies her pure cold plume, and takes the flood 
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere 
Revolving- many memories, till the hull 
Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn, 
And on the mere the wailing died away. 


Between the publication of the series of Arthurian idylls, Mr. 
Tennyson issued ‘ Enoch Arden, and other Poems’ (1864). One of the 
_ latter was a piece in the North Lincolnshire dialect, written in the 
- character of a farmer of the old school, and which displayed a vein of 
broad humour and a dramatic power that surprised as well as gratified 
the admirers of fhe poet. He afterwards gave a companion to this 
bucolic painting by depicting a farmer of the new school, as stolid 
and selfish, but not quite so amusing, as his elder brother, 


ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 


The highest place among our modern poctesses must be claimed for 
Mrs. Browntne, formerly Miss Barrett. In purity and loftiness of 
sentiment and feeling, and in intellectual power, she is excelled only 
by Tennyson, whose best works, it is evident, she had carefully 
studied. Herearlier style reminds us more of Shelley, but this arises 
from similarity of genius and classical tastes, not imitation. The first 
_ publication of this accomplished lady. was an ‘Essay on Mind, and 
- other Poems,’ said to have been written in her seventeenth year. In 


424 


“CYCLOP-EDIA OF _ 


Tro 1876. 


1833 appeared her translation of the ‘ Prometheus Bound’ of Eschy-’_ 4 
lus, of which she has since given an improved version. In 1838 she — 
ventured on 2second volume of original poetry, ‘ The Seraphim, and 
other Poems,’ which was followed “by ‘The Romance of te Page,’ 
_ 1839. About this time a personal calamity occurred to the poetess, 
~ which has been detailed by Miss Mitford in her ‘Literary Recollee- 
tions.’ She burst a blood-vessel in the lungs, and after a twelve- — 
month’s confinement at home, was ordered to a milder climate. She 
went with some relatives to reside at Tor quay, and there a fatal event ~ 
took place ‘which saddened her bloom of youth, and gave a deeper — 
hue of thought -and feeling, especially devotional feeling, to her 
poetry.’ Her favourite brother, with two other young men, his — 
friends, having embarked on board a small vessel for a sail of a few _ 
hours, the boat went down, and all on board perished. Thistragedy — 
completely prostrated Miss Barrett. She was not able to be removed — 
to her father’s house in London till the following year, and on her ~ 
return home she ‘ began that life,’ says Miss Mitford, “which she con- — 
tinued for many years-confined to a darkened chamber, to which - 
only her own family and a few devoted friends were admitted; reading y 
meanwhile almost every book worth reading in almost every language, — 
studying with ever-fresh delight the great classic authors in the 4 
original, and giving herself, heart and soul, to that poetry of which she ~ 
: 
4 


— 


seemed born to be the priestess.’ Miss Mitford had presented her — 
friend with a young spaniel, ‘Flush, my dog,’ and the companionship 
of this humble. but faithful object of sympathy, has been commem- 
orated in some beautiful verses, graphic as the pencil of Landseer: ~ 


To Flush, my Dog. “2 


Yet, my pretty, sportive friend, 
Little is’t to such an end 
That I praise thy rareness ? 
Other dogs may be thy peers 
“Haply in these drooping ears, 
And this glossy fairness. 


But of thee it shail be said, 
This dog watched beside a bed 
Day and night unweary— 
Watéhed within a eurtained room, 
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom 
Round the sick and dreary. 


Roses, gathered for a vase, 

In that chamber died apace, 
Beam and breeze resigning. 

This dog only, waited on, 

Knowing that when Hght is gone, 
Love remains for shining. 


* Other dogs in thymy dew 


Tracked the hares and followed through After—plaiforming his chin 


Sunny moor or meadow. 


This dog only, crept and crept a 
Next a languid cheek that slept, 
Sharing in the shadow. 


Other dogs of loyal cheer 
Bounded at the whistle elear, ~- ‘nae 
Up the woodside hieing. eT 
This dog only, watched in reach 
Of a faintly uttered speeeh, 
Or a louder sighing. 


And if one or two quick tears 

Dropped upon his glossy ears, 
Or a sigh came double— 

Up he sprang in eager haste, 

Fawning, fondlin g, breathing ae 
In a tender trouble. 


And this dog was satisfied 

Tf a pale thin hand would glide 
Down his dewlaps sloping— 

Which he pushed his nose apts 


On the palm left open. 


Ra $a Se ae = Ss 
Browsinc}] - ENGLISH LITERATURE. 125 


Ds a. - : ¥ . 
The result of those years of seclusion and study was partly seen by 
- the publication in 1844 of two volumes of * Poems, by Klizabeth Bar- 
vett,’ many of which bore the impress of deep and melancholy 
thought, and of high and fervid imagination. ‘ Poetry,’ said the au- 
 thoress in her preface, ‘has been as serious a thing to me as life 
itself; and life has been a very serious thing. 1 never mistook 
_ pleasure for the final cause of poetry; nor leisure for the hour of the 
poet. I have done my work so far, as work : not as mere hand and 
head work, apart from the personal being; but as the completest ex- 
pression of that being to which I could attain: and as work I offer it 
to the public: feeling ts shortcomings more deeply than any of my 
readers, because measured from the height of my aspiration ; but feeling 
also that the reverence and sincerity With which the work was done, 
_ should give it some protection with the reverent and sincere.’ To 
each of the principal poems in the collection explanatory notices were 
given. Thus, of ‘A Drama of Exile,’ she says, the subject was ‘ the 
- new and strange experience of the fallen humanity, as it went forth 
- from Paradise into the wilderness, ‘with a peculiar reference to Eve’s 
allotted grief, which, considering that self-sacrifice belonged to her 
womanhood, and the consciousness of originating the Fall to her 
offence, appeared to me imperfectly apprehended hitherto, and more 
expressible by a woman than a man.’ The pervading principle of 
the drama is love—love which conquers even Lucifer : 
ADAM. The essence of all beauty. I call love. 
The attribute. the evidence, and end, 
The consummation to the inward sense, 


Of beauty apprehended from without, 
me I still call love. As form. when colourless, 


ae ~ 


‘ Is nothing to the eye—that pine-tree there, 
= Without its black and green, being all a blank~ 
‘a So, without love, is beauty undiscerned 
=) In man or angel, Angel! rather ask 


What love is in thee, what love moves to thee, 
And what collateral love moyes on with thee; 
Then shalt thou know if thou art beantiful. 
Lucirer. Love! what is love? TIloseit. Beauty and love! - 
I darken to the image. Beauty—love! 
{He fades away while alow musi counds, 
ADAM. Thou art pale, Eve. 


i Eve. The precipice ot ill . 
; Down this colossal nature. dizzies me— 
ay And, hark! the starry harmony remote 


Seems measuring the heights from whence he fell. 
Avam. Think that we have not fallen so. By the hope 
And aspiration, by the love and faith, 
- We do exceed the stature of this angel. 
Eve. Happier we are than he is, by the death. 
ApAM. Or rather, by the life of the Lord God! 
How dim the angel grows. as if that blast 
Of music swept him back into the dark. 


* Notwithstanding a few fine passages, ‘A Drama of Exile’ cannot 
be considered a successful effort. The scheme of the poetess was 
imperfectly developed, and many of the colloquies of Adam and 


Ba SE Ce OF NET te OS ER ee 
a Ne 


\ 


126 ~ CYCLOPA:DIA OF- 


- [ro 1876. 


\ I ms 
Eve, and of Lucifer and Gabriel, are forced and unnatural. The 
lyrics interspersed throughout the poem are often harsh and un-— 
musical, aud the whole drama is deficient in action and interest. -In_ 
‘A Vision of Poets,’ Miss Barrett endeavoured to vindicate the neces- 
sary relations of genius to suffering and self-sacrifice. ‘i have at 
tempted,’ she says, ‘to express in this poem my view of the mission 
of the poet, of the duty and glory of what balzac has beautifully 


and truly called “la patience angélique du génie,” and of the obvious — 


truth, above all, that if knowleuge is power, suffering should be ac- 


ceptable as a part of knowledge.- The discipline ot suffering and | 
sorrow which the poetess had herself undergone, suggested er co-— 


loured these and similar speculations. The attliction which saddened 
had also purified the heart, and brought with it the precious fruits of 
resignation and faith. This is an old and familiar philosophy, and 
Miss Barrett’s prose exposition of it must afterwards have appeared | 
to her superfluous, for she omitted the preface in the later editions 


of her works. The truth is, all such personal revelations, though ~ 


sanctioned by the examples of Dryden and Wordsworth, have inevi-- 


tably an air of egotism and pedantry. Poetry is better able than 
painting or sculpture to disclose the object and feeling of the artist, — 
and no one ever dreamt of confining those arts—the exponents of ~ 
every range of feeling, conception, and emotion—to the mere office — 
‘of administering pleasure. ‘A Vision of Poets’ opens thus beauti- © 


7 


fully : 

A poet could not sleep arig*t, — Where, sloping up the darkest glades, 

For his soul kept up too much light The moon had drawn long colonnades, 

Under his eyelids for the night. Upon whose floor the verdure fades, 

And thus he rose disquieted _ Toa faint silver—pavement fair a 

With sweet rhymes ringing through his The amen wood-nymphs scarce would 
head, dare a 

And in the forest wandered. To foot-print o’er, had such been there. 


He meets a lady whose mystical duty it is to ‘crown all poets to their 
worth,’ and he obtains a sight of some of the great masters of song—‘the ~ 
dead kings of melody ’—who are characterised in brief but felicitous — 


descriptions. A few of these we subjoin: 


Here, Homer, with the broad suspense 
Of thunderous brows, and lips intense 
» Of garrulous god-innocence. 


There. Shakspeare, on whose forehead climb 

The crowns 0’ the world. Oh, eyes sublime, 

With tears and laughter for ail time! 

Euripide, with close and mild 

Scholastic lips—that could be wild, 
And laugh or sob out like a child. 


Theocritus, with glittering locks 
Dropt sideway, as betwixt the rocks 
He watched the visionary flocks. 


> Tee a eee 


4 
i, - 


Gc 


d 
3 


“BROWNING.| | ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 127 


_ The moderns, from Milton down to ‘poor proud Byron,’ are less 
, happily portrayed; but in spite of many blemishes, and especially the 
yant of careful artistic finishing, this poem is one of great excellence. 
There are other imaginative pieces oi the authoress of a more popu- 
lar character—as the * Khyme of the Duchess May,’ a romantic ballad 
_ fuil of passion, incident, and melody; and ‘Bertha in the Lane,’ a 
_ story of the transfer of affection from one sister to another, related by 
the elder and dying sister in a strain of great beauty and pathos. One 
stanza will shew the style and versification of this poem: 
And, dear Bertha, let me keep 
On my hand this little ring, 
Which at nights, when others sleep, 
I can still see glittering. 
Let me wear it out of sight, 
In the grave—where it will light 
All the Dark up, day and night. 


There are parts of this fine poem resembling Tennyson’s ‘May 
Queen,’ but the laureate would never have admitted such an incon- 
gruous and spasmodic stanza as that with which Miss Barrett un- 
happily closes her piece : 


‘ Jesus, Victim, comprehending 
Love’s divine self-abnegation, 
A Cleanse my love in its self-spending, 
And absorb the pooz libation ! 
& Wind my thread of life up higher, 
Up, through angel’s hands of fire !— 
I aspire while I expire. 
The most finished of Miss Barrett’s smaller poems—apart from 
_ the sonnets—are the verses on ‘Cowper’s Grave,’ which contain not 
one jarring line or expression, and ‘The .Cry of the Children,’ a 
~ pathetic and impassioned pleading for the poor children who toil in 
mines and factories, In individuality and intensity of feeling, this 
piece resembles Hood’s ‘Song of the Shirt,’ but it infinitely sur- 
passes it in poetry and imagination. 


The Cry of the Children. 


Do ye hear the children weeping, O. my brothers, 
Ere the sorrow comes with years ? 
They are Jeaning their young heads against their mothers, 
And that cannot stop their tears. 
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows; 
The young birds are chirping in the nest; 
The young fawns are playing with the shadows $ 
The young flowers are blov ing toward the west— 
But the young, young children, O my brothers, 
They are weeping bitterly! 
They are weeping in the playtime of the others, 
In the country of the free. .... 


*For oh,’ say the children, ‘ we are weary, 
And we cannot run or leap. 
If we cared for any meadows, it were merely 
To drop-down in them and sleep. 
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping— 


Lio 
- 


BE RSS SOG, SSR gen oes on eee 
. ’ = 2 . ni > =i . <; ox 4 a ie, 


= sins I cas '> gl ne ; G Sta is ae: 5 


1280 CYCLOPEDIA OF ——S~S=«* 00 1876 


We fall upon our faces, trying to go; = ae 
And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping, ieee : 
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow. 
For, all day, we drag our burden tiring 3 
Through the coal-dark, underground— “ 
Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron ; 
In the factories, round and round. re 


‘For. all day, the wheels are droning, turning— 
Their wind comes in our faces— F 
Till our hearts turn—our heads, with pulses burning, 3 
And the walls turn in their places. : > 
Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling— ve 
Turns the long light that drops adown the wall— =< 
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling— 
All are turning, all the day, and we with all. 
And all day, the iron wheels are droning, 
And sometimes we could pray, ; ~ 
“0 ye wheels ”—breaking out in.a mad moaning— 
“Stop! be silent for to-day !””’ ; 


Ay! be silent! Let them hear each other breathing 
For a moment, mouth to mouth ! x 
Let them 10uch each other’s hands, in a fresh wreathing 
Of their tender human youth! 
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion 
Is not all the life God fashions or reveals. 
Let them prove their inward souls against the notion 3 
That they live in you, or under you, O wheels !— 
Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward, 
Grinding life down from its mark 5 
And the children’s souls, which God is calling sunward, 
Spin on blindly in the dark. 


The ‘Sonnets from the Portuguese’ are as passionate as Shaks- 
peare’s Sonnets, and we suspect the title, ‘from the Portuguese,’ has — 
no better authority than Sir Walter Scott’s ‘Old Play’ at the head_ 
of the chapters of his novels. The first of these so-called translations ; 


is eminently beautiful—quite equal to Wordsworth, or to Words- — 
worth’s model, Milton: = 


4 4 
7 ee oo oe 


Sonnet.’ is 


I thought once how Theocritus had sung % 
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years, 
Who each one In a gracious hand appears : 
To bear a gift for mortals, old or youne: 

And, as I mused it in his antique tonzue, 

I saw, In gradual vision through my tears, 

The sweet, sad years. the melancholy years, ~ 
Those of my own life, who by turns had flange ¥ 
A shadow across me. Straightwav I was "ware, uM 

So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move ; 
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair, , 
And a voice said in mastery. while T strove: 

‘Guess now who holds thee ?’*—‘ Death!’ T said. But, there, ~ 
The silver answer rang: ‘Not Death, but Love. : ; 


An interval of some years elapsed ere Miss Barrett came forwar 
with another volume, though she was occasionally seen as a con- 
tributor to Nterary journals. She became in 1846 the wife of a 
Kindred spirit, Robert Browning, the pset, and removed with him to 


‘ 


BROWNING.J  ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 129 
Italy. In Florence she witnessed the revolutionary outbreak of 1848, 
and this furnished the theme of her next important work, ‘Casa 
~ Guidi Windows, a poem containing ‘the impressions of the writer 
“upon events in Tuscany of which she was a witness’ from the win- 
dows of her house, the Casa Guidi in Florence. The poem is a 
- spirited semi-political narrative of actual events and genuine feelings. 
- Part might pass for the work of Byron—so free is its versification, 
‘end. so warm the affection of Mrs. Browning for Italy and the 
_ Italians—but there are also passages that would have served better 
for a prose pamphlet.. The genius of the poetess had become prac- 
tical and energetic—inspirited by what she saw around her, and by 
- the new tie which, as we learn from this pleasing poem, now bright- 
ened her visions of the future: 


The sun strikes, through the windows, up the floor: 
Stand out in it, my young Florentine, 

Not two years old, and let me see thee more! ... 
And fix thy brave blue English eyes on mine, 

And from my soul, which fronts the future so, 
With unabashed and unabated gaze, 

Teach me to hope for, what the angels know 
When they smile clear as thou dost. 


In 1856 appeared ‘ Aurora Leigh,’ an elaborate poem or novel in 
* blank verse, which Mrs: Browning characterises as the ‘most mature’ 
of her works, and one into which her ‘highest convictions upon life 
and art are entered.’ It presents us, like Wordsworth’s ‘ Prelude,’ 
with the history of a poetical mind—an autobiography of the heart 
ané intellect; but Wordsworth, with all his contempt for literary 
“conventionalities,’ would never have ventured on such a sweeping 
~ departure from established critical rules and poetical diction as Mrs. 
- Browning has here carried out. There isa prodigality of genius in 
the work, many just and fine remarks, ethical and critical, and pas- 
sages evincing a keen insight into the human heart as well as into the 
’ working of our social institutions and artificial restraints. A noble 
hatred of falsehood, hypocrisy, and oppression breathes through the 
whole. But the materials of the poem are so strangely mingled and 
so discordant—prose and poetry so mixed up together—scenes of 
splendid passion and tears followed by dry metaphysical and polemi- 
cal disquisitions, or rambling common-place conversation, that the 
effect of the peem as a whole, though splendid in parts, is unsatisfac- 
tory. 


An English Landscape.—From ‘ Aurora Leigh.’ 
The thrushes sane, 
And shook my pulses and the elm’s new leaves— 
And then I turned. and held my finger up, 
And bade him mark. that howsoe’r the world 
Went ill, as he related. certainly e 
‘The thrushes still sang in it. At which word 
i His brow would soften—and he bore with me 
pee ; In melancholy patience, not unkind, 


130 CYCLOPEDIA OF ~~ ——_ ro 1870, 


While breaking into volnble ecstacy, es. 
I flattered al! the beauteous country round, : 
As poets use—the skies, the clouds, the fields, % 

The happy violets, hiding from the roads 

The primroses run down to, carrying gold— 

The tangled hedgerows, where the cows push out ; 
Their tolerant horns and patient churning mouths 4 
*Twixt dripping ash-boughs—hedgerows all alive - 
With birds, and gnats, and large white butterflies, 

Which look as if the May-flower had caught life 

And palpitated forth upon the wind— 

Hills, vales, woods, netted in a silver mist; 

Farms, granges, doubled up among the hills, 

And cattle grazing in the watered vales, =s 
And cottage chimneys smoking from the woods, 

And cottage gardens smelling everywhere, 

Confused with smell of orchards. ‘See,’ I said, 

‘ And see, is God not with us on the earth ? 

And shall we put Him down by aught we do? : 
Who says there’s nothing for the poor and vile, =an 
Save poverty and wickedness? Behold!’ 
And ankle-deep in English grass I leaped, 
And clapped my hand, and called all very fair. 


In 1860, ‘Poems Before Congress’ evinced Mrs. Browning's un- 
abated interest in Italy and its people. This was her last publication. 
She died on the 29th.of June, 1861, at the Casa Guidi, Florence ; and 
in front of the house, a marble tablet records that in it wrote and _ 
died Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who, by her song, created a golden — 
link between Italy and England, and that in gratitude Florence had ~ 
erected that memorial. In 1862 the literary remains of Mrs. Brown. — 
ing were published under the title of ‘Last Poems.” __ 

We subjoin a piece written in the early, and we think the purest 
style of the poetess : 


y 
* 


Cowper’s Grave. 


\It is a place where poets crowned may feel the heart’s decaying, 
Tt is a place where happy saints may weep amid their praying. 
Yet let the grief and aumbleness. as low as silence, languish. — A 
Earth surely now may give her calm to whom she gave her anguish. kad 


O poets. from a maniac’s tonete was poured the deathless singing! ¢ 

O Christians, at your cross of hope, 4 hopeless bane wee So ee e is 
i nf : our wear souilin 

O men. this man in brotherhood your weary paths beg ; Se 

Groaned inly while he taught you peace, and died while ye were smiling! 


And now. what time ye all may read through fait 3 tears his story, 
How discord on the music fell, and darkness on the gory, | <c 
And how when. one by one. sweet sounds and wandering lights departed, 
He wore no less a loving face because so broken-hearted. 


He shall he strong to sanctify the poet’s high vocation, © 

And bow the meckest Christian telat in kage 3 tenes 

Nor ever shall he be. in praise. hy wise or good for ; 

Named softly as the household name of one whom God hath taken. 


With quict sadness and no gloom I Jearn to think upon him— 

With inehicnees that is gratefulness to God whose heaven hath won him, 
Who suffered once the madness-cloud to His own love to blind him, 
But gently lea the blind along where breath and bird could find him, 


< 


hall 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 131 


And wrought.within his shattered brain such quick poetic senses 
As hills have language for, and stars, harmonious influences. 
The pulse of dew upou the grass, kept his within its number, 
And silent shadows from the trees refreshed him like a slumber. 


Wild timid hares-were drawn from woods to share his home caresses, 
Uplooking to his human eyes with sylvan tendernesses. 

The very world, by God’s constraint, from falsehood’s ways removing, 
Its women and its men became, beside him, true and loving. 


And though, in blindness, he remained unconscious of that guiding, 
And things provided came without the sweet sense of providing. 

He testified this solemn truth, while frenzy desolated— 

Nor man nor nature satisfy whom only God created. 


Like a sick child that knoweth not his mother whilst she blesses 

And drops upon his burning brow the coolness of her kisses— 

That turns his fevered eyes around— My mother! where’s my mother ?? 
Asif such tender words and deeds could come from any other !— 


The fever gone, with leaps of heart he sees her bending o’er him, 

Her face all pale from watchful love. the unweary love she bore him !— 
Thus, woke the poet from the dream his life’s long fever gave him, 
Beneath those deep pathetic eyes, which closed in death to save him, 


Thus? oh, not thus! no type of earth could image that awaking. 
Wherein he scarcely heard the chant of serapbs, round him breaking, 
Or felt the new immortal throb of soul from body parted, 

But felt those eyes alone, and knew— My Savionr ! not deserted !” 


7 Deserted! Who hath dreamt that when the cross in darkness rested, 
Upon the Victim’s hidden face, no love was manifested ? 
What frantic hands outstretched have e er the atoning drops averted? 
What tears have washed them from the soul, that one shouid be deserted 2 


Deserted! God could separate from His own essence rather; 

And Adam’s sins have swept between the righteous Son and Father. 
Yea, once, Immanuel’s oiphaned cry his universe hath shuken— 

It went up siugle. echoless, ‘My God, I am forsaken!’ 


A It went up from the Holy’s lips amid his lost creation, 

That, of the lost, no son should use those words of desolation ! 

That earth’s worst frenzies, marring hope, should mar not hope’s fruition, 
And I, on Cowper’s grave, should see his rapture in a vision. 


: ROBERT BROWNING, 


The head of what has been termed the psychological school of 
“poetry is Mr. Ropert BrowninG, who for more than thirty years has 
been recognised as one of our most original and intellectual poets. 
Latterly, the public—to use his own words— 

The British Public, ye who like me no$ @ 

(God love you !), whom 1 yet have laboured for, 
have been more indulgent to the poet, and more ready to acknowledge 
his real merits. Mr. Browning: first attracted attention in 1836, when 
he published his poem of ‘ Paracelsus.’ He had previously published 
anonymously a poem entitled ‘ Pauline, a Fragment of a Confession.’ 
‘Paracelsus’ evinced that love of psychological: analysis and that 
‘subtle imagination more fully displayed in the author’s later works. 
‘It is the history of a soul struggling and aspiring after hidden know- 
ledge, power, and happiness— 5 


a . 


132 | CYCLOPEDIA OF ~ 


Like plants in mines, which never saw the sun— 


but is thwarted and baffled in the visionary pursuit. For an author of 
twenty-four years of age this was aremarkable poem. Mr. Browning 
next tried the historical drama. In 18387, his tragedy of ‘ Strafford” 
yas brought on the stage, the hero being personated by Macready, a 
favourite actor. It was played several nights, but cannot be said to 
have been successful. Mr. Horne, in his ‘New Spirit of the Age,’ 
characterises it as a ‘piece of passionate action with the bones of 
poetry.’ Van Dyck’s portrait of Strafford, so well known from copies - 
and engravings, will always, we suspect, eclipse or supersede any ~ 
pen-and-ink delineation of the splendid apostate. The poet now went 
to Italy, where he resided several years, and in 1841 he sent forth 
another psychological poem—‘ the richest puzzle to all lovers of - 


; ~ 

All ambitions, wpwards tending, — phi : | 
s 

3 


poetry which was ever given to the world’—a thin volume entitled 
‘ Sordello.’ ’ ; 
Sordello. . 


| 
a 
Mr. Browning’s subsequent works were in a dramatic form and — 
spirit, the most popular being ‘Pippa Passes,’ forming part of a — 
series called ‘ Bells and Pomegranates’ (1841-44), of which a second — 
collection was published containing some exquisite sketches and ma- — 
nologues. ‘Pippa is a girl from a silk-factory, who passes the vari- ~ 
ous persons of the play at certain critical moments, in the course of — 
her holiday, and becomes unconsciously to herself a determining in- ~ 
fluence on the fortune of each.’ In 1848 the poet produced another  — 
regular drama, a tragedy entitled ‘A Blot in the Scutcheon,’ which ; 
was acted at Drury Lane with moderate success, and is the best of 
the author’s plays. Next to it is ‘ King Victor and King Charles,’ atm 
tragedy in four acts, in which the characters are well drawn and well _ 
contrasted. Altogether Mr. Browning has written eight plays and — 
“two short dramatic sketches, ‘A Soul’s Tragedy’ and ‘In a Balcony.’ _ 
Some of the others—‘ The Return of the Druses,’ ‘Colombe’s Birth- — 
day,’ and ‘ Luria’—are superior productions both in conception ands — 
execution. Two narrative poems, ‘Christmas Eve’ and ‘ Easter Day,’ — 
present the author’s marked peculiarities—grotesque imagery, insight 
into the human heart, vivid painting, and careless, faulty versifica- 
tion. In principle, the poet is thoroughly orthodox, and treats the — 
two great Christian festivals in a Christian spirit. Of the lighter — 
-pieces of the‘author, the most popular is ‘The Pied Piper of Hame- 
lin, a Child’s Story,’ told with inimitable liveliness and spirit, and 
with a flow of rattling rhymes and quaint fancies rivalling Southey’s — 
‘Cataract of Lodore.’ This amusing production is as unlike the usual — 
style of its author as ‘John Gilpin’ is unlike the usual style of 
Cowper. : ae 
In 1855 the reputation of Mr. Browning was greatly enhanced by | 
the publication of a collection of poems, fifty innumber, bearing the — 
comprehensive title of ‘Men and Women.’ In 1864another volume of — 
character sketches appeared, entitled ‘Dramatis Persone; and in 


ion 


ad 


e- 
a, 


Certain assassins 


wt é ws : - - . od 


BROWNING.) ENGLISH LITERATURE.. - «188 


1868 was produced the most elaborate of all his works, ‘The Ring 
and the Book,’ an Italian story of the seventeenth century concerning 


Put to death 
- By heading or hanging, as befitted ranks, 
At Rome on February twenty-two, 
Since our salvation sixteen ninety eight. 
The latest works of Mr. Browning are ‘ Balaustion’s Adventure, in- 
cluding a Transcript from Euripides,’ (1871)—which is another recital 
of the story of Alcestes, supposed to be told by a Greek girl who had 
witnessed the performance; ‘ Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour 


- of Society’ (1871); a name under which is thinly vailed the name of 
- Louis Napoleon; ‘ Fifine at the Fair’ (1872); ‘Red Cotton Night-cap 
- Country’ (1873); and ‘ Aristophane’s Apology, including a Transcript 


from Euripides, being the last Adventure of Balaustion’ (1875). Of 
Aristophanes— > 


Splendour of wit that springs a thunder ball— 
Sative--to burn and purify the world, 
True aim, fair purpose— 


we have this bright pen-and-ink portrait: 


And no ignoble presence ! on the bulge 
Of the clear baldness—all his head one brow— 
‘True, the veins swelled, blue network, and there surged 
A red from cheek to temple—then retired 
As if the dark-leaved chaplet damped a flame— 
Was never nursed by tcempcrance or health. 
But huge the eyeballs rolled black native fire, 
Imperiously triumphant. nostrils wide 
Waited their incevse; while the pursed mouth’s pout 
Aggressive, while the beak supreme above, 
While the head, face, nay, pillared throat thrown back, 
Beard whitening under iike a vinous foam— 

3 These made a glory of such insolence, 
{ thought, such dominecring deity 
Hephaistos might have carved to cut the brine 
For his gay brother’s prow, imbrue that path 
Which, purpling, recognised the conqueror 
Impudent and majestic: drunk, perhaps, 
But that’s religion ; sense too plainly snuffed : 

: ~ Still, sensuality was grown.a rite. 

In 1875 also appeared from the prolific pen of the poet ‘The Inn 
Album.’ 

A fertile and original author with high and generous aims, Mr. 
Browning has proved his poetic power alike in thought, description, 
passion, and conception of character. But the effect of even his 
happiest productions is marred by obscurity, by eccentricities of 
style and expression, and by the intrusion of familiar phrases and 
Hudibrastic rhymes or dry metaphysical discussions. His choice of 
subjects—chiefly Italian—his stories of monastic life, repulsive 
crimes, and exceptional types of character—are also against his” 
popularity. ‘The Ring and the Book’ is prolix: four volumes of blank 
verse, in which the same tale of murder is told by various interlocu. 


< 


A Z Lay OE a NL eee 5 arene ae Se ES = ty 
pigon CA ty ® fe 2 ; ey uF oe i" cae 

J > - Bae ta Z . % .. Pans 
= ; 7 a bee hs Age Bh Poe, 4 ae 

oe é 


1B , ~ €YCLOPADIA OF ~~ ‘fro 1876, 


tors, with long digressions from old chronicles and other sources— 
such a work must repel all but devoted poetical readers. ‘These, _ 
however, Mr. Browning has obtained, and the student who per- 
severes, digging for the ‘pure untempered gold’ of poetry, will 
find his reward in the pages of this master of psychological mono- 
logues and dramatic lyrics. . fae 
Mr. Browning is a native of Camberwell in Surrey, born in 1812, 

and educated at the London University. He is also an honorary 
Fellow of Balliol College, Oxford. In November 1846 he was mar- | 
ried, as already stated, to Miss Elizabeth Barrett. Of Mr. Brown- — 

- ing’s many descriptions of the ‘Sunny south,’ the following is a 
favourable specimen, and Miss Mitford states that it was admired by 
Mr. Ruski. for its exceeding truthfulness: 


Picture of the Grape-harvest. 


But to-day not a boat reached Salerno, 
So back to a mau 

Came our friends. with whose help in the vineyards 
Grape-harvest began: : 

In the vat half-way up on our house-side 
Like blood the juice spins, ; , 

While your brother all bare-legged is dancing 
Till breathless he grins, 

Mead-beaten, in effort on effort 
To keep the grapes under, 

Fo still when he seems all but master, 
In pours the fresh plunder 

From girls who keep coming and going 
With basket on shoulder, 

And eyes shut against the rain’s driving, 
Your girls that are older— 

For under the hedges of aloe, 
And where, on its bed : 

Of the orchard’s black mould, the love-apple 
Lies pulpy and red, 

All the young ones are kneeling and fiding 
Their laps with the snails, 

Tempted out by the firet rainy weather— 
Your best of regales, 

As to-night will be proved to my sorrow, 
When, supping in state, 

We shall feast our grape-gleaners—tw6 d¢zen, 
Three oyer one plate— 

Macaroni, so tempting to swallow, 
In slippery strings, 

And gourds fried in great purple slices, 
That colour of kings. 

Meantime, see the grape-bunch they’ve hronght you 
The rain-water slips 

O’er the heavy blue bloom on each globe 
Which the wasp to your lips 


Still follows with fretful persistence. “s 
Nay, taste while awake, 
« This half of a curd-white smooth cheese-ball, 


That peels, flake by flake, 
Like an onion’s, each smoother and whiter ; 
Next sip this weak wine : 


~ 


. %. ‘ : 
- BROWNING. | - ENGLISH LITERATURE. 135 


pe peel a wan Te a - > ‘ ye wg . 718 
“we aes aeeeky % *: =. =» 5 oe ? t r = % 2 
re ; A . 3 F 
A = Saige = é ~ - 
wae : ; ~ é 
BR 


- From the thin green glass flask, with its stopper, 
A leaf of the vine; 
And end with the prickly pear’s red flesh, 
That leaves through its juice 
The stony black seeds on your pear! teeth. 


The Pied Piper of Hamelin.—A Child's Story. 
; I. 


Hamelin town ’s in Brunswick, 
By fameus Hanover city ; 
The river Weser, deep and wide, 
Washes its wall-on the southern side; 
~* A pleasanter spot you never spied ; 
But, when begius my ditty, 
Almost five hundred years ago, 
To see the townsfolk suffer so . 
From vermin was a pity. 


Il. 

Rats! 

They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, 

And bit the babies in the cradles, 

And ate the cheeses out of the vats, 

And licked the soup from the cook’s own ladles, 
Split open the kegs of salted sprats, 
Made nests inside men’s Sunday hats, 

And even spoiled the women’s chats, 

By drowning their speaking 
With shrieking and squeaking 
Tn fifty different sharps and flats. 


Ili. 


Atlast the people in a body 
To the Town Hall came flocking . 
‘Tis clear,’ cried they, ‘ our Mayor’s a noddy 3 
And as for our Corporation—shocking 
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine 
For dolts that can’t or won’t determine 
What’s best to rid us of our vermin! 
You hope, because you're old and obese, 
To find in the furry civic robe ease? 
Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking 
To find the remedy we’re lacking, 
Or. sure as fate, we’ll send you packing !’ 
At this the Mayor and Corporation 
Quaked with a mighty consternation. 


“f IV. 
An hour they sat in council, —. 
At length the Mayor broke silence: 
For a guilder I’d my ermine gown sell ; 
T wish I were a mile hence! 
It’s easy to bid one rack one’s brain— 
I’m sure my poor head aches again. 
I’ve scratched it so, and all in vain; 
O for a trap; atrap, a trap!’ 
Just as he said this, what should hap 
At the chamber-door but a gentle tap! 
* Bless us,’ cried the Mayor, ‘ what’s that ?? 
(With the Corporation as he sat, 


CYCLOP-EDIA OF 


Looking little, though wondrous fat; ice. 
Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister, 9s z 
than a too-loug-opened oyster, ae ee : 
Save whea ut noon his paunch grew mutinous 
Yor a plate of turtle green and glutinous), 
‘Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? rs 
Anything like the sound of a rat 
Makes iny heart go pit-a-patP 


¥. 
‘Come in !’—the Mayor cried, looking bigger: : 
And in did come the strangest figure. — 
His queer long coat from heel to head 3 
Was half of yellow and half of red; rm 
And he himself was tall and thin, 
With sharp biue eyes, each like a pin, 
And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, 
No tuft on cheek nor beard on ehin, 2 
But lips where smiles went out and in— q 
There was no guessing bis kith and kin t 
And nobody could enough admire 
The tall man ond his quaint attire. 
Quoth one: ‘It’sas my great grandsire, 
Starting up at the Trump of Doom’s tone, 
Had walked this way from his painted tombstone, 


VI. 


He advanced to the Council-table s ‘ 
And, ‘ Please your honours,’ said he, ‘I ’m able, 
By means of a secret charm, to draw 
All creatures living beneath the sun, 
That creep, or swim, or fly, or run, 
After me so as you never saw! hey 7 
And I chiefly use my charny - oe ae 
On creatures that do people harm, ; 4 
The mole, and toad. and newt, and viner¢ 
And people cali me the Pied Piper.’ ‘ : - 
«And here they noticed round his neck) ~ ; Tae 
A scarf of red and yellow stripe, a 
To match with his coat of the self-same check ¢ + “3 
And at the scarf’s end hung a pipe; - . 
And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying, 
As if inipatient to be playing > 
Tpon this pipe, as low it dangled ze 
Over his vesture so old-fangled.) 
‘Yet,’ said he, ‘ poor piper as I am, ‘ 


. 


b 


In Tartary JI freed the Cham, Re 
Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats $% 4 
I eased in Asia the Nizam . 
Of a monstrous brood of vampyre bats: SJ 
And, as for what your brain bewilders, > yy 
Hf Ican rid your town of fats, ¢ 
Will you give me a thousand guilders ?” < 
‘One? fifty thousand !’—was the exclamation} eo 
Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation,, S —_ 
“= 

VII. a 

Into the street the Piper stept, a 
Smiling first a little smile, a 
As if he knew what magic slept - 


In his quiet pipe the while; 


~ 


BROWNING] _ 


With a, ‘First, if you please, my thousand guilders P 


— 


ENGLISH LITERATURE, 


Then, like a musieal adept, 

To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, 
And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, 
Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled ; 
And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, 
You heard as if an army inuttered ; 
And the muttering grew to a grumbling ; 
And the gruinbling grew to a mighty rambling 
And out of the house the rats came tumbling. 
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, 
Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats 
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, 

Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, 
Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, 

Families by tens and dozens, 
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives— 
Followed the Piper for their lives. ; 
From street to street he piped advancing, 
And step by step they followed dancing, 
Until they came to the river Weser, 
Wherein all plunged and perished 
—Save one, who, stout as Julius Cesar, 
Swam across, and lived to carry 
(As he the mauuscript he cherished) 
To Rat-land home his commentary, 
Which was, ‘ At the first shrill notes of the pipe, 
I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, 
And putting apples, wondrous ripe, 
Into a cider-press’s gripe; 
And a moving away of pickle-tub boards, 
And a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards, 
And a drawing the corks of train-oil flasks, 
And a breaking the hoops of butter casks ; 
And it seemed as if a voice — 
(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery 
Ts breathed) called out: ** O rats. rejoice! 
The world is grown to one vast drysaltery ! 
To munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, 
Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon !” 
And just as a bulky sugar puncheon, 
All ready staved, like a great sun shone 
Glorious scarce an inch »efore me, 
Just as methought it said, ‘* Come, bore me !” 
—I found the Weser rolling o’er me.’ 


VII; 


You should have heard the Mamelin people 
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. 
‘ Go,’ cried the Mayor. ‘ and-get long poles! 
Poke out the nests and block up the holes! 
Consult with carpenters and builders, 

And leave in our town not even a trace 

Of ihe rats !—when suddenly up the face 
Of the Piper perked in the inarket-place, 


Ix, 


A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; 
So did the Corporation too. 


For Council dinners made rare havoc 
With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Orave, Hock 
And half the money would replenish 


137 © 


138 


CYCLOPZEDIA OF : 
Their cellar’s biggest butt with Rhenish. 
To pay this sum to a wandering fellow 
With a gipsy coat of red and yellow ! 
- * Beside,’ quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink, 
‘Our business was done at the river's brink ; 
We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, 
And what’s dead can’t come to life, I think. 
So, friend, we’re not the folks to shrink 
From the duty of giving you something to drink, 
And a matter of money to put in your poke: 
But, as for the guilders, what we spoke 
Of them, as you very well know, was in joke; 
Beside, our losses nave made us thrifty ; 
A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty l° 


x. 


The piper’s face fell, and he cried: 

‘No trifling! I can’t wait; beside. 

I’ve promised to visit by dinner-time 
Bagdad, and accepted the prime 

Of the head-cook’s pottage, all he’s rich in, 
For having left, in the Caliph’s kitchen, 
Of a nest of scorpions no survivor— 
With him I proved no bargain-driver ; - 
With you, don’t think I'l bate a stiver! | 
And folks who put me in a passion 

May find me pipe to another fashion.’ 


xI. 


‘How?’ cried the Mayor, ‘ d’ye think I'll brook 
Being worse treated than a cook? 

Insulted by a lazy ribald 

With idle pipe and vesture piebald ? 

You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst ; 
Blow your pipe there till you burst!’ 


xIT, 


Once more he stept into the street ; 

And to his lips again 
Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane, 

And ere he blew three notes (such sweet 
Soft notes as yet musicians cunning 

Never gave the enraptured air). 
There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling 
Of merry crowds justling, at pitching and hustling, 
Small feet were pattering. wooden shoes clattering, 
Little hands clapping. and little tongues chattering. 
-And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, 
Ont came the children running. 
All the little boys and girls, 
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, 
And sparkling eves and teeth like pearls, 
Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after 
The wonderful mnsic with shouting and langhter, 


XIII. 


The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood 
As if they were changed into blocks of wood, 
Unable to move a step, or ery 

To the children merrily skipping by 

And could only follow with the eye 

That joyous crowd at the Piper’s back. 


: 


~ 


/ 


7 


‘BROWNING. } 


“a 


~* ¥ “s 


» 
ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
But how the Mayor was on the rack, 
And the wretched Council’s bosoms beat, 
As the Piper turned from the High Street 
To where the Weser rolled its waters 
Right in the way of their sons and daughters! 
However he turned from south to west, 
And to Koppelberg Hil! his steps addressed, 
And after him the children pressed ; 
Great was the joy in eyery breast. 
‘He never can cross that mighty top! 
He ’s forced to let the piping drop, 
And we shall see our children stop!’ 
When Jo! as they reached the mountain’s side, 
A> wondrous portal opened wide, 
As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed ; 
And the Piper advanced and the children followed, 
And when all were in to the very last, 
The-door in the mountain-side shut fast. 
Did { say all? No! one was lame, 
And could not dance the whole of the way; 
And in after years, if you would blame 
His sadness, he was used to say: 
‘It ’s dull in our town since my playmates left; 
I can’t forget that I’m bereft 
Of al] the pleasant sights they see, 
Which the Piper also promised me; 
For he !ed us, he said, to a joyous land, . 
Joining the town, and just at hand, 
Where waters gushed and truit-trees grew, 
And flowers put forth a fairer hue, 
And everything was strange and new; 
The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, 
And their dogs outran our fallow deer, 
And honey-bees had lost their stings ; 
And horses were born with eagle’s wings ; 
And just as I became assured 
My lame foot would be speedily cured, 
‘The music stopped, and I stood still, 
And found myself outside the hill, 
Left alone against my will, 
To go now limping as before, 
And never hear of that country*more !? 


xXIV. 


Alas, alas for Hamelin ! 

There came into many a burgher’s pate 

A.text which says, that heaven’s gate 
_ Opes to the rich at as easy rate | 
As the needle’s eye takes a camel in! 

The Mayor sent east, west, north, and south, 
To offer the Piper by word of mouth, 

Wherever it was men’s lot to find him, 
Silver and gold to his heart’s content, 

If he’d only return the way he went, 

And bring the children all behind him. 
But when they saw ’twas a lost. endeavour, 
And Piper and dancers were gone for ever, 
They made a decree that lawyers never 

Shouid think their records dated duly, 
Tf, after the day of the month and year, 
These words did not as well appear : 

‘And so long after what happened here 


189 


. But how or why they don’t understand. 


CYCLOPZEDIA OF ~~ 

On the twenty-second of July, ; ose a 
Thirteen hundred and seventy-six ? 
And the better in memory to fix ave : om 
The place of the children’s last retreat, 
They called it, the Pied Piper’s street— : 
Where any one playing on pipe or tabor, 
Was sure for the future to lose his labour. e : 
Nor suffered they hostlery or tavern E oo 

To shock with mirth a street so solemn 5 re 
But opposite the place of the cavern 

They wrote the story on a column, 
And on the great. church window painted 
The same, to make the world acquainted ~ 
How their children were stolen away ; on 
Aud there it stands to this very day. - : 


And I must not omit to say : a 
That in Transylvania there’s a tribe . 
Of alien people that ascribe ae 


The outlandish ways and dress, : - 
On which their neighbours lay such stress, 

To their fathers and mothers having risen 

Out of some subterraneous prison, 

Into which they were trepanned 

Long time ago in a mighty band “A 

Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick iand, ar 


xv. 


So, Willy. let you and me be’ wipers 

Of scores out with all meu—especially pipers. 

And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, 
If we’ve promised them aught, let us keep our promise. 


A Parting Scene (1526 A. D.). 
PARACELSUS and FESTUS. 


’ Par. And you saw Luther ? x 

Fest. ‘Tis a wondrous soul! 

Par. True: the so-heavy chain which galled mankind 
Ts_shattered, and the noblest of us all 
Must bow to the dejverer—nay the worker 
Of our own project—-we who long before 
Had burst our tramme!ls, but forgot the crowd 
We would have taught, still groaned beneath the load: 
This he has done and nobly. Speed that may! 
Whatever be my chance or my mischance, 

What benefits mankind must glad me too: ‘ 

And men seem made, though not as I believed, 

For something better than the times display: 
Witness these gangs of peasants your new lights 
From Suabia have possessed, whom Miinzer leads, 
And whom the Dake, t *e Landgrave, and the Elector 
Will calm in blood! Well, well—tis not my world! 

Fest. Hark! 

Pan. ’Tis the melancholy wind astir S 
Within the trees ; the embers too are gray} 

Morn must be near. 

Frst. Best ope the casement. See, ~ 
The night, late strewn with clonds and flying stars, 
Is blank and motionless: how peaceful sleep 
The tree-tops all together! like an asp 
The wind slips whispering from bough to bough. 


v t 


“BROWNING.]  -- ENGLISH LITERATURE. — 


=, . Par, Ay; you would gaze on a wind-shaken tree 
By the honr, nor count time lost. 
Fest. So you shall gaze. 
Those happy times will come again. 
Par. Gone! gone! 3 

Those plecasant-times! Does not the moaning wind 

Seem to bewail that we have gained such gains 
dl . And bartered sleep for them? 

; Fest. It is our trust 
= That there is yet another world, to mend 
All error and mischance. 
Par. Another world! 
Py And why this world, this common world, to be 
= A make-shift, a mere foil, how {fair soever, 

‘To some fine life to come? Man must be fed 
ae r With angels’ food, forsooth; and some few traces 
: Of a diviner nature which look out : 
be Through his corporeal baseness, warrant him 
$ Tn a supreme contempt for all provision 
: For his inferior tastes—some straggling marks 

Which constitute his essence, just as truly 
As here and there a gem would coustitute 

be The rock, their barren bed, adiamond. | 
| But were it so—were man all mind—he gains 
; A station little enviable. From God : 

Down to the lowest spirit; ministr.nt, 
Intelligence exists which casts our mind 
“1 - Into immeasurable shade. No. no: 
Love, hope, fear, faith—these make humanity. 
-g These are its sign, and note, and character: ~” 
And these I have lost !—gone, shut from me for ever 
Like a-dead friend, safe from unkindness more !— : 
me See morn at length. The heavy darkness seems 
a Diluted ; gray and clear without the stars; 
“ The shrubs bestir and rouse themselves, as if 
; Some snake, that weighed them down all night, let go 
42 His hold; and from the east, fuller and fuller, 

Day, like a mighty river, is flowing in; 
ss But clouded, wintry, desolate and cold: 

Yet see how that broad, prickly, star-shaped plant, 
Half down the crevice, spreads its woolly leaves 
All thick and glistering with diamond dew.— 

And you depart for Einsiedlen to-day. - 

And we have spent all night in talk like this! 

If you would have me better for your love, 

Revert no more to these sad theimes 


From ‘ My last Duchess.’ 


io That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, 
Looking as if she were alive. I eall 

That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf’s hands 
Worked busily a day, and there she stands. 
Will ’t please you sit and look at her? I said 
‘ Fra Pandolf? by design, for never read 

3 Strangers like you that pictured countenance, 
The depth and passion of its earnest glance. 
But to myself they turned (since none puts by 
The curtain I have drawn for you but I), 
And seemed as they wou'd ask me, if they durst, 

; How sucha glance came there: so, not the first 

Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir. ’twas not 
Her husband’s presence only, called that spot 


le 


141 


a) Ns 
i. ‘ a 


21> » “E€YCLOPEDIA OF In 3276. 


f joy into the Duchess? cheek perheps 
'ra Pendolf chanced to sey ‘ Her mantle laps 
Over my lady’s wrist too much,’ or, "Pant 
Must never hope to reproduce the faint / a 
Half flush that dies along her throat ;’ such stuff At 
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough 
For calling up that spot of joy. Shehad 
A heart—how shall I say ?—too soon made glad, 
Too easily impressed ; she liked whate’er 
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. 
Sir, ’twas all one! My fayour at her breast, 
The dropping of the daylight in the west, . 
The bough of cherries some ofiicious fool 3 
Broke in tke orchard for her, the white mule 
She rode with round tle terrace—all and each 
Would draw from her alike the appioving speech, 
Or blush, af least. She thanked mcu— ood; but thanked 
Somehow—I know not how—as it she ranked 
My gift of a nine hundred years old name 
With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame. 
This sort of trifling ? 


COVENTRY PATMORE—EDWARD ROBERT, LORD LYTTON. 


The delineation of married love and the dcmestic affections has 
been attempted by Mr. Coventry Paimcre, who has deservedly — 
gained reputation from the sweetness and quiet beauty of his verse. 
His first work was a volume of ‘Pocms,’ 1€44. This was repub- © 
lished with large additions in 1858, under the title of ‘ Tamerton 
Church Tower, and other Poems.’ He then produced his most im- 
portant work, ‘The Angel in the Heuse,’ in feur parts—‘ The 
Betrothal, 1854; ‘The Espousal,’ 1856; ‘ Faithful for Ever,’ 1&60; 
and ‘The Victories of Love,’ 1862. Mr. Fatmcre has also edited a 
volume of poetical selections, ‘The Children’s Garland, from the. 
Best Poets,’ 1862. ‘The Angel in the Eouse’ ccntains passages of 
great beauty, both in sent mert and description. Mr. Ruskin has 


eulogised it as ‘a most finished piece of writing.’ Its occasional 


felicities of expression are seen in verses like these: 


A girl of fnilest heart she was; And in the maiden path she trod M . 


Fair was the wife foresbhewn— 
A Mary in the house of God, 
A Martha in her own. 


Her spirit’s lovely flame 
Nor dazzled nor surprised, because 
It always burned the same. 


And in this simile: 
Her soft voice. singularly heard 
Beside me, in the Psalms. withstood 
The roar of voices, like a bi’ d 
Sole warbling in a windy wood. 


The Joyful Wisdom. 


Would Wisdom for herself be wooed. What’s that which Heaven to man en- 
And wake the foolish from his dream, dears, 

She must be glad as well as good. And that which eyes no sooner see 
And must. not only be. but seem. Than the heart says. with floods of tears, 

Beauty and joy are hers by right ; ‘Ab! that’s the thing which I would 
And. knowing this. I wonder less he? 

That she’s so seorned, when falsely fight Not childhood, full of fears and fret ; 
In misery and ugliness. — . by _. Not youth, impatient to disown, _ 


“PATMORE.| 

7 
Those visions high, which to forget 
_ Were worse than never to 
known. . 


“Not these ; but souls found here and there, 


~~ Oases in our waste of sin, 
When everything is well and fair, 
And God remits his discipline, 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


143 


The worldling scarce can recognise ; 


have And ridicule, against it hurled, 


Drops with a broken sting and dies. ... 
They live by law, not like the fool, 
But like the bard who freely sings 
In strictest bonds of rhyme and rele, 
And finds in them not bonds, but wings. 


Whose sweet subdual of the world, 


¥ Counsel to the Young Husband. 


‘ Now, while she’s changing,’ said the Fear comes at first; but soon, rejoiced, 

You'll find your strong and tender loves 
Like holy rocks by Druids poised, 

The least force shakes, but none re- 

moves. . ; 

Her strength is your esteem ; beware 

Of finding fault ; her will’s unnerved 
By blame; from you ’twould be despair; 

But praise that is not quite deserved 
Will all her noble nature move 

To make your utmost wishes true ; 
Yet think, while mending thus your love, 

Of matching her ideal too! 
The death of nuptial joy is sloth : 

To keep your mistress in your wife, 
Keep to the very height your oath, 

And honour her with arduous life.’ 


x Dean, 
_ ‘Her bridal for her travelling dress, 
‘T'll preach allegiance to your queen! 
_. Preaching’s the trade which I profess ; 
And one more minute’s mine! You know 
I’ve paid my girl a father’s debt, 

And this last charge 1s al] I owe. 
_ She’s yours; but I love more than yet 
You can; such fondness ovly wakes 
--When time has raised the heart above 
~The prejudice of youth, which makes 

- Beauty conditional to love. 

Prepare to meet the weak alarms 
Of novel nearness ; recollect 

The eye which magnifies her charms 
'_ Is microscopic for defect. 


__Mr. Patmore was born at Woodford in Essex, July 2, 1823, son of 
‘Mr. P. G. Patmore (1786-1855), author of ‘Personal Recollections of » 
Deceased Celebrities,’ Ge. In 1846 Mr. Coventry Patmore was ap- 
pointed one of the assistant-librarians of the British Museum, but re- 
tired from the office about 1868. f 

_ Epwarp Rosert, Lorp Lyrron, under the name of ‘Owen 
Meredith,’ has published two volumes of poetry—‘ Clytemnestra,’ 
1855, and ‘The Wanderer,’ 1859. There are traces of sentimentalism 
and morbid feeling in the poems, but also fine fancy and graceful 
tnusical language. The.poet is the only son of the first Lord Lytton, 
‘and was born November 8, 1831. The paternal taste in the selection 
of subjects from high life, with a certain voluptuous colouring, and a 
pseudo-melancholy, cynical air, has been reproduced in ‘ Owen 
‘Meredith,’ though Tennyson was perhaps the favourite model. The 
young poet, however, had original merit enough to redeem such faults. 
‘He continued to write, and produced in succession ‘ Lucile,’ a novel 
in verse, 1860; ‘Serbski Pesme,’ a translation of the national songs 
of Servia; ‘The Ring of Amasis,’ a prose romance, 1863: ‘Chronicles 
and Characters,’ two volumes of poems, chiefly historical, to which 
Mr. Lytton prefixed his own name; ‘Orval, or the Fool of Time,’ a 
dramatic poem, &c. For about twenty years Lord Lytton was en- 
‘Gsed in the diplomatic service abroad, and in 1876 was appointed 
Governor-general or Viceroy of India, In 1874 the noble poet pub- 
lished two volumes of ‘ Fables’ in verse. 


144 , CYCLOPEDIA OF 
The Chess-board. oe te aie 


My little love do you remember, 

Ere we were grown so sadly wise, 
Those evenings in the bleak December, 
Curtained warm froin the snowy weather, 
When you and I played chess together, 

Checkmated by each other’s eyes? 

Ah! still I see your soft white hand 

Hovering warm o’er queen and knight; 
Brave pawns in valiant battle stand; 

‘The double castles guard the wings; 

The bishop, bent on distant things, 
Moves sidling. through the fight. 

Our fingers touch, our glances mect 

And falter, falls your golden hair 
Against my cheek ; your bosom sweet 
Is heaving; down the field, your queen 


Ch anges, 


he Seo a 
[ro 1876, 


Z ~ 


Rides slow her soldiery all between,’ 

And checks me unaware. a 
Ah me! the little battle’s done, — — 

Dispersed is all its Chivalry. ee 

Full many a move, since then, have we 

’ Mid life’s perplexing checkers made, 

And many a game with fortune played—_ 
What is it we have won? : 

This, this, at least—if this alone— : 

That never, never, never more, 

As in those old still nights of yore— 
Eve we were grown so sadly wise— 
Can you and | shut out the skies, 

Shut out the world and wintry weather, 
And eyes exchanging warmth with eyes, 

Play chess as then we played together ! 


Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed. 
Time rules us all. And life, indeed, is not 

The thing we planned it out ere hope was dead. 
And then, we women cannot choose our lot. 


Much must be borne which it is hard to bear: 
Much given away which it were sweet to keep. 


God help us all! who need, indeed, His care, 


And yet, I know, the Shepherd loves his sheep. 


My little boy begins to babble now 
Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer. 
He has his father’s eager eyes, I know 3_ 


And, they say too, his mother’s sunny hair. 


But when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee, 
And I can feel his light breath come and go, 

I think of one—Heaven help and pity me !— 
Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago. 


The Rev. Henry Francis Lyre (died in 1847) wrote ‘ Tales in 
Verse,’ 1830; ‘ Poems;’ ‘ Ballads; &c. 
rior merit. 


Who might have been—ah, what I dare not think! 
We all are changed. God judges-for us best. 
God help us do our duty, and not shrink, 
And trust in Heaven humbly for the rest. 


But blame us women not, if someappear 
Too cold at. times; and some too gay and light. 
Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear. 
Who knows the past ? and who can judge us right? 


Ah, were we judged by what we might have been, 
And not by what we are, too apt to fall! 
My little child—he sleeps and smiles between ; 


These thoughts and me. In heaven we shall know all! 


— 


His sacred poetry is of supe - 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ ~~~ 445 


The Sailor's Grave. 


here is in the lone, lone sea, It was his home when he had breath, 


A spot unmarked, but holy, 2 "Tis now his home for eye 
For there the gallant andthe free, hy 
In his ocean bed lies lowly. ; Sleep on, sleep on, thou mighty dead! 
A glorious tomb they’ve found thee; 
Down, down, beneath the deep, The broad blue sky above thee spread, 
“That oft in triumph bore him, . The boundless ocean round thee, 


e sleeps a sound and peaceful sleep, 

With-the wild waves dashing o’er him. No vulgar foot treads here, 

# No hand profane shall move thee, 

He sleeps—he sleeps, serene and safe But gallant hearts shall proudly steer, 
From tempest and from billow, And warriors shout above thee. 

‘Where storms that‘high above him chafe 

: Scarce rock his peaceful pillow. And though no stone may tell 

ee yh Mie 5 Thy name, thy worth, thy glory, 

+: he sea and him in death They rest in hearts that love thee well, 

& _ They did not daie to sever; And they grace Britannia’s story. 

<> 4 


meee Hymn—‘Abide with Me!’ 
¥ a Abide with me! fast falls the eventide; 

Re The darkness thickens: Lord, with me abide! 
—- When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, 
tm - Help of the helpless, O abide with me! 


- Swift to its close ebbs ont Jife’s little day 3 

~ Earth’s joys grow dim..its glories pass away 
Change and decay in all around I see; 
O Thou who changest not, abide with me! - 


tgs tae ye 
“s; P " 


Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word, 

But as Thou dwell’st with thy disciples, Lord— 
Familiar, condescending, patient, free— 

Come, not to sojourn, but abide with me! 


a 


Come. not in terrors, as the King of kings. 
But kind and good, with-healing on thy wings, 
Tears for all woes. a heart for every plea: 
Come, Friend of sinners, thus abide with me! 


REA Sy 
eS ee 
ee 


‘ 

Si 
Ma 

ve 


yh 


I need thy presence every passing hour: - ‘ 
What but Thy grace can foi] the tempter’s power 2? 
Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be? 
Through clouds and sunshine, O abide with me] 


ce tgintie 
ey. Fe 


Mi 


r 


I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless; 


“s ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness : 
ae é Where is death’s sting? where. grave, thy victory? 
—- I triumph still, if Thou abide with me! 


- Reveal Thyself before my closing eyes, : 
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies: 
Heaven’s morning breaks and earth’s vain shadows flee ; 
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me! 


uur se 
: =) 
rs | 
\ 


_ Cartes Kent (born in London in 1823) has published ‘ Dream- 
land, with other Poems,’ 1862; and acollective edition of his ‘ Poems’ 
~ was issued in 1870, Mr. Kent has also written several prose tales 


146 


Love’s Catenin 


Talk of love in verna) hours, 
When the landscape blushes 
With the dawning glow of flowers, 
While the early thrushes 
Warble in the apple-tree ; 
When the primrose springing 
From the green bank, lulls the bee, 
On its blossom swinging. 


Talk of love in summer-t*de 
When through bosky shallows 
Trills the streamlet—all its side 
Pranked with freckled mallows 3 
When in mossy lair of wrens 
Tiny eggs are warming ; 
When above the reedy fens 
Dragon-gnats are swarming. 


CYCLOPEDIA OF — 


Talk of love in autumn days, 
Wher the fruit, all mellow, 

Drops amid the ripening rays, 
While the leaflets yellow 

Circle in the sluggish breeze ‘ 
With their portents bitter ; 

When between the fading trees 
Broader sunbeams glitter. 


Talk of love in winter time, 
When the hailstorm hurtles, 

While the robin sparks of rime 
Shakes from hardy myrtles, 

Never speak of love with scorn, 
Such were direct treason ; 

Love was made for eve and morn, 
And for every season. 


LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY. 


One of the best and most prolific of the American poetesses was 
Mrs. L. H. Sre¢ournry, born in Norwich, Connecticut, in 1791; 


died at Hartford in 1865. 


[ro 1876. 


P 


-” 


Maria Edgeworth and a host of critics 


have borne testimony to the poetic genius and moral influence of this 


accomplished woman. 


The Early Blue-bird. 


Blue-bird ! on yon leafless tree, 

Dost thou carol thus to me: 

‘Spring is coming! Spring is here!’ 
Says’t thou so. my birdie dear ? 
What is that, in misty shroud, 
Stealing from the darkened cloud ? 


Lo! the snow-ilakes’ gathering mound 


Settles o’er the whitened ground, 
Yet thou singest, blithe and clear: 
‘Spring is coming! Spring is here!’ 


Strik’st thou not too. bold a strain? 
Winds are piping o’er the plain ; 
Clouds are sweeping o'er the sky 
With a black and threatening eyes 
Urchins, by the frozen rill, 

Wrap their mantles closer still; 
Yon poor man, with doublet old, 
Doth he shiver at the cold? 

Hath he nota nose of blue? 

Tell me, birdling, tell me true. 


Spring ’s a maid of mirth and glee, 


. Rosy wreaths and revelry: 


Hast thou wooed some wingéd love 
To a nest in verdant grove ? 

Sung to her of greenwood bower, 
Sunny skies that never lower ? 
Lured her with thy promise fair 

Of a lot that knows no care? 
Pr’ythee, bird, in coat of blue, 
‘Though a lover, tell her true. 


Ask her if, when storms are long, 


She can sing a cheerful song 2- - 


When the rude winds rock the tree, 
If she’ll cioser cling to thee ? 

Then the blasts that sweep the sky, - 
Unappalled shall pass thee by; 


Though thy curtained chamber shew _ 


Siftings of untimely snow. 
Warm and glad thy heart shall be; 
Love shall make it Spring for thee. 


Midnight Thoughts at Sea. 


Borne upon the ocean’s foam, 
Far from native jand and home, 


Midnight’s curtain, dense with wrath, 


Brooding o’er our venturous path, 
While the mountain waye is rolling, 
And the ship's bell faintly tolling : 
Saviour! on the boisterous sea, 

Bid us rest secure in Thee. 


Blast and surge. conflicting hoarse, 
Sweep us on with headlong force; 
And the bark, which tempests surge, 


Moans and trembles at their scourge ; 


Yet. should wildest tempests swell, 
Be ‘Thon near. and all is well, 
Saviour! on the stormy seg, 

Let us find repose in Thee, 


- 


x 


= 


4 js 
2 oT ae 


eee Soin are 


eee ag Oe 


* 
7 


| ENGLISH LITERATURE. 147 


Wrecks are darkly spread below, 
Where with lonely keel we go; 
Gentle brows and bosoms brave 
Those abysses richly pave ; 

If beneath the briny deep 

We with them, should coldly sleep, 
Saviour! o’er the whelming sea, 
Takes our ransomed souls to Thee. 


~ Hearts there are with love that burn 
When to us afar they turn ; 

_-Eyes that shew the rushing tear 

_ If our uttered names they hear: 

~ Saviour! o’er the faithless main 

_ Bring us to those homes again, 

_ As the trembler, touched by hee, 

_ Safely trod the treacherous sea. 


oT JOHN G. WHITTIER. 


The Society of Friends, or Quakers, in America can boast of a 
poet who more than rivals their English representative, Bernard 

arton. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, born near Haverhill, Massa- 
' chusetts, in 1808, passed his early years on his father’s. farm; but 
after he came of age was chiefly engaged in literary pursuits. He 
edited several newspapers, and was an active opponent of negro 
slavery. He has published ‘ Legends of New England,’ in prose and 
_ verse, 1831; a volume of ‘ Ballads,’1838; ‘The Stranger in Lowell’ 
- (prose essays), 1845; ‘ Voices of Freedom,’ {849; ‘Songs of Labour,’ 
“1850; ‘ National Lyrics,’ 1865; ‘Maud Miller,’ 1866; and various 
' other poetical tales and sketches. There isa neat compact edition of 
his collected poetical works in two small volumes (the ‘ Merrimack 
- Edition’), 1869. In 1878 he published ‘The Pennsylvanian Pilgrim, 
'-and other Poems,’ which shewed that his fine vein of thought and 
_ melody was unimpaired. 


The Robin. 


My old Welsh. neighbour over the way 

__Crept slowly out in the sun of spring, 

Pushed from her ears the locks of gray, 
And listened to hear the Robin sing. 


_ Her grandson, playing at marbles, stop- 


ped 
— _ And. cruel in sport as boys will be, 
_ Tossed a stone at the bird, who hopped 


- From bough to bough in the apple-tree. 


_ * Nay!’ said the grandmother, ‘have you 


not heard. 
My poor, bad boy, of the fiery pit, 


_ And how, drop by drop, this merciful 
bird 


Carries the water that quenches it? 


_ *He brings cool dew in his little bill, 
And lets it fall on the souls of sin: 


~- 


og Barbara 


as from the meadows, rich with corn, 
ear from the cool September morn, 
_ The clustered spires of Frederick stand, 
_ Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 


You can see the mark on his red breast 
still 
Of fires that scorch as he drops it in. 


‘My poor Bron rhuddyn! my breast- 
burned bird, ~ 
Singing so sweetly from limb to limb, 
Very dear to the heart of Our Lord 
Is he who pities the lost like him !’ 


‘Amen!’ I said to the beautiful myth; 
‘Sing, bird of God. in my heart as well: 

Each good thought is a drop wherewith 
To cool and lessen the fires of hell. 


‘Prayers of love like rain-drops fall, 
Years of pity are cooling dew, 
And dear to the heart of Our Lord are all 
Milos stifler like Him in the good they 
0! 


Fritchie, 


Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep; 

Fair as a garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, 


148 


On that pleasant morn of the early f 11]; 

When Lee marched over the mountain 
wall, 

Over the mountains winding down, 

Horse and foot, into Frederick town, 


Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their silver bars, 
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun 
Of noon looked down and saw not one. 


Up rose old Barbara Fritchie then, ; 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten, 
Bravest of all in Frederick town, 

She tock up the flag the men hauled down; 


In her attic window the staff she set, 
To shew that one heart was loyal yet. 
Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead ; 


Under his slouched hat left and right, 

He glanced; the old flag met his sight. 

“* Halt !’—the dust-brown ranks stood fast; 
* Fire ! ’—out blazed the rifle blast. 


It shivered the window, pane and sash; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 
Quick, as it fell from the broken staff, 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf; 


She leaned far out on the window sill, 


CYCLOPAEDIA OF 


* 


~ 
2 


: > [To 1876, 


‘Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, — 
But spare your couutry’s flag,’ she said. 
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, ~ 
Over the face of the leader came; f 
The nobie nature within him stirred. ; 
To life, at that woman’s deed and word. 


‘ Who touches a hair of yon gray head, 
Dies like adog. March on!’ he said, 
All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet; 


All day long the free flag tossed : 
Over the heads of the rebel host ;~ 
Ever its torn folds 1ose and fell 

On the loyal winds, that loved it well; 


And through the hill-gaps sunset light — 

Shone over it with a warm good-night. — ~ 
Barbara Fritchie’s work is o’er, * |. 

And the rebel rides on his raid no more. 


Honour to her! and let a tear ; 
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall’s bier! ~ 
Over Barbara Fritchie’s grave, ‘ 
Flag of Freedom, and Union, wave ! 


Peace, and order, and beauty draw % 
Round thy symbol of light and law; 

And ever the stars above look down . 
On thy stars below, in Frederick town! — 


And shook it forth with a royal will. 
ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. 


_ ArtTHoR Hueu Ciouen (1819-1861) was the son of a merchant in 
Liverpool. He was one of the pupils of Dr. Arnold of Rugby, to 
whom he was strongly attached ; and having won the Balliol scho- 
larship in 1836, he went to Oxford. The Tractarian movement was | 
then agitating the university, and Clough was fora time under its 
influence. He ultimately abandoned the Romanising party ; but his 
opinions were unsettled, and he never regained the full assurance of - 
his early faith. In 1843 he was appointed tutor as well as Fellow of 
Oriel College, and laboured successfully for about five years, usually — 
spending the long vacation among the Welsh mountains, the Cuni- 
berland lakes, or the Scotch Highlands His most important poem, 
‘The Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich’ (1848), which he terms a ‘long-va- 
cation pastoral,’ commemorates one of these holiday tours in the 
Highlands by the Oxford tutor and his pupils. It was written in 
hexameter verse, of which Southey had given a specimen in_ his 
‘Vision of Judgment,’ and contains a faithful picture of Highland 
scenes and character, Clough grafts a love-story on his deseriptive 
sketch, and makes one of the reading-party marry a Highland 
maiden and migrate to New Zealand. In 1848, from conscientious 
motives, the poet resigned his tutorship, and also gave up his fellow. 

a 


J 
; 


= 
C4 
a 


- ~ 


Oc}. ENGLISHLITERATURE. . ~~ 149 


ip. Next year heaccepted the appointment of Principal of Univer- 
ty Hall, London, but held it only for two years, at the end of which he 
went to America, and settled (October 1852) at Cambridge, Massa- 
isetts. He was drawn thence in less than a twelvemonth by the 
er of an examinership in the Ecucation Office, which he accepted; 
and to this was added, in 1856, the post of Secretary to a Commission 
or examining the scientific military schools on the continent. He 
fook a warm interest in the philanthropic labours of Miss Nightin- 
‘gale ; and thus his life, though uneventful, was, as his biographer 
‘remarks, ‘full of work.’ Ill health, however, compelled him to go 
‘abroad, and he died at Florence, November 13, 1861. Besides the 
Highland pastoral of ‘The Bothie,’ Clough produced a second long 
poem, ‘ Amours de Voyage,’ the result of a holiday of travel in Italy, 
‘and of the impressions made upon him in Rome. His third long 
poem of ‘ Dipsychus’ was written in Venice in 1850, and is much su- 
‘perior to the ‘Amours.’ Another work, ‘Mari Magno,’ consists of a 
series of tales on love and marriage, supposed to be related to each 
‘other by a party of companions on a sea-voyage. The tales are as “ 
homely in style and incident as those of Crabbe, but are less interest- 
4ng and less poetical. A number of small occasional pieces, ‘ poems 
‘of the inner life,’ were thrown off from time to time by the poet; and 
‘a selection from his papers, with letters and a memoir, edited by his 
‘widow, was published in two volumes in 1869. : 


Autumn in the Highlands. 

It was on Saturday eve, in the gorgeous bright October, 
‘hen when brackens are changed and heather-blooms are faded, ° 
And amid rnaset of heather and fern, green trees are bonnie 3- 
Alders are green, and oaks; the rowan scarlet and yellow; 
One great glory of broad gold pieces appears the aspen, 
And the jewels of gold that were hung in the hair of the birch-tree, 
Pendulous, here and there, her coronet. necklace, and ear-rings. 
Cover her now o’er and o’er; she is weary. and scatters them from her, 
There upon Saturday eve; in the gorgeous bright Octoher, 
Under the alders knitting, gave Elspie her troth to Philip, 
For as they talked anon she said: ‘It is well. Mr. Philip; 
Yes. it is‘well: I have spoken and learned a deal with the teacher, 
At the Jast I told him all; I could not help it; : 
And it came easier with him than could have been with my father; 
And he calmly approved as one that had fully considered. 
Yes, it is well: IT have hoped, though quite too great and sudden ; 
Iam so fearful, I think it ought not to be for years yet; 
I am afraid, but belicve in you; and I trust to the teacher; 
You have done all things gravely and temperste, not as in passion $ 
And the teacher is prudent and surely can tell what is likely. 
What ny father will say. 1 know not; we will obey him: 
But for myself, I could dare to believe all well. and venture. 
O Mr. Philip, may it never hereafter seem to be different !? 
And she hid her face—o-, where, but in Philip’s bosom. 

; Morning tn the City. 
As the light of day enters some populous city. 
Shaming away, ere it come, by the chilly day-streak signal, 
High and low, the misusers of night, shaming ont the gas-lamps—- 
All the great empty streets are flooded with broadening clearness, 


150 - CYCLOPADIA OF - [ro 1876, 


Which, withal, by inscrutable simultaneous access Ma 
Permeates far and pierces to the very cellars lying in 

Narrow high back-lane, and court, and alley of alleys. 

He that goes forth to his walks, while speeding to the suburb, 

Sees sights only peaceful and pure: as labourers settling 

Slowly to work, in their limbs the lingering sweetness of slumber; 
Humble market-carts, coming in, bringing in, not only a 
Flower, fruit, farm-store, but sounds and sights of the country 

Dwelling yet on the sense of the dreamy drivers; soon after, : 
Half-awake servant-maids unfastening drowsy shutters 

Up at the windows. or down, letting in the air by the doorway ; 
School-boys, school-girls soon, with slate, portfolio, satchel, 

Hampered as they haste, those running, these others maidenly. tripping; _ 
Early clerk anon turning out to stroll, or it may be 
Meet his swcetheart—waiting behind the garden gate there; 

Merchant on his grass-plat haply bare-headed ; and now by this time 

Little child bringing breakfast to ‘ father,’ that sits on the timber 

There by the scaffolding ; see, she waits for the can beside him ; 

Meantime above purer air untarnished of new-lit fires ; 

So that the whole great wicked artificial civilised fabric— 

All its unfinished houses, lots for sale, and railway outworks— 

Seems re-accepted, resumed to primal nature and beauty— by 
Such—in me, and to me, aud on me—the love of Elspie! 


In a Gondola on the Grand Canal, Venice. 


Afloat; we move—delicious! Ah, With no more motion than should bear -} - 
What else is like the gondola? A freshness to the languid air; : 
This level floor of liquid glass With no more effort than expressed 
Begins beneath us swift to pass. The need and naturalness of rest, 

It goes as though it went alone Which we beneath a grateful shade ~ 
By some impulsion of its own. Should take on peaceful pillows laid ! ; 
(How light it moves, how softly! Ah, (How light we move, how softly! Ah, — 
Were all things like the gondola !) Were life but as the gondola !) 

How light it moves, how softly! Ah, In one unbroken passage borne 

Could life as does our gondola, To closing night from opening morn, 
Unvexed with quarrels, aims, and cares, Uplift at whiles slow eyes to mark » 

And moral duties and affairs, Some palace front, some passing bark ; 
Unswaying, noiseless, swift, and strong, Through windows catch the varying shore, 
For ever thus—thus glide along! And hear.the soft turns of the oar ! 
(How light we move, how softly! Ah, (How light we move, how softly! Ah, — 
Were life but as the gondola !) Were life but as the gondola !) : , 


WILLIAM WETMORE STORY. 


The distinguished American sculptor, Mr. W. Srory, whose 
‘Cleopatra’ was the object of much interest and admiration in the 
Exhibition of 1862, has been a considerable contributor to our 
imaginative literature. His ‘Gineyra da Siena,’ a long poem pub- 
lished in ‘Blackwood’s Magazine’ for June 1866; his ‘ Primitive 
Christian in Rome,’ published in the ‘Fortnightly Review’ for 
December 1866; and his ‘ Graffiti d’Italia,’ 1868, are productions of 
genuine worth and interest, In 1870 Mr. Story published a singular 
narrative poem in blank verse on Judas’s betrayal of Christ. The 
poet assumes that Judas was really devoted to his Master, was of an- 
enthusiastic temperament, and believed that, if «he delivered up- 
Jesus, a glorious manifestation of the Godhead would take place, — 
confounding the Saviour’s enemies, and prostrating them in adora 


oS ae ‘ - - 7 
pss ee None ar SHON Sr 


~ = 


“STORY. ’ ENGLISH LITERATURE. —__ 151 


: : 
tion ; but when he saw Christ bound with cords and taken prisoner, 
he was overwhelmed with grief and horror, and flinging down the 
‘money he had received, went and hanged himself! The following is 
‘Mr. Story’s conception of the appearance of the Saviour on earth : 


‘le Tall, slender, not erect, a little bent; 
1% Brows arched and dark; a high-ridged lotty head ; 
- Thin temples, veined and delicate ; large eyes, 
Sad, very serious, seeming as it were 
To look beyond you, and whene’er he spoke 
: Illumined by an inner lamping light— 
os At times, too, gleaming with a strange wild fire 
: When taunted by the rabble in the streets ; 
A Jewish face, complexion pale but dark; 

* Thin, high-art nostrils, quivering constantly ; 
Long nose, full lips, hands tapering, full of veins; 
His movements nervous: as he walked he seemed - 
Scarcely to heed the persons whom he passed, 
And tor the most part gazed upon the ground. 


Besides the above poems and others scattered through periodical 
eworks, Mr. Story is author of two interesting volumes in -prose, 
‘Roba di Roma, or Walks about Rome,’ 1862. He has also pub- 
lished several legal works, and ‘The Life and Letters of Justice 
‘Story,’ his father (1779-1845), a great legal authority in America. 
The artist himself is a native of Salem, Massachusetts, and was born 
in 1819. 


{- 


JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 


~ The successor of Mr. Longfellow in Harvard College has well sus- 
tained the honours of the professorial chair. JAMES RussELn 
LOWELL, born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1819, appeared as an 
author in 1841, when he published a volume of poems entitled ‘A 
“Year's Life.’ In 1844 he produced a second series of ‘ Poems;’ in 
1845, ‘Conversations on some of the Old Poets; in 1848 a third series of 
‘Poems,’ and ‘The Biglow Papers,’ a poetical satire on the invasion 
of Mexico by the United States, the slavery question, &c. In this 
dast work Mr. Lowell seems to have struck into the true vein of his” 
genius. His humour is rich and original, and his use of the Yankee’ 
dialect-was a novelty in literature. In his serious and sentimental 
‘verse the poet has several equals and some superiors in his own 
country ; but as a kkumourist he is unrivalled. In January 1855 Mr. 
Lowell succeeded Longfellow as Professor of Modern Languages and 
Belles-lettres in Harvard College. In 1864 appeared a second series 
of ‘The Biglow Papers;’ in 1869, ‘Under the Willows, and other 
Poems,’ and ‘The Cathedral,’ an epic poem ; in 1870, a volume of 
‘prose essays entitled ‘ Among my Books;’ and in 1871, «My Study 
Windows. a second collection of essays, most of which had pre-~ 
viously appeared in periodicals, and all of which are remarkable for 
Critica! taste and acumen. Mr. Lowell has been connected editorially 
and as a contributor with many American reviews and magazines ; 
he has edited the poems of Marvell, Donne, Keats, Wordsworth and 


Ps 

Su é 

a x > 
$4 

Da 


wees Ss CYCLOPADIA OF = 


_ [To 18705 


Shelley, and also delivered lectures on the British Poets. -This popu-- 
lar author belongs to a family distinguished for literary attainments. — 
His grandfather,’ Judge Lowell, and his father, Dr. Charles Lowell, 
pastor of the West Caturch, Boston, were both highly accomplished 
men, and several other relations were men of culture and eminence™ 
in society. His wife, nee Maria White (1821-1828), was a poetess-of © 
more than ordinary merit, and the subject of Longfellow’s fine poem, 
<The two Angels.’ aa a 

On Popular Applause. a 


I thank ye. my friens, for the warmth 0” your greetin’; - 
Ther’ ’s few airthly blessins but wut ’s vain an’ fleetin’; - 
But ef ther’ is one thet hain’t 26 cracks an’ flaws, 

* An’ is wuth goin’ in for, it ’s pone applause ; 
It Sends up the sperits ez lively ez rockets, 
An’ I feel it—wal, down to the eend o’ my pockets. 
Jes’ lovin’ the people is Canaan in view, 
But it ’s Canaan paid quarterly t’? hev ‘em love you; . 
it’s a blessin’ thet ’s breakin’ out oltus in fresh spots: ; 
It ’s a-follerin’ Moses ’thout losin’ the flesh-pots. e 
An’ folks like you ’n me, thet ain’t ept to be sold, ~ \ 
Git somehow or ’nother left out in the cold. rice: 


I expected “fore this, ’thout no gret of a row, 
Jeff D. world ha* ben where A. Lincoln is now, 


With Taney to say ’t wuz all legle an’ fair, . 
An’ a jury 0’ Deemocrats ready to swear < oe 
Thet the ingin o’ State gut throwed into the ditch ~ ats 


By the fault o’ the North in misplacin’ the switch. , 
Things wuz ripenin’ fust-rate with Buchanan to nuss ’em ; — 
But the people they. wouldn’t be Mexicans, cuss ’em ! : 
Ain’t the safeguards o’ freedom upsot, ’z you may say, 

Ef the right o’ rev’lution is took clean away? : 

An’ doesn't the right primy-fashy include Z 

The bein’ entitled to nut be subdued ? © : 

.The fact is, we’d gone for the union so strong, 
When union meant South ollus right an’ North wrong, . 
Thet the people gut fooled into thinkin’ it might 

Worry on middlin* wal with the North in the right. 


Hints to Statesmen. 


A ginooine statesman should he on his guard. t 
Ef he must hey beliefs. nut to b’lieve em tu hard} “eo 
For. ez sure ez he does: he'll be blartin’ ’em out 4 24 
*Thont regardin’ the natur o? man more’n a spout, 

Nor it don’t ask much gumption to pick out a flaw tah: 
In a party whose leaders are loose in the jaw ; eg 
An’ so in our own case I ventur*tohint — - 

Thet we'd hetter nut air our perceedins in print, 
Nor pass resserlootions ez long ez your arm. 

Thet may. ez things hepnen to turn, do us harm; 
For when you’ve done all your real meanin’ to smother, . 
The darned things "Il up and mean sunthin’ or *nother, i 
No. never say nothin’ without yon’re compelled tu, 5 
An’ then don’t say nothin’ that von ean be held tu, <" 
Nor don’t leave no friction-idees layin’ loose : : : 
For the ign’ant to put to incend’ary nse. rs 


~ 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 
What Mr. Robinson Thinks 


Parson Wilbur sez he never heard in his life 


That th’ apostles rigged out in their swallow-tailed coats, 


An’ marched round in front of a drum an’ a fife, 


To git some on ’em Office, an’ some on ’em votes; 
But John P 


|. Robinson, he 
Sez they didi’t know everythin’ down in Judee. 


invocation to Peace. 


Where’s Peace? I start. seme clear-blown night, 
When gaunt stone walls grow numb an’ number, 
An’, creakin’ ’cross the snow-crust white, 
Walk the col’ starlight into summer ; 
Up grows the moon, an’ swell by swell 
‘’hru the pale pasturs silvers dimmer | 
Than the last smile thet strives to tell 
O’ love gone heayenward in its shimmer. 


I hev been gladder o’ sech things 
Than cocks 0’ spring or bees 0’ clover, 
They filled my heart with livin’ springs, 
_But now they seem to freeze ’em over; 
Sights innercent ez babes on knee, 
Peaceful ez eyes 0’ pastur’d cattle, 
Jes’ coz they be so, seem to me 
To rile me more with thoughts 0’ battie. 


Tn-doors an’ out by spells I try; 

Ma’am Natur’ keeps her spin-wheel goin’, 
But leaves my natur’ stiff an’ dry 

Ez fiel’s 0’ clover arter mowin’ 5 
An’ her jes’ keepin’ on the same, 

Calmer than clock-work, an’ net carin’, 
An’ findin’ nary thing to blume, 

Is wus than ef she took te swearin’. 


Snow-flakes come whisperin’ on the pane 
~The charm makes blazin’ jogs so pleasant, 
But I can’t hark to what they’re say’n’, 
With Grant or Sherman ollers present; 
‘The chimbleys shudder in the gale. 
Thet lulls. then suddin takes to flappin’ 
Like a shot hawk. but all’s ez stale 
To me ez so much sperit-rappin’. 


Under the yaller-pines T house. 
Wiien sunshine makes 7em all sweet-scenfed, 
An’ hear among their furry boughs 
The haskin’ west-wind purr contented— 
While way o’erhead. ez sweet an’ low 
_ Ez distant hells thet ring for meetin’, 
The wedged wil’ geese their bugles blow, 
Further an’ further South retreatin’. . » e 


Rat-tat-tat-tattle thru the street: 

I hear the drummers makin’ riot, 
An’ I set thinkin’ 0’ the feet 

Thet follered once an’ now are quiet, 


ELL. vi 7-6 


153 


154 


’ Pinpin’ with fire the bolt of men 


‘CYCLOPEDIA OF 


White feet ez snowdrops innercent, 
Tnet never knowed the paths o’ Satan, ; 4 

Whose comin’ step ther’ ’s ears thet won’t ak 
No, not lifelong, leave off awaitin’. 


Why, han’t I held ’em on my knee?- 
Didn’t I love to see em growin’, 
Three likely lads ez wal could be. 
Handsome an’‘brave, antnuot tu knowin’ 2? 
T set. an’ look into the blaze . 3 
Whose natnr’. jest like theirn. keeps climbin’, 
&z. lone *z it lives. in shinin’?. ways, _ 
Aw’ half despise myself for rbymin’. 


un 


Wnut’s words to them whose faith an’ truth 
On war’s red techstone rang trre metal, 
Who ventured life an’ Jove an’ youth 
For the gret prize o’ death in battle ? 
To him who, deadly hurt, agen 
Flashed on afore the charge’s thunder, 


Thet rived the rebel line asunder? _ | 4 


’T an’t right to hev the young go fust, 

All throbbin’ full 0’ gifts an’ graces. 
Leavin’ life’s paupers dry ez dust 

To try aw’ inake b’lieve fill their places 5 
Nothin’ but telis us wut we miss, 

Ther’ ’s gaps our lives can’t never fay in, 
An’ thet world seems so fur from this ; 5 

Lef’ for us loafers to grow gray in! : 


i De ew 


My eyes cloud up for rain; my mouth E. 
Will take to twitchin’ roun’ the corners 5 b> 
T pity mothers, tu, down South, ; or 
For all they sot améng the scorners : 2 , 
T’d sooner take my chance to stan’ 
At dedyment where your meanest slave is, 
Than at God’s bar ho)’ up a han’ 
Ez drippin’ red ez yourn, Jeff Davis ! ; Z 


% 


Come. Peace! not like a mourner bowed 
For honor lost an’ dear ones wasted, 
But proud, to meet a people proud, — - er 
With eves that-tell 0’ triumph tasted? a 
Come, with han’ grippin’ on the hilt, . 
Aw’ step that proves ye Victory’s daughter ! 
Longin’ for you. our sperits wilt 
Like shipwrecked men’s on rat’s for water} 


i 

“ , < j 

Come. while our country feels the lift ra 
Of a eret instinct shontin? forwards, , “a 
An’ knows thet freedom an’t a gift ‘ f 


Thet tarries long in han’s 0’ cowards ! 
Come. eech ez reothers praved for, when ; 

They kissed their eross with lins thet quivered, By 4 
An’ bring fair wages for brave men, 

A nation saved, a race delivered! 


~e =e, ie _ 


. 


SOWELL | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 158 
L 2 ba - . ¢ 
es” The Courtin’. 
 Zeklecrep up, quite unbeknown, The very room, co she was in, 
~ Aw’ pecked in turn the winder, Looked waim tivm floor to eeilin’, 
An’ there sot Huldy all alone, An’ she locked full ¢z rosy agin 
_ itlrne one nigh to hender. Hz the apples she wuz peelin’. 
_ Agin’ the chimbly crooknecks. hung, She heerd a foot xn’ knowed it, tu, 
 _ An’ in amongst ’em rusted Araspin’ on the scraper— 


_ The ole queem’surm that gran’ther Young All ways to once her-fcelins flew 
_  Wetched back trom Concord busted. Like sparks in burnt-up pauper 


_ The walnut logs shot sparkles out fle kin’ o° Pitered on the mat, 
Towards the pootiest, bless her! Some doubitie o° the seckle: 
» An little fires danced all about His heart kep’ goin’ pitypat, 


The chiney ou the dresser. But hern weut pity Zekle. 


Bas: MATTHEW ARNOLD. 


_ The eldest son of the celebrated Dr. Arnold of Rugby has inheri- 
_ ted no small share of his father’s critical talent and independent judg- 
“ment. Marraew Arnoxp was born at Laleham, ‘near Staines, in 
_ Middlesex, December 24, 1822. He won the Newdigate Prize at 
 Oxtord in 1843, by a poem on Cromwell, and was elected a Fellow of 
' Oriel College in 1845. In 1847 the Marquis of Lansdowne nomina- 
ted him his private secretary, and he held the post til] 1851, when he 
_ was appointed one of the government school inspectors. Previous to 
this, Mr. Arnold published anonymously ‘The strayed Reveller, and 
other Poems; in 1853 appeared “Empedocles on Etna, and other 
~Poems;’ and in 1854, ‘Poems,’ the first volume to which his name 
“was attached, and which consisted of selections from the previous 
-two volumes, with the addition of some new pieces. In 1857 Mr. 
Arnold was elected Professor of Poetry at Oxford; and in the year 
following he published ‘ Merope,’ a tragedy after the antique, with a 
preface, in which he explains and comments on the principles of the 
Greek tragedy. In 1861 he published Three Lectures ‘On Transla- 
ting Homer; and in 18672 new volume of ‘Poems.’ In 1869 he 
‘issued a collected edition of his <Poems’ in two volumes, the first 
“Narrative and elegiac, the second dramatic and lyric. _As apoct, Mr. 
‘Arnold may be ranked with Lord Lytton; he is a classic and elaborate 
“versifier, often graceful, but without the energy and fire of the truce 
“poet. His prose works include ‘ Essays on Criticism, 1865; *On the 
“Study of Celtic Literature ’ 1867; ‘Culture aré Anarchy,’ 169; ‘St. 
Paul and Protestantism,’ 1870; &e. A somewhat haughty aristo- 
“cratic spirit pervades these essays. Mr. Arnold has no patience with 
“the middle-class ‘ Philistines * the dullards and haters of light, who 
“fare only for what is material and practical. He is also a zealous 
Baseman, with little regard for Nonconformists or Puritans; yet 
in all these treatises are fine trains of thought and criticism, and 
original suggestive observations from which all sects may profit. 
Mr. Arnold has received the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws 
Tom both Edinburgh and Oxford universities. 


/ 


age CYCLOPADIA OF ~ 
The following is a specimen of Mr. Arnold’s blank verse: 


} Mycerinus. | 


_ ts 

[Mycerinus, son of Cheops, reigned over Egypt. He was ajust king, according — 
to Herodotus, but an oracle proclaimed that he was to live but six years longer, on — 
which he abdicated his throne, and, accompanied by a band of revellers retired to - 
«the silence of the groves aud woods.’] : ie 
There by the river banks he wandered on 
From palm-grove on to palm-grove, happy trees. 
Their smooth tops shining sunwards, and beneath 
Burying their umsunned stems in grass and flowers ; 4 
Where in one dream the feverish time of youth 
Might fade in slumber, and the feet of joy oy, * 
Might wander all day long and never tire. E 
Here came the king, holding high feast, at morn," ¢ a 
Rose-crowned, avd ever, whem the stn went down, 
A hundred lamps beamed ia the tranquil gloom, 


From tree to tree, all through the twinkling grove, — ? % 
Revealing all the tunault of the feast, le 
Flushed cuests, and golden goblets, foamed with wine ¢ ~ 
While the deep-burnished foliage overhead es ae 


Splintered the silver arrows of the moon. 

It may be that sometimes his wondering soul “2g 
From the loud joyful laughter of his lips 
Might shrink half-startled, like a guilty man y 
Who wrestles with his dream; as some pale Shape, 
Gliding half-hidden through the dusky stems, J 
Would thrast a hand before the lifted bowl, 
Whispering: ‘A little space, and thou art mine.” 
It may be on that joyless feast his eye 
Dwelt with mere outward seeming; he, within, 

Took meas:xre of his soul, and knew its strength, ta 
And by that silent knowledge, day by day, . 
Was calmed, ennobled, comforted, sustained. E 
3t may be > but not Jess his brow was smooth, 4 
And his clear laugh fied ringing through the gloom, 

And his mirth quailed not at the mild reproof 

Sighed ont by winter’s sad tranquillity ; 

Nor, palled with its own fullness, ebbed and died 

In the rich languor of long summer days ; 

Nor withered, when the palm-tree plumes, that reofed + 
With their mild dark his grassy banquet hall, 

Bent to the cold winds of the showerless spring; 

No. nor grew dark when auturn brought the clouds. - 

So six Jong years he revelled. night and day ; 

And when the mirth waxed loudest, with dull sound 
Sometimes from the grove’s centre echoes came, 

To tell his wondering people of their king ; 

Tn the still night, across the steaming flats, 

Mixed with the murmur of the moving Nile. 


Children Asleep—From ‘Tristram and Isrult.’ 


They sleep in sheltered rest, Full on their window the moon’s ray 
Like helpless birds in the warm nest, Makes their chamber as bright as day; — 
On the castle’s southern side ; Tt shines upon the blank white walls, — 
Where feebly comes the mournful roar And on the snowy pillow falls, “ 
Of buffeting wind and surging tide _ And on two angel-heads doth play — 
Through many a room and carridor. rb) 


arnotp:] - ENGLISH LITERATURE. 107 


Turned to each other—the eyes closed, 
The lashes-on the cheeks reposed. 


“Round each sweet brow the cap close-set 


Hardly lets peep the golden hair ; 


- Through the soft-opened lips the air 


One little wandering arm is thrown 
At random ‘on the counterpane, 
And of'en the fingers close in haste, 
As if their baby owners chased 
The butterflies again. 


pet) Tie A 
at perrl t 


Searcely moves the coverlet. 


Lines written in Kensington Gardens. 


In this lone open glade I lie, 
Screened by deep boughs on either hand, 

And, at its head, to stay the eye, : 
Those dark-crowued, red boled pine-trees stand. 


Birds here make song; each bird has his 
Across the girdling city’s hum ; 

How green under the boughs it is! 
How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come! . 


Sometimes a child will cross the glade 
To take his nurse his broken toy ; 

Sometimes a thrush flit overhead, 
Deep in her unknown day’s employ. 


Here at my feet what wonders pass! 


What endless, active life is here! 
What blowing daisies, fragrant grass! 
An air-stirred forest fresh and clear. 


Scarce fresher is the mountain sod 

Where the tired angler lies, stretched out, 
And, eased of basket and of rod, 

Counts his day’s spoil, his spotted trout. 


In the huge world which roars hard by 
Be others happy if they can; 

But, in my helpless cradle, I 
Was breathed on by the rural Pan. 


I on men’s impious uproar hurled 
Think often, as I hear them rave 
That peace has left the upper world, 

And-now keeps only in the grave. 


Yet here is peace forever new! 
When I, who watch them, am away, 
Still all things in this glade go through 
The changes of their quiet day. 


Then to their happy rest they pass, 


The flowers close, the birds are fed, 
The night comes down upon the grass, 
The child sleeps warmly in his bed. 


Calm soul of all things! make it mine 
Yo feel, amid the city’s jar, 

That there abides a peace of thine, 
Man did not make, and cannot mar! 


The will to neither strive nor cry, 


The power to feel with others, give] 
Calm, calm me more, nor let me die 
Before I have begun to live, 


i CYCLOP-EDIA OF fino 1876. 


DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI—MISS ROSSETTI. 


An English artist, Mr. D. G. Rosserri, one of the originators of 
what is termed the Pre-Raphaelite style of art, or imitation of the 
early Italian painters, with their vivid colours, minute details, and 
careful finish, is known also as a poet and translator. In 1861 Mr. 
Rossetti published ‘The Early Italian Poets from Ciullo d’Alcamo 
io Dante Alighieri (1100-1200-1500), in the original metres, together 
with Dante’s ‘ Vita Nuova.’ In 1870 he issued a volume of ‘ Poems,’ 


< 


some of which were carly productions printed in periodical works. 


Nearly all of them are in form and colour, subject and style of 
treatment, similar to the Pre-Raphaelite pictures. The first relates 


the thoughts «nd musings of a maiden in heaven while waiting the _ 


arrival of her lover from the land of the living. 


From ‘ The Blessed Damozel.’ 


The blessed damozel leaned ont, The void. as low as where this earth 
From the gold bar of heaven; Spins like a fretful midge. 
Her eyes were deeper than the depth 
Of waters stilled at even 3 Heard hardly some of her new friends 
She had three lilies in her hand, Amid their loving games, 


And the stars in her hair were seven. Spake evermore among themselves 
Their virginal chaste names: 


Her robe ungirt from clasp to hem, And the souls mounting up to God, 

Nor wrought flowers did adorn, Went by her like thin flames. 
But a white rose of Mary’s gift 

For service. meetly worn 5 And still she bowed herself, and stooped _ 
And her hair hanging down her back, _ Ont of the circling charm, 

Was yellow like ripe corn. . Until her bosom must have made 

‘The bar she Jeaned on warm, 
It was the rampart of God’s house And the lilies lay as if asleep, 
That she was standing on. Along her bended arm. 
By God built over the starry depth, 

The which is space begun, From the fixed place of heaven she saw ~ 
So high that looking downward thence, ‘Time like a pulse shake fierce ; 
.. She scarce could see the sun. Ree all the worlds: Her gaze still — 

strove 
It lies in heaven. across the flood Within the gulf to pierce : BS 

Of ether like a bridge, Its path, and now she spoke as when 

Beneath the tides of day and night, The stars sang in their spheres, 


With flame and darkness ridge, 
i=) 


The Sea Limits. 


Consider the sea’s listless chime 3 Tis painfal pulse is in the sands. 
Time’s self it is. made andible— Last utterly. the whole skv stands 
The murmur of the carth’s own shell | Gray and not known, along its path, 

Secret continuance sublime 
Ts the sea’s end: Our sight may pass Listen alone beside the sca, 


No furlong further. Since time was, Listen alone among the woods; 
This sound hath told tue lapse of time. Those voices of twin solitndes 
Shall have one sound alike to thee: 
No quict. which is death’s—it hath Hark when the murmurs of thronged 
The mournfulness of ancient life, men 
Enduring always at dull strife. Surge and sink back and surge again— 


As the world’s heart of rest and wrath, Still the one voice of wave and tree. ~20g 


\ 


eT, Tae ee a ee 


. 
2 


{ 
ee on ee eed 


= 


= 


= 


sWINBURNE.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 159 


Gather a shell from the strown beach,* And all mankind is thus at heart 
And listen at its lips; they sigh” » Not avythin? but what thou art; 
The saine desire and mystery, And earth, ses, man, areall in cach, 
The echo of the whole sea’s speech. 
Mr. Rossetti is x native of London, born in n 1828, son of Mr. Ga- 


_ briel Rossetti, Professor of Italian at King’s College, London, ent 


author of a Commentary on Dante (1826-27), who diced in 1864, aged 
seventy-one. 

Cuiustmna GaprrenA Rossertr (born in 1830),Waughter of the 
Professor, and sister of the above Dante Gabriel. isjalso an author, 
having written * Goblin Market. and other Poems,’ 1&62; ‘ Prince’s 


Progress,’ 1866; ‘Commonplace and other Short Stories’ (in prose), 
1870; ‘Nursery Rhyme Book,’ 1872, &c. 


ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 


Tn 1865 appeared a dramatic poem entitled ‘ Atalanta in Calydon,’ 
founded on the beautiful Greek legend of Calydon, and thor oughly 
Grecian in form and spirit. This work was hailed, both by the 
lovers and critics of poetry, as one of the most finished imaginative 
poems produced: since the days of Shelley. ‘It is the produce,’ 


said the ‘Edinburgh Review,” ‘not of the tender lyrical faculty 


which so often waits on sensitive youth, and afterwards fades into 


' the common light of day, nor even of the classical culture of which 


it is itself a signal illustration, but of an affluent apprehensive 
genius which, with ordinary care and fair fortune, will take a fore— 


-most place in English literature.’ In truth, the young poet had by 


this one bound placed himself in the first rank, of our poets. His 
next work. ‘ Chastelard’ (1865), was a tragedy founded on the story 
of Mary, Queen of Scots, and the unfortunate young chevalier who 
accompanied the queen from France, and who fell a victim to his 
romantic and extravagant passion for Mary. The subject was a 


perilous one for the drama, even when handled with the utmost 


_ wor 


delicacy; but Mr. Swinpurne treated it with voluptuous warmth; 
while his portrait of the heroine, whom he represented as cruel, re- 
lentless, and licentious, shocked the admirers of the queen. In 
1856, appeared a volume of ‘ Poems and Ballads,’ which was. consi- 
dered so strongly objectionable, that Mr. Swinburne’s publishers, 
Slessrs. Moxon & Co.,- withdrew it from circulation, 

To the critical outery against it, the poet replied ina pamphlet of 
‘ Notes’ protesting agi linst the prudery of his assailants; and one of 
his friends, Mr. WwW. M. Rossetti, in a ‘Criticism on Swinburne’s 


poems and Ballads, * pleaded that ‘in fact Mr. Swinburne’s mind ap- 


peared to be very like a tabula raz@ on moral and religious subjects, 


‘so occupied is it with instincts, feclings, perceptions, and a sense of 


_ natural or artistic fitness and harmony!’ The subsequent works of 


“ a5 image of the sea-shell had been previously used both by Landor and Words- 


160 “7 SOS OVCLORADIAIOR 


the poet are—‘ A Song of Italy,’ 1867; ‘ William Blake, ‘a Critical 


Essay,’ 1867; *Siena,’ a poem, 1868; ‘Ode on the Proclamation of 


the French Republic,’ 1870; and ‘Songs before Sunrise,’ 1871. He ~ 
has also edited selections from the poems of Byron and Celeridge, - 


and contributed a few admirable critical essays to literary journals. 
Mr. Swinburne is a native of London, son of Admiral Swinburne, 
and born in 1837. . He received his earlier education in France and 
at Eton; in 1857 he was entered a commoner of Balliol College, Ox- 
ford, but left the university without taking a degree. In his twenty- 
third year he published two plays, ‘The Queen Mother’ and ‘ Rosa- 
mund,’ whcih exhibited literary power, but are crude and immature 
productions. We subjoin some extracts from ‘Calydon.’ In these 
may be noted one drawback, which has come to be a mannerism of 
the poet—a too great proneness to alliteration. ‘I will sometimes 
affect the letter,’ says Holofernes, ‘for it argues facility;* but in 
highly poetical and melodious lines like the following, it is a defect. 


Extract from ‘ Atalanta in Calydon.’ 


CHIEF HUNTSMAN. 


Maiden, and mistress of the months and stars ~ ‘ 
Now folded in the flowerless fields of heaven, 
Goddess whom all gods love with threefold heart, 
Being treble in thy divided deity, 

A light for dead men and dark hours, a foot 

Swift on the hills as morning, and a hand 

To all things fierce and fleet that roar and range. 
Mortal, ‘with gentler shafts than snow or'sleep ; 

Hear now and help, and lift no violent hand, 

But favourable and fair as thine eye’s beam 

Hidden and shewn in heaven; for I all night 

Amid the king’s hounds and the hunting men ' 
Have wrought and worshipped toward thee; nor shall man 
See goodlier hounds or deadlier hedge of spears; 

But for the end, that lies unreached as yet 

Between the hands and on the knees of gods. 

O fair-faced sun, killing the stars and dews 

And dreams and desolation of the night ! 

Rise up, shine, stretch thine hand out, with thy bow 
Touch the most dimmest height of trembling heaven, 
And burn and break the dark about thy ways, ~ 
Shot through and through with arrows; let thine hair 
Lighten as flame above that flameless shell 

Which was the moon, and thine eyes fill the world, 
And thy lips kindle with swift beams; let earth 
Laugh, and the long sea fiery from thy feet 

Through all the roar and ripple of streaming springs, 
And foam in reddening flakes, and flying flowers 
Shaken from hands and blown from lips of nymphs; 
Whose hair or breast divides the wandering wave- 
With salt tresses cleaving lock to 'ock. 

All gold, or shuddering or unfurrowed snow; 

And all the winds about thee with their wings, 

And fountain-heads of all the watered world. 


eA 


‘SWINBURNE.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 161 


: 7 Chorus. 
Before the beginning of years That his strength might endure for a 
There came to the making of man span 
Time, with a gift of tears; With travail and heavy sorrow, 


Grief, with a glass that ran; 


The holy spirit of man. 
Pleasure, with pain for leaven; 


Summer, with flowers that fell; ; From the winds of the north and the 
Remembrance, fallen from heaven, south : 
And Madness, risen from hell; They gathered as unto strife ; 
_Strength, without hands to smite; They breathed upon his mouth, 
Love, that endures for a breath ; They filled his body with life ; 
Night, the shadow of light, Eyesight and speech they wrought 
And Life, the shadow of death. For the veils of the soul therein 
A time for labour and thought, 
And the high gods took in hand A time to serve and to sin ; 
Tire, and the falling of tears, They gave him a light in his ways, 
Anda measure of sliding sand And love, and a space for delight, 
From under the feet of years ; And beauty and length of days, 
And froth and drift of the sea: And night, and sleep in the night. 
And dust of the labouring earth ; His speech is a burning fire ; 
And bodies of things to be With his lips he travaileth ; 


In the houses of death and of birth; In his heart is a blind desire, 
And wrought with weeping and langhter, In his eyes foreknowledge of death ; 
And fashioned with loathing and love, -He weaves, and is clothed with derision ; 


With life before and after, Sows, and he shall not reap ; 
And death beneath and above, His life is a watch or a vision 
For a day and anight and a morrow, Between a sleep and a sleep 


In 1874 Mr. Swinburne published an epic drama or tragedy, 
‘Bothwell,’ continuing the history of Mary, Queen of Scots, after 
the episode of ‘Chastelard.’ This tragedy of ‘Bothwell’ is a most 
voluminous work—upwards of 15,000 lines—and with a numerous 
dramatis persone, including, besides Darnley and the Queen, the four 
Maries, Rizzio, John Knox, the Regent Murray, French and English 
ambassadors, &c. Though much too long and deficient in variety 
of situations and incidents for an English play, ‘Bothwell’ is a 
powerful production—the most’ masterly of Mr. Swinburne’s dra- 
matic works. Mary he has drawn in colours dark as the portraiture, | 
by Froude—as treacherous, passionate, fierce, cruel, and sensuous— 
a second Lady Macbeth. ‘The historical facts, and much of the lan- | 
guage of Knox and others, are skilfully introduced and interwoven 
with the passionate scenes; while occasionally French and English 


_ songs relieve the long dialogues. 


fe 


Carberry Till: Parting of Bothwell and. Queen Mary. 


QUEEN. Do not speak yet: a word should burst my heart ; 
It is u hollow crystal full of tears 
That even a breath might break, and they be spilt, 
And life run out with them; no diamond now, - 
But weaker than of wax. Life-of that leart, 
There is but one thing hath no remedy, 
Death ; all ills else have end or hope of end, 
And time to work their worst 1 efore t-me change: 
This death hath none; there is ail hope shut fast, 
All chance bound up for ever: change nor time 


2 - A 
162 is _CYCLOPAIDIA OF 
Can help nor comfort this.“ You shall not die; — SA 


I can hold rast no sense of thought but this. 
You'shall not. i: Fa 
BoruwE Lu. Well. being sundered, we may live, = 
And living meet ; and here to bold the tie!d 
Were bui a deadly victory. sud my hand 
The mockery of a conquercr’s; we should pass 
No less their prisoners from the field thus won 
Than from these lists defeated. You do well; 
They dare not urge or strain the power they have 
Vo bring the prisoner where my witness borne 
Might shew them pareel of the decd wud guilt 
For which they rise up to lay bold on me 
As upright men of doom, aud witi pure hands 
No hale ne to their judgment. I will co. 
Till good time bring me back ; and you that stay, 
Keep faith with me, 
QUEEN. O how does one break faith ? 2 
What are they that are faithless? By my love, : 
I cannot tell or think how I should lie, 
Should live and lie to you that are my faith, 
My soul, my spirit, my very and cnly god, 
My truth and trust that makes me true of heart, 
My life that feeds. and light that lightens me, 
My breath and blood of living. Doth God think 
How I shall be without you? what strange breath 
Shall my days draw ? what strange blood fecd my life, 
When this ].fe that is love is gone from them, 
And this light lost? Where shall my true life go, 
And by what far ways follow to find love, 
Fly where love will?) Where will you turn from me? 
BoTHwELu, Hence will 1 to Dunbar, and thence again 
There is no way but northward. and to ship - 
From the north isiands ; thence betimes abroad, 
. By land orsea, to Jnrk and find my life 
Tull the wheel turn. 
QUEEN. Ah God, that we were set. 
Far out at sea alone by storm and night, 
'’o drive together on one end, end know 
IfJdife or death would give us good or ill, 
And night or day receive, and heaven or earth 
Forget us or remember! He comes back: 
Here is the end. 


BoTaweELu But till Time change his tune: : ; , 
No more nor further. We shall find our day. 2 
QUEEN. Have we not found? I know not what we shall, © 
But what bath been and is, and whence they are, : 


God knows if now I know not—heis here. 


Re-enter KIRKALDY. % 


KinKALDY. Madam, the Lords r turn by me this word 
With them you must go back to Edinburgh, ‘ “4 
And there be wel entreated as of friends: . 
And for the Duke, they are with one mind content 
He should part hence for safe and present flight : 
But here may tarry not, or pass not free. : % 
This is the last word from them by my mouth. 4 % 

QUEEN. Ay is it, sir; the last word I shall hear— 

Last in mine ear forever: no command 
Nor threat of man shall! give ear to more 
That have heard this.—Will you not go, my Lord? 


SWINBURNE. } 


t 4 
 ENGLIS 1 LITERATURE. 163 
It is not IT would hold you. 
BoTHwELu, Ther farewell, 
And keep your word tome. What! no breath more? 
Keep then this kiss too with the word you gave, 
And with them both my heart and its good hope 
‘Yo find time yet for you and me. Farewell. [Ex 
QUEEN. O God! God! God! Cover iny face for me: 
I cannot heave my hand up to my head ; 
Mine arms are broken. Is he got to horse?, 
Ido not think one can die more than this. 
I did not say farewell, 
KIRKALDY. My lord is gone! 


Mary leaves Scotland. 


ScENE—Dundrennan A bbey. 


QUEEN. Methinks the sand yet cleaving to my foot 
Should not with no more words be shaken off, 
Nor this my country from my parting eyes 
Pass unsaluted ; for who knows what year 
May see us greet hereafter? Yet take heed, 
Ye that have ears, and hear me; and take note, 
Ye that have eyes and see with what last looks 
Mine own take leave of Scotland. Seven years since 
Did I take leave of my fair land of France, 
My joyous mother, mother of my joy. 
Weeping; and now with many a woe between 
And space of seven years’ darkness, I depart 
From this distempered and unnatural earth, 
That casts me out unmothered, and go forth 
On this gray sterile bitter gleaming sea 
With neither tears nor laughter. but a heart 
That from the softest temper of its blood 
Is turned to fire and iron. If I live, 
If God pluck not all hope out of my hand, 
If aught of all mine prosper, I that go 
Shall come back to men’s ruin, as a flame 
The wind bears down, that grows against the wind, 
And grasps it with great hands, and wins its way, 

. And wins its will, and triumphs; so shail I 

Let loose the fire of all my heart to fecd - 
On those that would have quenched it. I will make 
From sea to sea one furnace of the land, 
Whereon the wind of war shall beat its wings 
Till they wax faint with hopeless hope of rest, 
And with one rain of men’s rebellious blood 
Extinguish the red embers. I will leave 
No living soul of their blaspheming faith : 
Who war with monarchs: God shall. see me reign 
As heshall reign beside me. and his foes 
Lie at my foot with mine: kingdoms and kings 
Shall from my heart take spirit, and at my soul 
Their souls be kindled to devour for prev 
The people that would make its prey of them, 
And leave God’s altar stripped of sacrament 
As all kings’ heads of sovereignty, and make 
Bare as their thrones bis temples: I will set 
Those old things of his holiness on high 
That ere brought low. and break beneath my feet 
These new things of men’s fashion ; I will sit 
And see tears flow from eyes that saw me weep, 


7. es CYCLOPEDIA OF [to 1876. 


And dust and ashes and the shadow of death 
Cast from the block beneath the axe that falls 
On heads that saw me humbled; I will do it, 
Or bow mine own down to no royal end, 
And give my blood for theirs if God’s will be, 
But come back never as J now go forth 
With but the hate of men to track my -way, 
And not the face of any friend alive. 
Mary Beaton. But I will never leave you till you die. 


In 1876 Mr. Swinburne published ‘ Erechtheus, a Tragedy,’ founded 
on a fragment of Euripides, and characterised by the same fine clas- 
sig spirit which distinguished ‘Atalanta in Calydon,’ but evincing 
myre matured power and a richer imagination. The poet is young, 
and we may hope for some still greater work from him. 


ROBERT BUCHANAN. 


RoBeRT BUCHANAN, a native of Scotland, born in 1841, and edu- 
cated at the High School and University of Glasgow, whilst still a 
minor produced a volume of poems entitled ‘ Undertones,’ 1860. He 
has since published various works and contributed largely to periodi- 
-cals, Residing mostly at Oban in Argyleshire; the young poet has 
visited in his yacht and described the picturesque islands and scenes 
of the Hebrides with true poetic taste and enthusiasm. His prose 
work, ‘The Land of Lorne,’ 2 vols. 1871, contains some exquisite 
descriptions of the sea-board of Lorne and the outlying isle, from 
Mull to the Long Island. The poetical works of Mr. Buchanan, be- 
sides the ‘Undertones,’ are ‘Idylls of Inverburn,’ 1865; ‘London 
Poems,’ 1866; translation of ‘Danish Ballads,’ 1866; ‘The Book of 
Orm, a Prelude to the Epic,’ 1870; ‘Napoleon Fallen, a Lyrical 
Drama,’ 1871; ‘The Drama. of Kings,’ 1871; &c. In-1874 Mr. Bu- 
chanan commenced the publicatiow of a collected edition of his poeti- 
cal works in five volumes—a very tasteful and interesting reprint . 


The Curse of Glencoe, 


Alas for Clan Ian!* alas for Glencoe! 

The lovely are fled, and the valiant are low! 

Thy rocks that look down from their cloudland of air, : 
But shadow destruction, or shelter despair! 


No voice greets the bard from his desolate glen, 
The music of mirth or the murmur of men; 

No voice but the eagle’s that screams o’er the slain, 
Or sheep-dog that moans for his master in vain. 


Alas for Clan Ian ! alas for Glencoe! 

Our hearths are forsaken, our homesteads are low! 
There cubs the red hill-fox, the coy mountain-deer 
Disports through our gardens, and feeds without fear. 


*The Macdonalds of Glencoe were styled Mac-Ians, ‘the race of John.‘ agréeably ta 
@ practice in use-amo:g the clans, in order to distinguish them from other branches of 
their eommon name. : aa, 


2 


= 


at ese ew ~~, = 


a 


BUCHANAN.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~~~ 165 _ 


Thy sons, a sad remnabt, faint, famished. and few, 
Look down from the crags of the stern Unagh-dhu— ~ 


The voice of thy daughters with weeping and wail 
Comes wild from the snows of the bleak Corri-gail. 


Ye sleep not, my kinsmen, the sleep of the brave! 
The warrior fills not a warrioz’s grave; 

No dirge was sung o’er you, ne cairn heaves to tell 
Where, butchered by traitors and cowards, ye fell. 


Ye died not, my friends, as your forefathers died ! 
The sword in your grasp, and the foe at your side; 
The sword was in sheath, and the bow on the wall, 
And silence and slumber in hut and in hall. 


They chased on your hills, in your hall did they dine, 
They ate of your bread, and they drank of your wine, 
94 The hand clasped at midnight in friendship, was hued 
% . With crimson, ere morn, in your life-streanzing blood. 


Glenlyon ! Glenlyon ! the false and the fell! 

And Lindsay and Drummond, twin bioodhounds of hell? 
On your swords, on your souls, wheresoever ‘ye go, 

Bear the burthen of »b!ood, bear the curse of Glencoe! 


3 Its spell be upon you by day and by night— 
Make you dotards iz council, and dastards in fight— 
As you knee} at the altar, or feast in the hall, 
With shame to confound you, with fear to appal; 


its spell be upon you to shrink, when you see 

‘The maid in her beauty, the bube in his glee !— 

: Let them glare on your vision by field and by flood, 

= The forms ye have slaughtered, the avengers of blood! 


= And hark! from the mountains of Moray and Mar, 
Round the flag of a King, rise the shoutsof a war— 
Then, then, false clan Dermid, with wasting and woe 
Comes the reckoning for blood, comes the curse of Glencoe! 


Youth. 


Ah! through the moonlight of Autumnal years 

How sweet the back-look of our first youth-world! 
Freshlier and earlier the Spring burst. then : 

The wild brook warbled to a sweeter tune, 

Through Summer shaws that screened from brighter suns; 
The berry glittered and the brown nut fell 

Riper and riper in the Autumn woods: 

And Winter drifting on more glorious car, 


is Shed purer snows or shot intenser frost ! 
: The young were merrier when our life was young3 
4 Dropped mellower wisdom from the tongue of age, 


And love and friendship were immortal things ; 
Froin fairer lips diviner music flowed ; 

The gat Res sacred, and the poet too, 

Not art, but inspiration, was his song! - 


_ Of Mr. Buchanan’s prose description (which is poetry in all but 
_ rhyme or form) we subjoin a specimen: 


ie: r 


/ 


166 CYCLOPEDIA OF | 
The Scasons in the Highlands. 


As the year passes, there is always something new to attract one who loves 


% 
nature, When-the winds of March have blown themselves fait, and the April _ 


heaven has ceased weeping, there comes a rich sunny day, and all at once the cnekoo — 
is heard telling his name toall the hills. Never was such a place for cuckoos in the 
if 


world, hs cry comes from every tuft of wood. from every hillside, from every © 


projecting crag. ‘Lhe bird himself, so far from courting retirement, flutters. across “A 
vour path at cvery step. atteuded invariably by half a dozen excited smail birds; i 
vlighting a few yards off. crouches down for a moment. between his slate-coloured — 
Wlugs; aud tinally, risiug aguin, crosses your path with his sovereign cry. - “ 
O blithe new-comer. I have heard, rs 

I hear thee aud rejoice. 


Then, as if at a given signal, the trout leaps a foot into. the air from the glassy — 
loch, the buds of the water-lily float to the surface, the lambs bleat from the — 
ereen and heathery slopes 3; the rooks caw from the distant rookery he cack- { 
grouse screams from the distant hill-top; and the blackthorn begins +o blos- — 
som over the nut-brown pods of the burn. Pleasant -days follow, days of high” : 
white clouds and fresh winds whose wings are full of warm dew. If you area _ 
sportsman you, rejoice, for there is not a hawk to be seen anywhere, and the ~ 
weasel and foumart have not yet begun to promenade the monntains, Abont this — 
time more rain fal!s; preliminary to a burst.of fine summer weather, and innumera-— 
ble glow-worms light their Jamps in the marshes. At last the golden days come, and — 
all things are busy with their young. Frequently in the midsummer, there isdronght — 
for wecks together. Day after day the sky is cloudless and blue; the mountain — 
Jake sinks lower and lower, till it seems to dry up entirely; the mountain brooks — 
dwindle to mere silyer threads for the water-ousel to fly by, and the young game — 
often die for want of water; while afar off, with every red vein distinct in the burn- ¥ 
ing ligit, withont a drop of vapour to moisten his scorching crags, stands Ben — 
Cruachan. By this time the hills are assuming their glory: the mysterious brachen ) 
has shot up all in a night, to cover t:em with 2 green carpet. between the knolls of | 
heather; the lichen is pencilling the crags with most delicate silver. purple. and ; 
gold; and in all the valleys there are stretches of light yellow corn and deen-¢reen 
patches of foliage, The corn-crake has come, and_his ery fills the valleys. \ Walking : 
on the edge of the corn-field vou put up the partridges—fourteen cheepers, the size of. - 
a thrush, aud theo'd pair to lead them, From the edge of the peat-bog the o!d cock- 4 
grouse rises, and if you are sharp you may see the young following the old hen 
tircugh the deep heather close by. The snipe drums in the marsh. The hawk, ; 
having brought ont his young among the cravs of Kerrera. is hovering stil as stone — 
over the edge of the hill. Then perchance. just ot the end of July, there is a gale 3 
from the south. blowing for two davs b'eck as Erebus with cloud and rain; then - 
going up into the north-west. end blowing for one duy with little or no rain; and 
dying away at last with a cold puff from the north All at once. as if were, the sharp 
sound of firing is echoed from hill to hill; and on every mountain-top you see the 
sportsman climbing. with his dog ranging above and before him, the keeper follow- 
ing, and the gillie lagging far behind. It isthe twelfth of August. Thenceforth for — 
two months at least there are broiling days interspevsed with storms and showers 
and the firing continues more or less from dawn to sunset. og 

Day after day. as the autumn advances, the tint of the hills is getting deeper and — 
richer: and by October, when the beech leaf yellows, and the oak lenf reddens, the 
dim purples and deep greens of the heathereare perfect. Of all seasonsin Lorne 
the late autumn is perhaps the most beautiful. The sea has a deeper hne, the sky 
a mellower light. There are long days of northerly wind. when every crag Jooks 
perfect. wrought in eray and gold. and silvered with moss. when the high clouds 
turn luminous at the edges, when a thin film of hoar-frost gleams over the grass and 
heather, when the light burns rosy and faint over all the hills. from Morven ta 
Cruachan, for hours before the sun coes. down. Ont of the ditch at the-woodside 
flaps the mallard. as yon pass in the gloaming. and, standing by the side of the ~ 
6ma)] mountain loch, you sce the flock. of tea) rise, whee] thrice, and setile. The 


~ 


‘ 


~ BUCHANAN, ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 167 


hills are desolate, for the sheep are being smeared. There isa feeling of frost in the 


. 


4 


; 


- leaves of the withered bracken. A deathly stillness and a deathlike beauty reign 


oS 


air, and Ben Cruachan has a crown of snow. 
When dead of winter coines, how wondrous Jook the hills in their white robes! 
The round red ball of the sun looks through the frosty steam. The far-off firth 
aa strange and ghostly. with a sense of mysterious distances The mountain 
och is a sheet of blue, on which vou may disport in perfect solitude from morn to- 
“nigh., with the hills white on all sides. save where the broken snow shews the rusted 


* everywhere. and few living things are disceruible, save the hare plunging heavily ont 


£- 


of he form in the snow, or the rabbit scuttling off In a snowy spray, or the smal! 

birds piping disconsolate on the trees and dykes. eee 
WILLIAM MORRIS... 

_ Two poems of great length and undoubted merit, cast in the old 

story-telling style of Chaucer, and several interesting translations 

from Icelandic authors, have been produced by WiLLiIamM Morris, 

London, born in 1834, and educated at Exeter College, Oxford. The 


_ first work of Mr. Morris was a poem, ‘The Defence of Guenevere,’ 
41858. This was followed by ‘The Life and Death of Jason,’ 1867— 


a poem in seventeen books, presenting a series of fine pictures and 
bright clear narratives flowing on in a strain of. pure and easy versi- 


fication. The next work of the author was a still more voluminous 


poem, ‘ The Earthly Paradise,’ in four parts, 1868-70. ‘Certain gen. 


-tlemen and mariners of Norway, having considered all that they 


had heard of the Earthly Paradise, set sail to find it, and after many 
troubles, and the lapse of many years, came-old men to some western 


_ land, of which they had never before heard: there they died, when 


they had dwelt there certain years, much honoured of the strange 
people.’ The author says of himself— Fai 


Dreamer of dreams, born ont of my due time, 
Why should I strive to set the crooked straight ? 
Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme 
Beats with light wing against the ivory gate, 
Telling a tale not too importunate 
To those who in the sleepy region stay, 

Lulled by the singer of an empty day. 


=. Folk say. a wizard to a northern king 


; At Christmas tide such wondrous things did shew, 
That through one window men beheld the spring, 
' And throuch another saw the summer glow, 


tes : And throngh a third the fruited vines a-row, 


While still. unheard. but in its wonted way, 
Piped the drear wind of that December day. 


In the manner of this northern wizard, Mr. Morris presents the 


" tales of his ‘Earthly Paradise’ under the aspects of the different sca- 


sons of the year. The first and second parts range from March to 

August, and include fourteen tales—Atalanta’s Race, the Doom of 
‘King Acrisius, Cupid ana Psyghe, the Love of Alcestis, the Son -of 
 Oreesus. Pygmalion and the Image, Ogier the Dane, and others. 


merart Ll:.- or ‘September, October, and November,’ contains the 


“Death of Paris, the Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon, the 


pom Be rat 


rr ~ é — 


168 CYCLOPADIA OF 


, 1 


[To 1876, © 
Story of Acontius and Cydippe, the Man who never Laughed Again, — 
_ the Lovers of Gudrun, &c. Part IV., or Winter, ‘December, Janu- ~ 
ary, and February,’ contains the Story of the Golden Apples, the ~ 
Fostering of Aslang, Bellerophon at Argos, Bellerophon in Lycia, the ~ 
Hill of Venus, &c. In this mixture of classic and. Gothic fable, and — 
in the number of tales in each part, the reader has variety enough in ~ 
the ‘ Earthly Paradise,’ but the poem is too long ever to obtain gene- _ 
ral popularity. a 
July. : : 
Fair was the morn to-day, the blossom’s scent _———_ 
Floated across the fresh grass, and the bees 4 
With low vexed song from rose to lily went, = 
A gentle wind was in the heavy trees, 
“And thine eyes Shone with joyous memories ; | 
Fair was the early morn, and fair wert thon, 5 
And I was happy.—Ah, be happy now! 5 
Peace and content without us, love within, 2 a 
That hour there was; now thunder and wild rain, 
Have wrapped the cowering world, and foolish sin, 
And nameless pride, have made us wise in vain ; 


Ah, love! although the morn shall come again, ~ | 
And on new rose-buds the new sun shall smile, rf 
Can we regain what we have lost meanwhile? = 
a 4 
FE’en now the west grows clear of storm and threat, a 
But ’midst the lightning did the fair sun die— ra 
Ah, he shall rise again for ages yet, 2 3 
He cannot waste his life—but thou and I— ~" ae 
Who knows next morn if this felicity ; eS 
My lips may feel, or if thou still shalt live, x 
This seal of love renewed once more to give? eye +3 
Song.—From ‘ The Love of Alcestis.’ 2 
O dwellers on the lovely earth, Take heed of how the daisies grow, a 
Why will ye break your rest and mirth O fools! and if ye could but know , 
To weary us with fruitless prayer? How fair a world to you is given. = 
Why will ye toil and take such care ‘O brooder on the hills of heayen, be 
For children’s children vet unborn, When for my sin thou dray’st me forth, 
And garner store of strife and scorn Hadst thou forgot what this was worth, 
To gain a scarce-remembered name, ‘Thine own hand made? The tears of 
Cumbered with lies and soiled with men, : ” 
shame ? The death of threescore years and ten, x 
And if the gods care not for you, The trembling of the timorous race— 
What is this folly ye must do Had these things so bedimmed the place. — 
To win some mortal’s feeble heart ? Thine own hand made, thou couldst not ~ 
O fools! when cach man plays his part, know ea 
And heeds his fellow little more To what a heaven the earth ieee grow, | 
Than these blue waves that kiss the If fear beneath the earth were laid, F 
shore. If hope failed not, nor loye decayed. Rs 
FRANCIS BRET HARTE. g 


=f 
An American humorist, somewhat jp the style of Professor Lowell, — 
~has recently appeared in the pages of the Californian and United 3 
States journals, and whose fame soon spread to this country. FRAN- 
cis BRETE HarTE was born in Albany. New Yerk, in 1881. His 


~ 


i ee : 


ENGLISH LITERATURE 


169 _ 


ny works have been republishe { in 1871 and 1872, by two London book- 


be 


Roaring Camp,’ &c. 
vesty of some popular works of fiction. 
Harte’s graver effusions: 


tA 


sellers (Hotten, and Routiedge & Co.), 


West,’ ‘That Heathen Chinee, 


Last night, above the whistling wind, 
I heard the welcome rain— 

A fusilade upon the roof, 
A tattoo on the pane: 


— The key-hole piped: the chimney-top 


A ins trumpet blew ; 
Yet, mingling with these sounds of strife 
A softer voice stole thr ough. 


+ Give thanks, O brothers!’ said the voice, 


2, 
~ > 


oe 


x 
<< 


™ 


‘That He who sent the rains, 

Hath spared your fields the scarlet dew 
That drips from patriot veins: 

I’ve seen the grass on eastern graves 
In brighter “verdure rise; 

But, oh! the rain that gave it life 
Spr ang first from human eyes. 


‘JT come to wash away no stain 
Upon your w asted lea ; 
Traise no banners save the ones 
The forests wave to me: 
Upon the mountain-side, where Spring 


’ “Truthful James,’ 
A prose work, ‘Condensed Novels,’ 


and consist of ‘Hast and 
‘The Luck of 
is a tra: 
We subjoin one of Bret 


A Sanitary Message. 


Her farthest picket sets, 
My reveille awakes a host 
Of grassy bayagnets. 


‘T visit every humble roof; 
I mingle with the low: 

Only upon the highest peaks 
My blessings fall in snow ; 

Until, in tricklings of the stream, 
And drainings of the lea, 

My unspent bounty comes at last 
To mingle with the sea,’ 


And thus all night, above the wind, 
I heard the welcome rain— 
A fusilade upon the roof, 
A tattoo on the pane: 
The key-hole piped ; the chimney-top 
A warlike trumpet blew ; 
But, mingling with these sounds of 
strife, 
This hymn of peace stole through. 


ELIZA COOK—MRS. PARKES BELLOE—MISS HUME—MISS PROCTER—ISA 
CRAIG-KNOX—JEAN INGELOW—MRS. WEBSTER. ° 


ss poetry, as in prose fiction, ladies crowd the arena, and contend 
for the highest prizes. Among other fair competitors are the follow- 


ing: In 1840 Miss Exiza Coox (born in Southwark, London, about 


whofe 


1818) published a volume of miscellaneous poems, entitled ‘Melaia, and 
other Poems.’ A great number of small pieces have also been con- 


‘tributed by Miss Cook to periodical works; and in 1849 she esta- 


blished a weekly periodical, ‘Eliza Cook’s J ournal,’ which enjoyed 
considerable popularity from 1849 until 1854, when ill health com- 
pelled Miss Cook to give it up.. In 1864 she published a second vo- 
lume of poems, ‘New Echoes,’ &c.; and the same year a pension of 


- £100 a year was settled on the authoress. 


Old Songs. 

Old songs! old songs ‘—what heaps I knew, 
From * Chevy Chase’ to ‘ Black-eyed Sue 5? Fes 
From ‘ Flow, thou regal purple stream,’ 
To Rousseau’s melancholy ‘Dream ! 
= I Joved the pensive ‘ Cabin- ees 

With earnest trnth and real joy; 

My warmest feelings wander back 

To greet ‘Tom Bowling’ and ‘ Poor Jack ;’ 


Se a 


“st 5 ENS, ERS Fae Sree 
. ae ND ee 
4 =I - . = S = od es ay 
Ng - ae: 
Sek 


170 CYCLOP/EDIA OF oy  S ERO 18 76i ae 
_ = * , 

And oh, ‘ Will Watch, the smngeler bold,’ ; ait), y 
My plighted troth thou’it ever hold. ‘? 
I dosed on the + Awd Scots’ Sonnet,’ ze 
As though I'd worn the plaid aud tonnet3 ; 5 4 
T went aproad with Sandy’s Ghost,’ - 
I stood with Bannockburn’s brave host, i 
And proudly tossed my curly head 
With * Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled P : 
I shouted * Coming through the rye’ 4 
With restless step and sparkling eye, z 
And chased away the passing trown v 
With - Bonny ran tlre burnie down.’... 7 
Oid sangs ! old songs !—iny brein has lost 4 
Much that it gained with pain and cost: io 


I have forgotten all the rules 

Of Murray’s books and ‘rimmer’s schools; 

Detested tigures—how I hate 

The mere remembrance of a slate! 
e How have I cast from woman’s thought 

Much goodiy lore the girl was taught; 

But not a word has passed away 

Ot * Kest thee, babe,’ or - Robin Gray.’ ” 

The ballad stil: is breathing round, 

But other voices yield the sound ; 

Strangers possess the household room; 

The mother Heth m the tomb ; 

And the biithe boy that praised her song * 

Sle-ping as sounéiy and as Jong. 

Old songs! old songs !—I shou!d not. sigh 3 

Joys of the earth on earth must die; ? 
But spectral forms will sonietimes start 
Within the caverns of the heart, 
Hauuting the lone and darkened cell , 
Where. wari in life, t ey used to dwell. L; 
Hope, youth, love, home—each human tie ; 
‘That binds we know not how or why— 
~All, all that to the soul belongs 
Is closely mingled with ‘ Old Songs.’ 


py 


~ , mee S 
—— oe . 


* 


\ 
) 
4 
ey 
SERS Se ee: Se a ee a a ee oe er 


pe aeey, 


_ 


BESsIE RAYNER PARKES (now Mrs. Belloe), the daughter of the _ 
late Joseph Parkes of the Court of Chancery (1796-1865), is author 
of ‘ Poems,’ 1855; ‘ Gabriel,’ 1856; ‘The Cat Aspasia’ (a prose story);, 
‘Ballads and Songs,’ 1863; ‘La Belle France,’ 1868; &c. As a 
poetess, this lady is of the romantic and imaginative school of 
Shelley—to whose memory her poem of ‘ Gabriel’ is dedicated. She - 
has been an assiduous labourer in the cause of social amelioration — 
and female improvement.—Mriss Mary C. Hume, daughter of the 
late Joseph Hume, M.P., in 1858 published ‘ Normiton,’ a dramatic 
poem, with other pieces.—ADELAINE ANNE PROCTER (1825-1864) 
was author of ‘Legends and Lyrics, a Book of Verse,’ 1358. This ~ 
lady was the accomplished daughter of ‘Barry Cornwall,’ and her 
poetry had much of the paternal grace and manner.—IsA CRAIG (NOW 

» Mrs. Knox), author of ‘ Poems,’ 1856, is a native of Edinbufgh, born 
October 17, 1851. While working as a seamstre‘s, this lady con- 
tributed poems. reviews, and essays to the ‘Scotsman. newspaper, — 
and was warmly befriended by the late Mr. Ritchie, proprietor of — 


‘ 


’ 


ae ee yee". <= 


wv ff 
= ~ 


“ENGLISH: LITERATURE. ~:.. 171 


fy ‘ 
that journal. She afterwards removed to London, and officiated as 


assistant-secretary of the Association for the Promotion of Social 
Science. She was the fortunate poetess who-carried off the prize 


(£50) for the best poem at the Sng: Palace celebration of the Burns 


Centenary, January 2 3 JEAN INGELOW, a native of 
Ipswich, Suffolk, born Fant “1830, has written a volume of Poems, 
1863, Which ran through fourteen editions in five years. She has 
also written ‘A Story of Doom, and other Poems,’ 1867; *Mopsa the 
Fairy,’ 1869; several prose stories, and numerous contributions to 
periodical works. | 

- Robin Hood.—By Miss PaRggs, 


In a fair wood like this where the beeches are growing, 
Brave Robin Hood hunted in days of o.d; 

Down his broad shoulders his brown locks fell flowing, 
His cap was of green, with a tassel of gold. 


His eye was as blue as the sky in midsummer, 
Ruddy his cheek as the oak-leaves in June, 
Hearty his voice as he hailed the new-comer, 
Tender to maideus in changeable tune. 


His step had a strength and his smile had a sweetness, 
His spirit was wrought of the sun and tue breeze, 

He moved as a man framed in nature’s completeness, 
And grew unabashed with the growth of the trees. 


And ever to poets who walk in the gloaming 

His horn is still heard in the prime ‘Of the year; 

Last eve he went with us, unseen, in our roaming, 
And thrilled with his presence the shy troops of deer. 


Then Rovin stole forth in his quaint forest pesos 
For dear to the heart of all poets is he, 

And in mystical whispers awakened the passion. 
Which slumbers within for the life that were free. 


We follow the lead unawares of his spirit, 

He tells us the tales which we heard in p: ist time, 
Ah! why should we forfeit this earth we inherit, 
For lives which we cannot expand into rhyme! 


I tlfink as I lie in the shade of the beeches, 

How lived and how loved this old hero of song; 

I would we could follow the lesson he teaches, 
And dwell as he dwelt these wild thickets among— 


At least for a while, till we caught up the meaning. 
The beeches breathe out in the wealth of their growth, 
Width in their nobleness, love in their leaning, 

And peace at the heart from the fullness of both. 


A, Doubting Heart.—By Miss Procrar. 


Where are the swallows fled ? 
Frozen and dead, 
; _ Perchance upon some pleas and stormy shore. 
-O pore heart 


172 _ €YCLOPAIDIA OF 


Far over purple seas, . = $2 
They wait in sunny ease, Ly : 
The baliny southern breeze, 
To bring them to their northern home once more, 
Why must the flowers die? 
; Prisoned they lie 
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain. 
O doubting heart! 
They only sleep below 
The soft white ermine snow 
While winter winds shall blow, 
To breathe and smile upon you soon again. 


The sun has hid its rays 
These many days; 
Will dreary hours never leave the earth? 
O doubting heart ! : 
The stormy clouds on high 
Veilthe same sunny sky 
That soon—for spring is nigh— 
Shall wake the summer into golden mirth. 


Fair nope is dead, and light 
Is quenched in night. 
What sound can break the silence of despair? 
O doubting heart ! 
The sky is overcast, 
Yet stars shall rise at last, 
Brighter for darkness past, 
And angels’ silver voices stir the air. 


Going Out and Coming In.—By Isa Crata-KNox. 


In that home was joy and sorrow Going out unto the triumph, 
Where an infant first drew breath, Coining in unto the fight— 
While an aged sire was drawing Coming in unto the darkness, 
Near unto the gate of death. Going out unto the light; 
His feeble pulse was failing. Although the shadow deepened ~ 
And his eye was growing dim} In the moment of eclipse, 
He was standing on the threshold When he passed through the dread portal, 
When they brought the babe to him. With the blessing on his lips. 
While to murmur forth a blessing And to him who bravely conquers 
On the little one he tried. As be conquered 1n the sirife, 
In his trembling arms he raised it, Life is but the way of dying— 
Pressed it to his lips and died. Death is but the gate of life: 
An awful darkness resteth Yet, awful darkness resteth 
On the path they both begin, On the path we all begin, 
Who thus met upon the threshold, Where we meet upon the threshold, 
Going out and coming in. Going out and coming in. 


Song.—By Miss INGELow. 


When sparrows build, and-the leaves break forth, 
My old sorrow wakes and cries, 
For I know there is dawn in the far, far north, 
And a scarlet sun doth rise; ; 
Like a scarlet fleece the snow-field spreads, 
And the icy founts run free, * 
And the bergs begin to bow their heads, 
And plunge, and sail in the sea. 


= 


p2o7) ENGUISH LITERATURE. °° | 1%8 


23 O my lost love, and my own, own love, 

ae ee And iny love that loved me so! 

i Is there never a chink in the world above 

oe . Where they listen for words froin below ? 

‘Nay, I spoke once, and I grieved thee sore— 
I remember all that I said ; 


a And now thou wilt hear me no mere—no more 
eS . Till the sea gives up ier dead. 
mo Thou didst set thy foot on the ship, and sail 


__ To the ice-fields and the snow; 
Thou wert sad, for thy love did nought avail, 
> And the end I could not know. 
ee How could I tell I should love thee to-day, 
ss = Whom that day J held not dear ? 
| ieee How could I know I should love thee away, 
~ When I did uot love thee near? 


me We shall walk no more through the sodden plain 

Jie With the faded beuts o’erspread, 

We shall stand no more by the seething main 

ae While the dark wrack drives o’erhead ; 

We shall part no more in the wind and the rain, 
Where thy last farewell was said; 

But perhaps I shall meet thee and know thee again 
When the sea gives up her dead. 


a Mrs. Avcusta Wesster, has published ‘Dramatic Studies,’1866; 
*A Woman Sold, and other Poems,’ 1867; ‘Portraits; &c. She has 
also translated the ‘ Prometheus Bound’ and ‘ Medea.’ 


The Gift.—By Mrs. WEBSTER. 


O happy glow, O sun-bathed tree, And now it grows of you a part, 
__ O golden-lighted river, Steeped fn your golden glory. 
A love-gift has been given me, ; 

_ And which of you is giver ? A smile into my heart has crept, 
os ae And laughs through all my being ; 

I came upon you something sad, New joy into my life has leapt, 
~ Musing a mournful measure, A joy of only seeing! 

Now all my heart in me is glad 

_ With a quick sense of pleasure. O happy glow, O sun-bathed tree, 
ale O golden-lighted river, 

Icame upon you with a heart A love-gift has been given me, 
__ Half sick of life’s vexed story, And which of you is giver ? 


LORD NEAVES—FREDERICK LOCKER—AUSTIN DOBSON. 


~ Achoice little collection of, ‘Songs and Verses, Social and Scientific’ 
(1869), most of them originally published in ‘ Blackwood’s Magazine,’ 
has been ‘garnered up’ in a small handsome volume by their author, 
the Hon. Lorp Neaves, a Scottish judge. They are lively, witty, 
and sarcastic, the sarcasm being levelled at abuses and absurdities 
in social life. Charles Neaves was born in Edinburgh in 1800, was 
admitted to the bar in 1822, and raised to the bench in 1854. He was 
early distinguished as a scholar, of fine taste and fancy, and his Greek 
and Latin have not disqualified him for law or logic. Sir Edward 
Coke, that father of English jurisprudence, said: ‘It standeth well 


CYCLOPEDIA OF 


Tow to Make a Novel, a Sensational Song. . 


Try with me and mix what will meke a novel, / 


All hearts to transfix in house or hall, or hovel. 
Put the caldron on, set the bellows blowing, 
We'll produce anon something worth the shewing. 


Never mind your plot, ’tisn’t worth the tronble: 
Throw into the pot. what will boil a2d bubble. 
Character ’s a jest, what’s the use of study? 

Ajl will stand the test that’s black enough and bloody. 


Here’s the Newgat2 Guide, here’s the Causes Celebres; 
‘I’numble in beside, pistol, gun, and sabre ; 

These police reports, those Old Bailey trials, 

Horrors of all sorts, to match the Seven Vials. 


Down into a weil, lady, thrust your lover; 

Truth. as some folks tell, there he may discover. 
Stepdames. sure though slow, rivals cf your daughters, 
Bring as from below Styx and all its waters. 


Crime that breaks all bounds, bigamy and arson ; 
Poison. blood, and wounds. will carry well the farce on. 
Now it’s just in shape; yet with fire and murder. 
Treason, 100, and rape might help it all the further. 


Or, by way of change, in your wiid narration, 

Choose adventures strange of fraud and personation. 
Make the job complete: let your vile assassin . 
Rob and forge and cheat, for bis victim passin’. 


Tame is virtue’s school: paint, as more effective, 
Villain, knave, and fool, with always a detective. 
Hate for Love may sit; gloom will do for gladuess, 
Banish sense and wit, and dash in lots of madness. 


Stir the broth about, keep-the furnace glowing: 

Soon we’il pour it out in three bright volumes flowing, 
Some may jeer and jibe; we know where the shop is, © 
Ready to subscribe for a thousand copies! 


A small volume of light graceful ‘ London Lyrics,’ by FREDERICK 
Locker, something in the style of Luttrell of Praed, has been 80 
popular as to reach.a fifth edition (1872). ; 


Vanity Fair. 
‘Vanitas vanitatum ’ has rung in the ears 
Of gentle and simple for thousands of years } 
‘The wail still is heard, yet its notes never scare 
Hither simple or gentle from Vanity Fair. 


I often hear people abusing it. yet 

There the young go to learn, and the old to-forget 
The mirth may be feigning. the sheen may be glare, 
But the gingerbread’s gilded in Vanity Fair. 


Old Dives there rolls in his. chariot, but mind 

Atra Curais up with the lacqueys behind ; 

Joan trudges with Jack—are the sweethearts aware 
Of the trouble that waits them in Vanity Fair? 


[T° 1876, 


with the gravity of our lawyers to cite verses ’—and to write as well _ 
as cite verses cannot be derogatory to the dignity of Themis. 


~ 
: 


> «= ENGLISH LITERATURE. Bac 


~ 
We saw them all go. and we something may learn 
Of the harvest they reap when we sce them return 3 
= The tree was enticing. its branches are bare— 
> iS _Heigh-ho for the promise of Vanity-Fair! 

Eo That stupid old Dives. once honest enough, 
ay His honesty suld for star, ribbon, and stuif; 

. - And Joan’s pretiv face has been cloudad with care 
Since Jack bought her ribbons at Vanity Fair. 
Contempt bie Dives! too credulous Joan! 
3s Yet we all havea Vauity Fair of our own: 
= My son. you have yours. but you need not despair— 
ri I own I’ve a weakness for Vanity Fair. 

Philosophy halts, wisest counsels are vain— 

s3G We go. we repent, we return there again ; 

; ae To-night you will certainly meet with us there— 
So coine and be merry in Vanity Fair. 


__ Another writer of light airy vers de socicte is a young poet, AUSTIN 
Dozson. He has a graceful: fancy, with humour, and a happy art 
of giving a new colour to old pirases. His volume of ‘ Vignettes in 
Rhyme ’ is now in a third edition. Some serious verses (‘ After Se- 
‘dan,’ &c.) evince higher powers, which Mr. Lobson should culti- 
“vate. 


r 


, POET-TRANSLATORS—BOWRING, BLACKIE, ETC. 
- The poct-translators of this period are numcrous. The most re- 
markable for knowledge of foreign tongues and dialects was Sir 
Joux Bownine, who commenced in 1821 a large series of transla- 
tions—‘ Specimens of the Russian Poets,’ ‘Batavian Anthology,’ 
‘Ancient Poetry and Romances of Spain,’ ‘Specimens of the Polish 
Poets,’ ‘Servian Popular Poetry,’ ‘ Poetry of the Magyats,’ ‘ Cheskian 
Anthology, or the Poetical Literature of Bohemia,’ &c. The last of 
these works appeared in 1832. In 1825 Dr. Bowring became editor 
-of the ‘Westminister Review,’ he sat some time in parliament, and 
in 1854 was knighted and made governor of Hong kong. He was the 
literary executor of Jeremy Bentham, and author of political trea- 
~tises, original poetry, and various other contributions to literature 
The orizinal bias of Sir John Bowring seems to have been towards 
literature, but his connection with Bentham, and his public appoint- 
‘mments, chiefly distinguished his career. Sir John was a native of 
Exeter, born in 1792, died in 1872.—Mr. Jonn Sruarr BLAckiE 
‘(born in Glasgow in 1809, educated in Aberdeen and Edinburgh, and 
“Professor of Greek in the university of Edinburgh) in 1834 gave an 
English version of Goethe’s ‘ Faust;’ and in 1850 translated the lyri- 
Cal dramas of Adschylus,two volumes. Both of these versions were 
well received; and Mr. Biackie has aided greatly in exciting a more 
‘general study of Greek in Scotland. 
~ In 1866 he published an elaborate work, ‘Homer and the Iliad,’ 
being a translation of the ‘Iliad’ in ballad measure, a third volume 
_ Of critical dissertations, and a fourth of notes philological and archwo- 


- 


# 


£ 


#6 ~\\. J €YCLOPADIA OF: ~~ > = Trosagis 


ia 


—~ 


logical. In 1870 the Professor put forth a volume of “ War Songs of 
the Germans.’ He has published several other translations, and also 
original poems, chiefly on Highland scenes and legends. In 1874 he 
zealously advocated the founding of a chair of Celtic Literature in” 
the University of Edinburgh. By the spring of 1876, the funds neces- 
sary for this purpose were nearly collected. The enthusiasm of the 
Professor bears down all opposition! In 1874 Professor Blackie pu 
lished a scholarly and interesting volume, ‘ Hore Hellenice,’ being a 
collection of essays and discussions on important points of Greek 


philology and antiquity, from which we give an extract ; < ee 


a 


“ 
The Theology of Homer. i Neo 
The theology of the Homeric poems is not the theology of an individual, but of 
an age; and this altogether irrespective of the Wolfian theory. which, in a style so” 
characteristically German, with one sublimely sweeping negation, removed at once 
the personal existence of the supposed poet, and the actual coherence of the exist- 
ing poem. The principal value of Wolf's theory, in the eyeof many genuine lovers of 
oetry, is that, while it robbed us of the poet Homer and his swarms of. fair fancies, 
it restored to us the Greek people. and the:r rich garden of heroic tradition, watered 
by fountains of purely national feeling, and freshened by the breath of a healthy 
popular opinion, which, precisely because it can be ascribed to no particular persol 
must be taken as the exponent of the common national existence. To have achieved 
this revolution of critical sentiment with regard to the Homeric poems, to have set_ 
before the eyes of Europe the world-wide distance between the poetry of a Shelley or 
a Coleridge writing to express their own opinions, and the songs of a race of wan. 
dering minstrels singing to give a new echo to the venerable voices of a common 
tradition ; this were enough for the Berlin philologer to haye done, without attempt= 
ing to establish those strange paradoxes, repugnant alike to the instincts of a sound 
eesthetical and ofa healthy historical criticism. which have made his name so famous, 
‘The fact is, that the peculiar dogmas cf Wolf, denying the personality of the poet 
and the unity of the poems, have nothing whatever to do with that other grand re- 
sult of his criticism to which we have alluded—the ciear statement of the distinction 
eee the sung poetry of popular tradition and the written poetry_of individual 
authorship. > ; - > a 
Not because there was no Homer, are the Homeric poems so generically distinct 
from the modern. productions of 2° Dante, a Milton, and a Goethe; but because 
Homer lived in an age when the poet, or rather the singer, had, and from his position 
could have no other object than to reflect the popular tradition of which his mind 
was the mirror. As certainly as a party newspaper or review of the present day” 
represents the sentiments of the p»rty of which it is the organ, so certainly did a 
Demodocus or a Phemius, a Homer or a Cinathus—the public singers of the public 
banquets of a singing, not a printing age—represent the sentiments of the parties, 
that is, the people in general, for whose entertainment they exercised theirart. "Ti 
the very condition, indeed, of all popular writing in the large sense, that It must 
serve the people before it rin oe them; that while entertainment is its direct, and 
instruction only its indirect object, it must, above all things, avoid coming rudely 
into conflict with public feeling or public prejudice on any subject, especially on 80 
tender a subject as religion; nay. rather, by the very necessity of its position give 
up the polemic attitude altogether in reference to public error and vice, and be 
content, along with many glorious truths, to give immortal currency to any sort of 
puerile and perverse fancy that may be interwoven with the motley texture of popular 
thought. A poet, even in modern times, when the great public contains every” 
a gemv variety of small publics, can ill afford to be a preacher; and if he carries 
is preaching against the vices of the age beyond a certain length, he changes his 
genus, pad becomes, like Coleridge, 1 metaphysician, or, like Thomas Carlyle, @ 
prophet. : be? 
But in the Homeric days, corresponding as they do exactly to our medizeval times, 
when the imaginations of all parties reposed quietly on the bosom of a common 


BOWKING. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 177 
i~ 
faith, to suppose, as Herodotus in a well known passage does, that the popular min- 
-strel had it in his power to describe for the first time the function of the gods, and 
‘to assign them appropriate names, were to betray a Complete misconception both of 
fhe nature of popular poetry in general, and of the special character of the popular 
poetry of the Greeks, as wo find it in the pages of the ‘Iliad’ and ‘Odyssey.’ So far 
as the mere secular materials of his songs are concerned, Homer, we have the best 
teason to believe, received much more than he gave; but in the current theology and 
‘Yeligious sentiment, we have not the slightest authority for supposing that he in- 
vented anything at all, Amid the various wealth of curious and not aiways coherent 
-religious traditious, he might indeed select this and reject that, as more or less suited 
for his immediate purpose ; he might give prominence to one aspect of his country’s 
theology, while he threw another into the shade; he might even adorn and beautify 
to some extent what was rude, and here ‘and there Iend-a fixity to what was vague; « 
but whatsoever in the popular creed was stable, his airy music had no power to shake ; 
whatsoever in the vulgar tradition had received fixed and rigid features, his plastic. 
touch had no power to soften. : 


~~ In 1853 an excellent translation of some of the Spanish dramas: of 
‘Calderon was published Mr. D. F. WCartuy.—Various works 
in the prose literature of Germany have been correctly and ably 
rendered by Mrs. Saran Austin (1793-1867), a lady of great talent 
and learning, descended from the Taylors of: Norwich. Among Mrs. 
Austin’s translations are ‘Characteristics of Goethe,’ 1833; ‘ Ranke’s 
History of the Popes,’ 1840; and ‘ Fragments from the German Prose 
Writers,’ 1841. Mrs. Austin also translated from the French Guizot’s 
work on the French Revolution, and Cousin’s Report on Prussian 
Edueation. She also edited the work of her daughter, Lapy Durr 
GorDON (who died in 1869), entitled ‘ Letters from Egypt,’ 1863-65.— 
A series of interesting volumes, ‘Beautiful Thoughts from Greek, 
Latin, Italian, and French Authors,’ with translations, have been 
published (1864-66) by Dr. C. Tarr RamaGn. 


SCOTTISH POETS. 
WILLIAM THOM. 


_ Winiiam Tom, the ‘Inverary poet’ (1789-1848), was author of 
some sweet, fanciful, and pathetic strains. He had wrought for 
Several years as a weaver, and when out of employment, traversed 
the country as a pedler, accompanied by his wife and children. - 
This precarious, unsettled life induced irregular and careless habits, 
and every effort to place the poor poct in a situation of permanent 
comfort and respectability failed. -He first attracted notice by a 
poem inserted in the ‘ Aberdeen Herald,’ entitled ‘The Blind Boy’s 
Pranks:’ in 1844 he published-a volume of ‘Rhymes and Recollec- 
tions of a Hand-loom Weaver.’ He visited London, and was warmly 
patronised by his countrymen and others; but returning to Scot- 
land, he died at Dundee after a period of distress and penury. A 
sum of about £300 was collected for his widow and family. 


‘ ant + Pe be pes a 
7 Sr a FISS j SxS Sa > 
: e ya Byers <f . 
= Pain A y - 7 od ¥ is Ape Ana 
; pore haf 5 tig Ve ee ee eee 
ty ay es J c.f. Sg, Sas = 
178 CYCLOPEDIA OF ~~~ >. [19.18 
: 2 E ab vd 
- : “= Ay ': 
TY, . DEE oS, S 
. The Mitherless Bain. 
% -) an! . -~ : . . f, me 
‘When a’ ither beirniés are hushed to tein hame 
By auuty, Oc COUBI), OF frecky* erand-danie 
Wha siauds last aw lanely, an’ paebody carin’? E Z 
Fig tue pwr dolicd loonie—ihe nitheriess bana. 
55 \9 . : . 5 vs 
he mitherless bairn gangs to his lane bed, . 
Nine covers his cauld back or haps lis bare head 5 ats 
- jiis wee hadkit heelics ere bard as the airn. % 


Au’ i.tiielecs tie lait-o’ the mitherless bacrn. 


Anenta his canld brow sicean dreams hover there, 

©? nanda that wont kindly # k une bis dark hor; 

But worming brings clutches, a’ reckless ad stern,’ 

hat lo’e nac the jocks o’ the mitherless bairn. 

Yon sister, that sang o’er his saftly rocked bed,, 

Now rests in the mools where her mamuny is laid 5 

he father ioils sair their wee bannock to earn, 

Aw’ kengs na the wrangs 0’ his mithggless bairn. 

Her spirit, that passed in yon honr o’ his birth, 

Still watches his wearisome wanderings ou carth; 
tecordiug in heaven the blessings they earn xr 
Wha couthilie deal wi? the mitherless bairn, 

Oh! speak na him harshly—he trempl»s the while, 

He bends to your bidding, an’ blesses your smile ; 
In their dark hours 0’ anguish, the heartless shall learn, ~ 
That God deals the blow for the mitherless bairn ! 


some reputation by a volume of * Orcadian Sketches,’ published in 
1842. His Scottish songs and Norse ballads were popular in Scot- 
land. The following piece, which Dr. Chalmers was fond of quo- 
ting to his students in his theological prelections, is in a more ele- 
vated strain of poetry: a 


The Temple of Nature. 
4 


Talk not of temples—there is one — The Ocean heaves resistlessly, | 
Built without hands. to mankind given 5 And pours his glittering treasure forth; 
Tts lamps are the meridian sun, His waves—the priesthood of the sea— — 
And all the stars of heaven ; Knecl on the shell-gemmed earth, 
Its walls are the cerulean sky $ And there emit a hollow sound, a | 
Tts floor-the earth so green and fair ; As if they murmured praise and prayer 5 
The dome its vast immensity— On every side ’tis holy ground— _ 
Al, Nature worships there! All Nature worships there!... rée 
Tha Alps arrare? in stainless snow, The cedar ond the mountain pine, 
Tho Andean ranges vet un rod, he willow on the fonntain’s brim, 
At svnrise nnd at sunset glow The tulip and the eglantine, : 
like alfar-fires to God, In’reverence bend to Him; 
A thonsan/ fi-ree volcanoes blaze, The song-birds pour their sweetest lays, 
Asif with hallowed vietims rare 5 From tower and tree and middle air; — 
And thunder lifts its voice in praise— The rushing river murmars'praise— 
All Nature worships there! All Nature worships there! y tg 


-'This word, not found in Burns, is the samo as frack, active, vigorous. 


ENGLISH LITERATURE 179 


GEORGE OUTRAM—A. MACLAGAN, ETC. 


_ A-small collection of ‘Lyrics, Legal and Miscellaneous’ (third 
edition, 1874), was written from time to time by GEorGE- OuTRAM 
(4805-1856), and published after his death.” Mr. Outram was 
born at Clyde lron-works, in the vicinity of Glasgow, of which his 
father wasmanager. He passed as an advocate in 1827, but had little 
legal practice ; and in 1887 he accepted the editorship of the ‘ Glasrow 
~Herald.’ He became also one of its proprietors, and settled down in 
Glasgow to his new duties for life. His friend and biographer, 
Sheriff Bell, says truly that Mr. Outram left behind him the memory 
of a most kindly, amiable, and gifted man. He had avein of genuine 
“Scotch humour, as rich as it was original and unique. 


The Annuiiy.—Air, ‘ Duncan Davidson.’ 


-T gaed to spend a week in Fife— But tables here or tables there, - 


An unco week it proved to be— 

For there I met a waesome wife 

~ Lamentin’ her viduity. 

‘Her grief brak out sae fierce an’ fell, 

T thought her heart wad burst the shell ; 
“An’—I was sae !eft to mysei’— 

— I sell’t her un annuity. 


The bargain lookit fair cnongh— 
~ She just was turned 0’ saxty-threce ; 
Tcouldna guessed she ’d prove sae teugh, 
By human ingenuity. 
But years have’come, an’ years have gane, 
An’ there she’s yet as stieve ’s a stane— 
The limmer’s growin’ young again, 
Since she got her annuity. 
‘She’s crined awz’ to bane an’ skin, 
* But that it seems is nanght to me 5 
She ’s like to live—althongh she’s in 
_ The Jast stage o° tenuity. 
-$he munches wi’ her wizened gums, 
An’ stumps about on legs o’ thrums, 
But comes—as sure as Christmas comes— 
\'Po ca’ forher aniunity. 


She jokes her-iake. an’ cracks her crack, 
As spunkie :'s a growin’ flea— 
-An’ there she sits upon tiy back, 
A livin’ perpettity. 
She hurkles by her inels side. 
An’ toasts an’ tans her wrunkled hide— 
Lord kens how Jang she yct may bide 
~ Yo ca’ for her annuity ! 
I read the tables drawn wi’ care 
_ For an Insurence Company there 5 
Her chance o’ life was stated 
_ Wi? perfect perspicuity. ° 


- 
t3 7 
Sie 
a 

ites 


M.S 


She’s lived ten years beyond her share, 
An’s like to live a dizzen-mair, 
‘Yo ca’ for her annuity. 


I gat the loon that drew the deed— 

We spelled it o’er right carefully ; 
In vain he yerked his souple head, 

To find an ambiguity : < 
It's dated—tested—a’ complete— 
The proper stamp—nae word delete— 
An diligence, as on decreet, 

May pass for her annnity. 


Last Yule she had a fearfu’ hoast— 
I thought a kink might set me free ; 
T led her out, mang snaw an’ frost, 
W? constant assiduity. 
But deil ma’ care—the blast gaed by, 
An’ missed the auld anatomy 3 
It just cost mea tooth, forbye 
Discharging her annuity. 


I thonght tat erief micht gar her quit— 
‘Wer on'y son was lost at sea— 
But eff her wits bhehuved to flit, 
An’ leave her in fatuity ! 
She treeps, an’ treeps, he’s livin’ yet, 
For a? the tellin’ she can get; 
But catch the doited runt forget 
Yo ca’ for her annuity ! 


Tf there ’s a cough o' cholera 
Or typhus—wha eac glee as she? 
She bnys up baths, an’ drugs, an’ a’, 
In sicean euperfin ty ! 
She doesna need—she 's fever-proof— 
@he pest gaed o'er her very roof ; 
She tauld me sae—an’ then her loo€ 
Held ont for her annuity. . 


ss ° sta | 
i? * i 
~ “a * < ; ES 
180 © CYCLOPDIA OF ! 
Ae the day she fell—her arm she brak— She should hae lived afore the Flood 
A compound fracture as could be; She’s come o patriarchal blood—-—_ = 
Nae leech the cure would undertak, — . She ’s some auld pagan, mummified = 
Whate’er was the gratuity. Alive for her an.uity. | 
It’s cured! she handles ’t like a flail, ti 
It does as weel in bits as hale ; She ’s been embalmed inside an’ out —__ 
But I’m a broken man mysel’ She ’s sauted to the last degree— = 
W.’ her an’ her annuity. There’s pickle in her very snout -— 
Sae caper-like an’ cruety; f 
Her broozled fiesh an’ broken banes Lot’s wife was fresh compared to her; 
Are weel as flesh an’ banes can be. They ’ve Kyanised the useless -knir, S| 
She beats the taeds that live in stanes, She canna decompose—nae mair ws 
An’ fatten in vacuity! Than her accursed annuity. 
They die when they ’re exposed to air, : zs “ 
They canna thole the atmosphere ; The water-drap wears out the rock» & 
But her! expose her onywhere, As this eternal jaud wears me ; x 
She lives for her her annuity. . .-. -I could withstand the single shock J 
But no the continuity. % & 
The Bible says the age 0’ man It’s pay me here, an’ pay me there, q 
| Threescore an’ ten perchance may be; An’ pay me, pay me, evermailr ; es 
She’s ninety-four; let them wha can I'll gang demented wi’ despair— | 
_ Explain the incougruity. I’m charged for her annuity. ; j 


v 


ALEXANDER MACLAGAN (born at Brigend, Perth, in 1811) pub- 
lished in 1841 a volume of Poems; in 1849, ‘ Sketches from Nature, 
and other Poems; and in 1854, ‘Ragged and Industrial School 
Rhymes.’ In one of the last letters written by Lord Jeffrey, he 
praised the homely and tender verses of Maclagan for their * perva- 
ding joyousness and kindliness of feeling, as well as their vein of 
grateful devotion, which must recommend them to all good minds,” 
—JAMES BALLANTINE (born in Edinburgh in 1808) is known equally 
for his Scottish songs and his proficiency in the revived art of glass: 
painting; of the latter, the Palace at Westminster and many chureh 

windows bear testimony; while his native muse is seen in ‘The Gay 
berlunzie’s Wallet,’ 1843; <The Miller of Deanhaugh; and a cob. 
lected edition of his lyrics, published in 1856. In 1871 Mr. Ballan= 
tine published ‘ Lilias Lee,’ a narrative poem in the Spenserian stanza, 

with other poems evincing increased poetic power and taste.—_ 
ANDREW Park (born at Renfrew in 1811) is author of several yo- 
lumes of songs and poems, and of a volume of travels entitled ‘ Egyps , 
and the East,’ 1857. A collected edition of his poetical works ap- 
peared in 1854.—JoHn Crawrorp (born at Greenock in 1816) pub- 
lished in 1850 a volume of ‘Doric Lays,’ which received the com: | 
mendation of Lord Jeffrey and Miss Mitford.—Henry Scorr Rip: 
DELL (born at Sorbie, Wigtownshire, in 1798, died in 1870) was) 
author of ‘Songs of the Ark,’ 1831; ‘ Poems, Songs, and Miscella: ' 
neous Pieces,” 1847; &c. Mr. Riddell passed many of his years asa. 


‘shepherd in Ettrick, but afterwards studied for the church.—FRAN, 
cis: BENNocH (born at Drumcrool, parish of Durisdeer, Dumfries 
shire, in 1812) settled early in London, and Carries on business oxtee 
sively as amerchant. He has written various songs and short poem 

and otherwise evinced his attachment to literature and art by his s¢ 


A 


/ MACLAGAN.]} ENGLISH LITERATURE. 181 
_ vices on behalf of Miss Mitford, Haydon the painter, and others.—- 
~ WiniiAM GLENnn (1789-1825), a native of Glasgow, whose Poems 
have been published by Dr. Charles Rogers (1874), was author of 
- some popular occasional pieces and songs.—James SMITH, a printer, 
~ has published a volume of ‘Poems, Songs, and Lyrics’ (1866), con- 
_ taining many pieces of merit, and especially those of a domestic and 
: tender nature. : 


<2 . From ‘The Widow.’—By A. MAcuAGAN. 


; Oh, there’s naebody hears Widow Miller complain, 
Oh, there’s naebody hears Widow Miller complain ; 

‘Though the heart o’ this warld’s as hard as a stane, 

Yet there’s naeboay hears Widow Miller complain, 


Though tottering now, like her auld crazy biel, 

Her step ance the lightest on hairst-rig or reel; 

Though sighs tak’ the place o’ the heart-cheering strain, 
Yet there’s naebody hears Widow Miller complain. 


a Though humble her biggin’ and scanty her store, 
i The beggar ne’er went unserved frae her door; 
a Though she aft lifts the lid o’ the girnel in vain, 

a, Yet there’s naebody hears Widow Miller complain. 


: Though thin, thin her locks. now like hill-drifted snaws 
ibe ve Ance sae glossy and black, like the wing o’ the craw 3 
3, ‘ : Though grief frae her mild cheek the red rose has ta’en, 
+ o Yet there’s naebody hears Widow Miller complain. 


The sang 0’ the lark finds the widow astere, 

The birr o’ her wheel starts the night’s dreamy ear ; 
‘The tears o’er the tow-tap will whiles fa’ like rain, 

Yet there’s naebody hears Widow Miller complain. 


Ye may hear in her speech. you may see in her claes, 
That auld Widow Miller has-seen better days, 
Ere her auld Robin died. sae fond and sae fain— 


Yet there’ naebody hears Widow Miller complain... . 
ae : { : > = . : 
fe: Ye wealthy and wise in this fair field of ours 
a When your fields wave wi’ gowd, your gardens wi’ flowers, 
x2 When ye bind up the sheaves, leave out a few grains 


Af) To the heart-broken widow who never complains. 


ia Tika Blade o’ Grass Keps its Aix Drap o Dew.—By James BALAN: 
"& . ’ 


5 TINE.°* 

_ Confide ye aye in Providence, for Providence is kind, | 

? - And bear ye a life’s changes wi’ a calm and tranquil mind, 

+ Thongh pressed and hemmed on every side, hae faith and yell win through, 
~~ For ilka blade o’ grass keps its aim drap o° dew. 

Gin reft Trae friends or crossed in love, as whiles nae doubt ye ‘ve been, 

~~ @rief lies deep hidden in your heart, or tears flow frae your een, 


Believe it for the best. and trow_there’s good in store for you, 
~ For idka blade o’ grass keps its ain drap 0’ dew. 


“Yn lang, lang days 0’ simmer, when the clear and cloudless sky 
Refus s ae wee drap o’ rain to nature parched and dry, 
The genial night, wi’ balmy breath, gars verdure spring anew, 
And ilke blade ’o grass keps its ain drap 0’ dew. 


CYCLOPEDIA OF ——_ [ito 1870, 


Sae, lest ’mid fortune’s sunshine we should fee! dvre proud and hie, 

And in our pride forget to wipe the tear frae poortith’s ce, / 

Soie wee dark.clouds 0’ sorrow come, we ker ua whence or how, ~- 
’ But ila blude o’ crass keps its ain drep o’ dew. 


When the Gien all is S4il.—By FH. 8. Ripe. 


When the glen all is sii’, save the stream from the fountain 5 ; 
When the shepherd tas ceased over the beather to roam ; 
And the wail of the plover awakes on the mountain, 
Inviting his love *o return to her home; - 
There meet me, riy Mary. adown by the wild wood, 
Where violets and aaisies sleep saft a the dew ; 
ar Dliss shall be sweet as the visions of childhood, ; 
And pure as the heavens own orient blue. 


Thy locks shall be braided with pearls of the gloaming $ 
'’hy cheek shall be fanned by the breeze of the lawn ; 
The angel of love shall be’ware of thy coming, 
And hover around thee till rise of the dawn, 
O Mary! no transports of heaven’s decreeing 
Can equal the joys of such meeting to me; esa 
For the light of thine eye is the home of my being, 
And my coul’s fondest hopes are all gathered to thee. 


Torence Nightingate.*—LDy F. Bexnocr. - 


With lofty sore we love to cheer Sho called their fluttering spirits back, 
The hearts of daring men, And gav2 them strength again. ff 
Applauded thus they gladly hear - "J was grief to miss the passing face — 
‘Lhe trumpet’s call again. That suffering could dispel ; 
But now we sing of lowly deeds But joy to turn and kiss the place - 
Devoted to the brave, On which her shadow fell. 
When she, who stems the wourd trat 2 
bleeds, f When words of wrath profaning rung, > 
A hero’s life may save: She moved with pitying grace ; ay 
* And heroes saved exulting tell _ Her presenee stilled the wildest tongue, 
'_ How well her voice they knew And holy made the place. : 
How sorrow near it could not dwell, They knew that they were cared for then; — 
But spread its wings and flew. Their eyes forgot their tears ; “EN 
In dreamy sleep they lost their pain, 
Neglected, dying in despair, And thought of early years— 
‘They lay till woman came Of early years when all was fair, 
To soothe them with her gentle care, Of faces sweet and pale; 
énd feed life’s flickering flame. They woke ; the angel bending there 
When wounded sore on fever's rack, Was—Florence Nightingale ! 


Or cast away as slain, 


Wues me for Prines Charac.—By WiriL1aM GLEN, 


wee oird cam’ to ofr ka’ door, O, when I heard the bonny soun, — 
lle warbled sweet and clear.y, The tears cam’ havpin’ rarely 5 ae 
An’ aye tac owercome 0’ his sng I took my bannet aff my head, 
Was, ‘ Wac’s ute for Prince Charlie!’ For weel J io’ed Prince Charlie, 
. * x 


: This lady tho daughter of William Nighiingale, Usq., formerly of Embley Park 
Hampshire, is justiy celebrated for her exertion. in tending the sick and wounded at Seu- ~ 
tari during the Crimean war in 1804-55. Jn direeting sui presiding over the band of | 
female nurses, the services of Miss Nightingale were invaluable. and gvreatfully aes 
know!ledged by her sovereign and the cunuwy. She~still (-57-) continues ber esreer of 
disinterested usefulness, ; 


~ 


a 


p. Ay ‘My bird, my bonny, bonny 
dir 
Ts that a sang ye powrow? ? 
_ «ive these some words ye’ve learnt by 
heart, 
Or alilt 0’ doot and sorrow ?? 
*O. 10, no, no!’ the wee bird sang; 
‘Pve flown -sincewn orniw early. 
But sic a dey o’ wind and rain— 
Oh, wace’seme for Prince Charlie. 


‘On hills thatare by right his ain, 


He roves adanely stranger; 
~ On every side he’s pressed by want— 
On every side is danger; 


. Yestreen I met him in a glen, 


+ 


. 


+ 


My heart maist bursted fairly, 
For sadly changed indeed was he— 
_ -Oh, wae’s: me for Prince Charlie. 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


183 
‘Dark night cany on, the tempest roared 
Loud o’er the hil!s and valleys ; 
And where was’t that your Prince lay 
down 
Whase h: ame should been a palace? 
He rowed hiin in a Hieland plaid, 
Which covered him bur spurely, 
And slept beneath a bush o’ aC Ey 
Oh, wae’sane for Prince Chariie, 


aa) 
we 


But now the bird saw some red-coats, 
And he shook his wings Wi auger: 
‘Oh, this is jo a land for sien 
Tl tarry here nue lange 
He hovered on the wing a ates 
Ere he departed fairly ; 
Bat weel I nind the fareweel strain 
Was, ‘ Wae’s me for Prince Charlie. 


The Wee Pair 0 Shoon.—By JAMES SMITH. 


~ Oh, lay them canny doon, Jamie, 
Aw’ tak’ them frae my sicht ! 

They mind me 0° her sweet wee face, 

~ An’ sparkling ee sae bricht. 

Oh, lay them suftly doon beside 
The lock o’ silken hair; 

For the darlin’ o’ thy heart an? mine, 
Will never wear them mair! 


But oh! the silvery voice, Jainie, 


‘ 
<2 


That fondly lisped your name, 


~ An’ the wee bit hands sac aft held oot 
; - Wi? joy when ye cam’ hance! 


An’ oh, the smile—the angel smile} 


That shone like simmer morn ; 
An’ the rosy mow’ that socht a kiss 
When ye were weary worn ! 


The eastlin’ wind blaws cauld, Jamie, 
The snaw’s on hill an’ plain; 

The flowers that decked my lammie’s 

grave 

Are faded noo, an’ gane! 

Oh, dinna speak! I ken she dwells 
In yon fair land aboon ; 

But sair’s the sicht that blin’s my ee— 
That wee, wee pair o’ shoon ! 


DRAMATISTS. 


Dramatic literature no longer occupies the prominent place it held 


- in former periods of our histor Vv. 


Various causes have been assigned 


' for this decline—as, the more fashionable attractions of the opera, 
the great size of the theatres, the love of spectacle or scenic display, 
-which has usurped the place of the legitimate drama, and the late. 


- dinner-hours now prevalent among the “higher 


Fe Classes. 


‘nation of shopkeepers’ a busier 


and even the middle 


The increased compe tition in business has also made our 
and harder-wor! 


sing race than their 


- forefathers; and the diffusion of cheap literature may have fus#her 
_ tended to thin the theatres, as furnishing intellectual entertainment 
* for the masses at home at a cheapcr rate than dramatic performances. 
The London managers appear to have had considerable influence in 


184 : : GYCLOPEDIA OF 9 += 


? Th sete a= ic OO EN FI ee Ee eee 
¥ ‘ " - “ 45 i I ee fe poe: ee re ee 
3 Daryn st eS OS SoS N Ne ee ph sh 2 
3% 


ie nee BE CG ee See 


a : Se 
this matter. They lavish enormous sums on scenic decoration and — 
particular actors, and aim rather at filling their houses by some. © 
ephemeral and dazzling display, than by the liberal encouragement — 
of native taient and genius. ‘To improve, or rather re-establish the — 
acted drama, a writer in the ‘Edinburgh Review’ suggested that ~ 
there should be a classification of theatres in the metropolis, asin ~ 
Paris, where each theatre has its distinct species of the drama, and ~ 
performs it well. aan 

‘We believe,’ he says, ‘that the evil is mainly occasioned by the — 
vain endeavour of managers to succeed by commixing every species 
of entertainment—huddling together tragedy, comedy, farce, melo- 


- da@ma, and spectacle—and striving by alternate exhibitions, to draw 


| 


~ become elegiacal over the mournful decline of the drama! Not in — 


all the dramatic public to their respective houses. Imperfect—very — 
imperfect companies for each species are engaged; and as, in conse+ — 
quence of the general imperfection, they are forced to rely on indi- 
vidual excellence, individual performers become of inordinate im- 
portance, and the most exorbitant. salaries are given to procure — 
them. These individuals are thus placed ina false position, and — 
indulge themselves in all sorts of mannerisms and absurdities. The ~ 
public is not unreasonably dissatisfied with imperfect companies and — 
bad performances; the managers wonder at their ruin; and critics 


: 
B 


2 
this way can a theatre flourish; since, if one species of performance — 
proves attractive, the others are at a discount, and their companies 4 
become useless burdens; if none of them proves attractive, then the 
loss ends in ruin.” Too many instances of this have occurred within — 
the last thirty years. Whenever a play“of real excellence has been — 
brought forward, the public has shewn no insensibility to its mevits; _ 
but so many circumstances are requisite to its successful representa- 
tion—so expensive are the companies, and so capricious the faverite — 


~ actors—that men of talent are averse to hazard a competition. 4 


The tragedies of Miss Mitford and Lord Lytton were highly suc- - 
cessful in representation, but the fame of their authors must ever 
rest on those prose fictions by which they are chiefly known. The 
‘Lady of Lyons’ is, however, one of our most popular acting plays; — 
it is picturesque and romantic, with passages of fine poetry and gen- 
uine feeling. Some of the dramatic productions of Mr. Tom Taylor — 
have also had marked success. 4 


THOMAS NOON TALFOURD. | ae 

Two classic and two romantic dramas were produced by THoMAS 
Noon TALFourD, an eloquent English barrister and upright judge, — 
whose sudden death was deeply lamented by a most attached circle — 
of literary and accomplished friends, as well as by the public at 
large. Mr. Talfourd was born at Doxey, a suburb of Stafford, — 
January 26, 1795. His father was a brewer in Reading. Having — 
studied the law, Talfourd was called to the bar in 1821, and in — 


v4 > 


a 


sited 


- i ‘dl + < 
2 ” ae - ~ = 
Ti- Pi osalge- 


]. . ENGLISH LITERATURE.. = 188, 


Pn%, 


this silk gown. As Sergeant Talfourd, he was conspicuous for 
s popular eloquence and liberal principles, and was returned to 
Wiiament for the borough of Reading. In 1835,-he.published his 
gedy of ‘ion,’ which was next year produced at Covent Garden 
Pheatre with:success. His next tragedy, ‘The Athenian Captive, 
s also successful. His subsequent dramatic. works were ‘The 
Missacre of Glencoc,’ and ‘The Castillian,’ a-tragedy. Besides 
hese oilerings to the dramatic muse, Talfourd published ‘ Vacation 
nbles, 1451, comprising the recollections of three continental 
urs; a : Life of Charles Lamb; and an ‘Essay on the Greck 
rama.’ In 1849, hewas elevated to the bench; and in 1854. he died 
apoplexy, while delivering his charge to the grand jury at Staf- 
rd. ‘lon,’ the highest titerary effort of its author, seems an em- — 
diment of the simpheity and ¢randeur of the Greek drama, and 
plot is founded on the old Grecian notion of destiny, apart from 
Wi moral agencies.. "The oracie of Delphi had announced that the 
ngeance which the misrule of the race of Argos had brought on 
people, in the form of a pestilence, could only be disarmed by 
extirpation of the guilty race; and Ion, the hero of the play, at 
ngth offers himself a sacrifice. ‘The character of Ton—the dis- 
very of his birth as son of the king-- his love and patriotism, are 
e chief features.in the play, ard ure drawn with considerable 
ywer and effect. Take, for exam}:c, the delineation of the cha- 
eter of Ion: 3 


> 


‘Ion, our sometime darling, whom we prized 
As astray gift, by bounteous Heaven aismissed 
From some bright sphere which sorrow may not cloud, 
To make the happy happier! 3 ke sent 
z To grapple with the miseries of this time, 
Whose nature such ethereal agject wears 
As it would perish at the touch of wrong! 
~ By no internal contest is he trained 
For such hard duty; no emot’ons rude ; 
Hath his clear spirit vanquished—Love. the germ 
Of his mild nature. hath sprerd graces forth, 
Expanding with its progress, as the store 
~ Of rainbow colour which the seed conceals 
Sheds out its tints from its dim treasury, 
To flush and circle in the flower. No tear 
__ Hfath filled his eye cave that of thotightful joy 
-- When, in the evening stilluess, lovely things 
. Pressed on his soul too brsily; his voice, 
Jf, in the earnestness of childish sports, 
- Raised to the tone of anger, checked its force, 
As if it feared to break its being’s law, 
And faltered into music; when the forms ~ 
Of suilty passion have. been made to live a 
Tn pictured speech, and others have waxec. loud 
~ In righteous indignation, he hath heard : 
With sceptice smile, or froin some slender vein 
Of gooduess, which surrounding gloom concealed, 
_ {Struck sunlight o’er it so his life hath flowed 
> ¥rom its myst-rious uro_a sacred stream, 


es ga ie a ee = er 


~ 


186 - CYCLOPADIA OF — 


In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure 


: 5 

Alone are mirrored ; which, though shapes of ill ; | 
May hover round its surface. slides in light, <a 

. And takes no shadow from them, : : # 
4 
Eetract from *< Ion.’ F) 


Ton. having been declared the rightful heir to the throne, is installed in his royal 
dignity, attended by the high-priest, the senators, &c, ‘ihe people receive him with 
“shouts. 2 


ss ao 

- Ton. I thank you for your greetings—shont no more, me 
But in deep silence raise your hearts to heaven, 3 
That it may strengthen one so young and frail * 
As I am for the business of this hour.— PF | 
Must I sit here? ae 
Merpon. My son! my son! 3 
What ails thee? When thou shouldst reflect the joy % 
Of Argos, the strange paleness of the grave + 
Marbles thy face. ; “> 
: Ion. Am I indeed so pale? : | 
It is a solemn office I assume, ‘ 
Which well may make me falter; yet sustained ee. 
By thee, and by the gods I serve, I take it.— : 
Stand forth, Agenor. : [Sits on the throne, - 
AGENOR. I await thy will. ~ 24 
Ion. To thee I look as to the wisest friend 7 ae: 
Of this afflicted people; thou must leave _ 4 
Awhile the quiet whrch thy life has earned, s 
To rule our councils ; fill the seats of justice + 

With good men, not so absolute in goodness : 

As to forget what human frailty is ; % ‘ 
And order my sad country. E a 
AGENOR, Pardon me—- yl 


Jon. Nay, I will promise ’tis my last request 3 
Grant me thy help till this distracted state 3 
Rise tranquil from her griefs—’twill not be long, . 
If the great gods smile on us now. Remember, — 
Meanwhile, thou hast all power my word can give, 
Whether [ live or die. 

AgENoR,. Die! Ere that hour, : 


aan 


% 


May even the old man’s epitaph be moss-grown | * 

Ion. Death is nof jealous of the mild decay ““—e 
That gently wins thee his; exulting youth f 
Provokes the ghastly monarch’s sudden stride, z 
And makes his horrid fingers quick to clasp, ; : 
His prey benumbed at noontide.—Let me see % 4 
The captain of the guard. y oe | 

CryTuHEs. I kneel to crave ; a 
Humbly the favour which thy sire bestowed ia 


On one who loved him well. ~ 
__ Ton, I cannot mark thee, : 
That wak’st the memory of my father’s weakness, - ‘ i in 
3ut I will not forget that thou hast shared . 
The light enjoyments of a noble spirit, 
And learned the need of luxury.- I grant 
For thee and thy brave comrades ample share 
Of such rich treasure as my stores contain, 
To grace thy passage to some distant land, 
Where, if an honest cause engage thy sword, 
May glorious issues wait it, In our realm 


EERO 


i Wee 


% 


Pha ef we: 
DPOB seeds 


ca GEE eR tne SO saat Soke tone aes ag 
a. Sain ey << la | Seni Seat 
- - ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


We shall not need it longer. ~ . 
CrytTHEs. Dost intend et 
To banish the firm troops before whose valour 


- Barbarian millions shrink appalled, and leave. 


Our city naked to the first assault 
Of reckless foes? 

Ion. No,-Crythes, in ourselves, 
In our own honest hearts and chainless hands 
Wii! be our safeguard ; while we do not use 
Our power towards others, so that we should blush 
To teach our children ; while the simple love 
Of justice and their country shall be born 
With dawning reason; while their sinews grow 
Hard ’midst the giadness of heroic sports, 
We shali not need, to guard our walls in peace, 
One selfish passion, or one venal sword. 
1 would not grieve thee; but thy valiant troop~ 
For I esteem them valiapt—must no more 
With luxury which suits a desperate camp 
Infect us. See that they embark, Agenor, 


' Ere night. 


_CryTuHEs, My lord— 
Ion. No more—my word hath passed.— 
Medon, there is-no office I can add 
To those thou hast grown old in; thou wilt guard 
The shrine of Pheebus, and within thy home— 
Thy too delightful home—befriend the stranger 
As thou didst me; there sometimes waste a thought 


- On thy spoiled inmate. 


Mzpon. Think of thee, my lord? 
Long shall we triumph in thy glorious reign. : 
Ion. Prithee, no more.—Argives! I have a boon 
To crave of you. Whene’er i shall rejoin 
in death the father from whose heart in life 
Stern fate divided me, think gently of him! 
Think that beneath his panoply of pride 
Were fair affections crushed by bitter wrongs. 
Which fretted him to madness; what he did, 
Alas! ye know; could you know what he suffered, 
Ye would not curse his name. Yet never more 
Let the great interests of the state depend 
Upon the thousand chances that may sway 
A piece of human frailty; swear to me 
That ye will seek hereafter in yourselves 
The means of sovereignty: our country’s space 
So happy in its smallness, so compact, 
Needs not the magi¢ of a singie name 
Which wider regions may require to draw 
‘Their interest inte one; but, circled thus, 
Like a blest family, by simple laws 
May tenderly be governed—all degrees, 
Not placed in dexterous balance. not combined 
By bonds of parchment, or by iron clasps, 
But blended into one—a single form- 
Of nymph-like loveliness, which finest chords 
Of sympathy pervading, shall endow 
With vital beauty : tint with roseate bloom 
In times of happy peace, and bid to fash 
With one brave impulse, if ambitious bands 
Of foreign power should threaten. Swear to me 


That ye will do this } 


ie" 


"| "@YCLOPADIA OF 4 


MEDoN. Wherefore ask this now? ~— eer 


Thou shalt live long’ ‘he paleness of thy face, 3 = 
Which late seemed d-“e'h-fike, is grown radiant now, : 
And thine eyes kindle with the prophecy ; p 


Of glorious yeurs. 
Ion. The gods approve me then !- 


f oe vey - 


Yet I will use the function of a king, ; ae ss = 4 
“And Claim obedience. Swear, that if T die, : an 
And leave no issue, ye will seek the power : a 
‘lo govern in the free-Lorn people’s choice, _ 
And in the prudence of the wise. 7S | 

MEDON AND OTHERS. “We swear it! s 


jon. Hear and record 2s oath, immortal powers! = 


No give me leave a moment te approach | 
That altar unattended. : ae [He goes to the altar, — 

ceecicus gods! “ oS 
In whose mild service mv stad youth was spent, — Rs 
Look on me now; and ‘f there is a power, tw BY oa 
As at this solemn time _ el there is, ; a 


Beyond ye, that hath breathed through all your shapes - 
The spirit of the beautifn! that lives ‘ : 
In earth and heaven; to ye Loffer up - > 
‘Lhis conscious being. full of life and love, 
For my dear country’s welfare. Let this blow 
End all her sorrows! on" 


Py 


bacco TY karate W ve See 


[Stabs himself. 


CLEMANTHE rushes forward. Pc eauer et. 


LEMANTHE, Hold! » 
Let me support him—stand away—Indeed - 4 
Ihave best right, although ye know it not, 
To cleave to him in death. ~ . = 

Ion. This is a joy j 
I did not hope for-- This is sweet indeed. 
Bend thine eyes on me! B 8g 
CLEM. And for th 3 it was 
Thou wouldst have .yeaned me from thee! 
Couldst thou think ar SS 
3x Would be so divorsed ? 
Ton. Thou art rigst, Clemanthe—_. _ 
It was a shallow anJ an idle thought; 
Tis past; no show of coldness frets us now; 
No vain disguise, ny girl, Yet thou wilt. think 
On that which, when I *cigned, 1 truly spoke— 
Wilt thou not, sweet one? : 
CuiEem. I will treasure ali 


- Enter Irvs. 


Trus. I bring you glorious tidings— 
Hx! no joy } 
Can enter here. 

Ton. Yes--is it as T hope? 

Inv3. The pestilence abates. 

Jon. [Springs ‘to his feet.) Do ye not hear? 
Why shout ye pot? ye are strong—think not of me; 
Hearken ! the curse my ancestry had spread 
O’er Argos is dispelled !—My own Clemanthel * 

Let this console thee—Argos lives »gain— 
Lhe offering is accepted—all is well! 


x 


an va 


bee Pe ey ehh ae ro 
tee sey SP ah Soe 


“ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~~ — ~ tgg 


~~ 5 <3.> © SIR HENRY TAYLOR: 


_ Although long engaged in public business—in the Colonial Office 
—Mr. (now 81x) Henry Tay or is distinguished both as a poet and 
‘ose essayist. He is a native of the county of Durham, born in 
_ 1800, only son of George Taylor, of Wilton Hall. In 1827 appeared 
Bo play of ‘Isaac Commenus,’ ‘which met with few readers,’ says- 


Southey, ‘and was hardly heard of.’ In 1854 was published ‘ Philip 
_ van Artevelde,’ a play in two parts, characterised by its author as an 
‘historical romance cast in a dramatic and rhythmical form.’ The 
subject was suggested by Southey, and is the history of the two Van 
\rteveldes, father and son, ‘ citizens of revolted Ghent, each of whom - 
wayed for a season almost the whole power of Flanders against their. 
evitimate prince, and each of whom paid the penalty of ambition 
by an untimely and violent death.’ 


if There is no game so desperate which wise men 
Will not take treely up for love of power, 
~ Or love of fame, or merely love of play. 
~ These men are wise, and then reputed wise, 
And so their great repute of wisdom grows, 
; Till for great wisdom a great price is bid, . 
And then tieir wisdom they do part withal. 
‘ Such men must still be tempted with high stakes : 
= Philip van Artevelde is such a man. 


_ As the portrait of a revolutionary champion, Philip is powerfully 
_ delineated by the dramatist, and there are also striking and effective 
scenes in the play. The style and diction resemble those of Joanna 
-Baillie’s dramas—pure, elevated, and well sustained, but wanting 
ae brief electric touches and rapid movement necessary to insure 
: omplete success“in this difficult department of literature. ‘Two 
os after the historical romance had established Henry Taylor's 
‘Teputation as a poet, he produced a prose treatise, ‘The Statesman,’ 
-a small volume, treating of ‘such topics as experience rather than 
- inventive meditation suggested to him.’ The counsels and remarks 
of. the author are distinguished by their practical worldly character; 
he appears-as a-sort of political Chesterfield, and the work was said > 
by Maginn to be ‘the art of official humbug systematically digested 
and familiarly explained.’* It abounds, however, in acute and sen- 
sible observations, shewing that the poet was no mere visionary or 
-Tomantic dreamer. The other works of Sir Henry are—‘ Edwin the 
Fair,’ an historical drama, 1842; ‘The Eve of the Conquest, and 
sther Poems,’ 1847; ‘Notes from Life,’’1847; ‘Notes from Books,’ 


* In, Crabb Robinson’s Diary. vol. iii,. isthe following notice of Henry Taylor. then 
wader Sir James Stephen in the Colonial Office: ‘“Tuylor is known as literary executor 
Of Southey. and author of several esteemed dramas. especially Philip van Artereidie, 
“He tmartied Lord Monteagie’s danghter. He is now one of my most respected acquaint- 

Bice? Hismuanuers are shy and heis more a manof letters than-o’ the world... He pub- 
shed a book ca'led Pie Statesman. which some thought presumptuous in a junior clerk 
s0vernment office.’ Southey said Henry Taylor was the only one of a generation 


unger than his Own whom he had taken into his heart of hearts. 


190 CYCLOPEDIA OF 


oe \ 


1849; “The Virgin Widow,’ a play, 1850; ‘St. Clement’s Eve,’ a clay 
1862: ‘A Sicilian Summer, and Minor Poems,’ 1868. The poetical 
works of Sir Henry Taylor enjoy a steady popularity with the more 
intellectual class of readers. ‘Philip van Artevelde’ has gone 
through eight editions, ‘Isaac Comnenus’ and ‘ Edwin’ through five,” 4 
“and the others have all been reprinted. 2 


Tie Death of Launoy, one of the Captains of Ghent.—Hrom ‘ Philip oun 
_ Artevelde,’ Part I. 


SrconD DEAN. Beside Nivelle the Earl and Launoy met. 
Six thousand voices shouted with the last : 
‘Ghent, the good town! Ghent and-the Chaperons Blancs!’ .<% 
But from that force thrice-told there came the cry 4 
Of ‘Flanders, with the Lion of the Bastard !’ 
So then the battle‘joined, and they of Ghent 
Gave back and opened after three hours’ fight ; 
And hardly flying had they gained Nivelle, 
When the earl’s vangard came upon their rear; 
Ere they could close the gate, and entered with them. 
Then all were slain save Launoy and his guard, 
Who, barricaded in the minster tower, 
Made desperate resistance; w hereupon 
The earl waxed wrothful, and bade fire the church. 
First BURGHER. Say’st thou? Oh, sacrilege accursed | 
Was’t done? Ps 
SEconD Dean. ’Twas done—and presently was hearda yell. 
And after that the rushing of the flames! ‘ 
Then Launoy from the steeple cried aloud ‘ 
‘A ransom!’ and held up his coat to sight 
With florins filled, but they without but laughed 
And mocked him, saying: ‘Come amongst us, John, ts 
And we will give thee welcome ; make a leap— : = 
Come out at window, John.’ With that the flames ; 
Rose up and reached. him, and he drew his sword, 4 
Cast his rich coat behind him in the fire, 


And shouting: ‘ Ghent,’ye slaves !’ leapt freely forth, a 
When they below received him on their spears. = 
And ‘so died John of Lannoy. - > 

First BUEGHER. A brave end. : ce 
*Tis certain we must now make peace by times; a 
The city will be starved else.—W ill be, said 1? ee 


Starvation is upon us. . a 
Van ARTEVELDE. I never looked that he should ie solong. 


He was a man of that unsleeping spirit, at 
He seemed to live by miracle: his food } 4 
Was glory, which was poison to his mind, . ae 
And peril to his body. - He was one ae | 
Of many thousand such that die betimes, i 


Whose story is a fragment, known to few. 

Then comes the man who has the luck to live, 

And he’s a prodigy. Compute the chances, 

And deem there’s ne’er a one in dangerous times, 7 
Who wins the race of glory, but than him 

A thousand men more “gloriously y endowed 

Have fallen upon the cours e; a thousand others 

Have had their fortunes founded by a chance, 

Whilst lighter barks pushed past them; to shat add 
A smaller tally, of the singular few, ° 


~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


191 


_. Who, gifted with predominating powers, : 

; Bear yet a temperate will, and keep the peace. 
The world knows nothing of its greatest men. 

FATHER JOHN. Had Launoy lived, he might have passed for great, 
But not by conquest inthe Franc of Bruges. 
The sphere—the scale of circumstance—is all 
Which makes the wonder of the many. 
An ardent soul was Launoy’s, and his deeds 
Were such as dazzled many a Fiemish dame. 
There'll be some bright eyes'in Ghent be dimmed for him. 

VAN ARTEVELDE. They will be dim, and then be bright again. 
All is in busy, stirring, stormy motion ; 
And many a cloud drifts by. and none sojourns. 
Lightly is life laid down amongst us now, 
And lightiy is death mourned: a dusk star blinks 
As fleets the rack, but look again, and lo! 
In a wide solitude of wintry sky 
be Twinkles the reilluminated star, 

iS, And all is out of sight that smirched the ray. - 

We have no time to mourn. 


Still 


a 
eS a FATHER JOHN. ‘The worse for us! 
Ske ; He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend. 
aS Eternity mourns that. ’Tis an ill cure 
ie For life’s worst ills, to have no time to feel them. 


Where sorrow’s held intrusive and turned out, 
There wisdom will not enter, nor true power, 
- Nor aught that dignifies humanity. 


a. -_~ Yet such the barrenness of busy life! 


But this thou knows’t. 


3° 


_ A bark is launched on Como’s lake, 

-. A maiden Sits abaft ; 

_ Alittle sail is loosed to take 

be - The night-wind’s breath, and waft 
‘The maiden and her bark away, 

. Across the lake and up the bay. | 

_ And what doth there that lady fair 

-._ Upon the wavelet tossed ? 

- Before her shines the evening star, 

~ Behind her in the woods afar 


aay __ The castle lights are lost. . . . 
pe: was not for the forms—though fair, 
Though grand they were beyond com- 


“=. pare 
Tt was not only for the forms 
Of hills in sunshine or in storms, 
Or only unrestrained to look 
On wood and lake, that she forsook 


_._. Wandered by light 5 
~. » Of sun or star. 

dt was to feel her fancy free, 

_ Free in a world without an end, 


From shelf io shelf Ambition clambers up, 
‘ To reach the naked’st pinnacle of all; 
~- Whilst Magnanimity, absolved from toil, 
Reposes self-included at the base. 


ee . The «Lay of Elena.’—From the same. 


With ears to hear, and eyes to see, 
And heart to apprehend. 


It was to leave the earth behind, 

And rove with liberated mind, 

As fancy led, or choice or chance, 
Through wildered regions of romance. ... 


Be it avowed, when all is said. 

She trod the path the many tread. 

She loved too soon in life; herdawn | 

Was bright with sunbeams, whence is 
drawn 

A sure prognostic that the day 

Will not unclouded pass away. 

oo young she loved, and he on whom 

Her first love lighted, in the bloom 

Of boybood was. and so was graccd 

With all that earliest runs to waste. 

Intelligent, Joquacious, mild, 

Yet gay and sportive as a child, 

With feelings light and quick, that came 

And went like flickerings of flame ; 

A soft demeanour, and a mind 

Bright and abundant in its kind, 


192 


That, playing on the surface, made 

A rapid change of light and shade, 

Or, if a darker hour perforce 

At times o’ertook him in his course, 
Still, sparkling thick like glow-worms, 


CYCLOPADIA OF 


-And passion with her growth had grown, - 
Aud strengthened with her strength ; and 
how 
Could love be new, unless in name, 
Degree, and singleness of aim ? 


A tende:ness had filled hér mind 
Pervasive, viewless, undefined ; 
As keeps the subtle fluid oft —~ - 
In secret, gathering-in the soft 
And sultry air, til! felt at length, 
In al] its desolating strength— 
So silent, so devoid of dread, 
Her objectiess affections spread :_ é 
Not wholly unemployed, but squandered 
At large where’er her fancy wandered 
Till one attraction, one desire 
Concentred all the scattered fire ; 

It broke, it burst, it blazed amain, 

It flashed its light o’er hill and plain, 
O’er earth below and heaveu above— 
And then it took the name of love. 


shewed 
ite was to him a summer’s road— 
Such was the youth.to whom a love 
For grace and beauty far above 
Thor due-deserts, betrayed a heart 
Which anight have e!se performed a 
- > prouder part. 


a 


First love the world is wont to call 

The passion which was now her all. 

So be it called; but be it known 

The feeling which possessed her now 
Was novel in degree alone ; 

Love early marked her for his own; 
Soon as the winds of heaven had blown 
Upon her, had the seed been sown 

In soil which needed not the plough ; 


- 


: 


We add a few sentences of Sir Henry’s prose writings : 
On the Ethics of Politics.—From.* The Statesman.’ 


<= 


The moral principle of private life which forbids one man to despoil another of his ae 


property, is outraged in the last degree when one man holds another in slavery. 
Carry it therefore in all its absoluteness into political life, and you require a states- 


men to do what he can. under any circumstances whatever, to procure immediate~— 


freedom for any parties who may be holden in slavery in the dominion of the state 
which he serves. 
condition of barbarism in which they were thirty years. ago, and we find the 
of men and strictest of moralists falling short of the conclusion. 
magnitude of the good which results from maintaining the principle inviolate, far 
overbalances any specific evil which may possibly attend an adherence to it in a par- 
ticular case. But in political affairs, it may happen that the specific evil is the 


urest 


greater of the two. even in looking to the longest train of consequences that can be 


said to be within the horizon of human foresight, For to set a generation of savages 
free in a civilised community, would be merely to maintain one moral principle in- 
violate at the expense of divers c*her moral principles. Upon the whoie, therefore, 


I come to the conclusion that the cause of public morality will be best served by — 


moralists permitting to statesmen, what statesinen must necessarily take and exer- 
cise—a free judgment namely, though a most responsible-one, in the weiching of 
specific against general evil, and in the perception of perfect Or imperfect analogies” 
yetween public aud private transxetions, in respect of the moral rules by which they 


Yet, take the case of negro slaves in the British dominions in the ~ 


In private life, the ~ 


> 
_ 


~*~ 
~ 


Sate 


are to be governed. The standard of morality to be held forth by moralists to states« — 
men is sufficiently elevated when it is raised to the level of practicable virtue: such — 


standards. to be influential. must be above common opinion certainly. but not re=_ 
_motely above it; for if above it. yet near, they draw up common o 
be far off in their altitude, they have no attractive influence. 


Of Wisdom—From-* Notes from Life.’ 


Wisdom is not the same with understanding, talents. capacity, sense, or pru- 


- 


pinion ; but if they ; 


dence; not the same with any one of these; neither will all these together make it — 


up. It is that exercise of the reason into which the heart enters—a structure of the 
understanding rising out of the mora! and spiritual nature. It is for this -canse that_ 


a hie order of wis@om—that fs, a highly intellectual wisdom—is still more rare than — 


a high order of genius. When they reach the very highest order they are one; for 


each includes the other, and intellectual greatness is matched with moral strength, 


4 


ae «- 


RRoLD.} . | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 398 


ut they hardly ever reach so high, inasmuch as great intellect, according to the 
ways of Providence, almost always brings along with it great infirmities—or, at 
Jeast, infirmities which appear grest owing to the scale of. operation ; and it is cer- 
tainly exposed to unusual temp.ations; for as power and pre-eminence lie before it, 
£0 almbition aitends it, which, whilst it determines the will and strengthens the acti- 
_ Vities, inevitably weakens the moral fabric 

Wisdom is corrupted by ambition, even when the quality of the ambition is in: 
-tellectual. For ambition, even of this quality. is but a form of self-love, which, 
_ seeking gratification in the consciousvess of intellectual power, is too much delighted 
_ with the exercise to have a single aud paramount regard to the end—that is, the 
moral and spiritual consequences—should suffer derogation in favour of the intel- 
— Jectual means. God is love, and God is light: whence, it results that_ love is light, 
__and.tis only by following the cffluence of that light, that intellectual power issues | 
“into wisdom. ‘rhe iitellectual power which loses that light, and issues into intel- 
—Jectual pride, is out of the way to wisdom, and will not attain even to intellectual 
_- greatness. 

ee DOUGLAS JERROLD. 


__- The works of Dovcias JERROLD (1803-1857) are various, con- 
sisting of pliys, tales, and sketches of character, in which humour, 
fancy, and satire are blended. The most popular of these were con- 
tributed to ‘Punch, or the London Charivari.’ Jerrold was born in 
Tondon in January 1803. His father was an actor, lessee of the _ 
‘Sheerness Theatre, and the early years of Douglas were spent in 
Sheerness. But before he had completed his tenth year, he was- 
_ transferred to the guard-ship Namur, then lying at the mouth of the | 
‘Tiver—‘ a first-class volunteer in His Majesty’s service, and not.a 
little proud of his uniform.’ Two years were spent at sea, after 
hich Douglas, with his parents, removed to London. He became 
apprentice to a printer—worked diligently during the usual business 
hours—and seized upon every spare moment for solitary self-instruc- 
tion. ‘The little, eager, intellectual boy was sure to rise in the 
world. He had, however, a sharp novitiate. His great friend at 
this time was Mr. Laman Bruancnarp (1803-1845), who was en; 
gaged in periodical literature, and author of numerous tales an 
says, collected after his premature death, and published with a 
Memoir of the author by Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton. Douglas 
_ Jerrold-took early to dramatic writing, and in his eighteenth year he 
as engaged at a salary of ‘a few pounds weekly’ to write pieces - 
for the Coburg Theatre. His nautical and domestic drama, ‘ Black- 
eyed Susan,’ was brought out at the Surrey Theatre in 1829, and had 
a prodigious success. It hadarun of above three hundred nights, and 
produced many thousands to the theatre, though it brought only 
about £70 to the author. The other dramas of Jerrold are—‘ The 
~ Rent Day,’ 1832; ‘Nell Gwynne’ and ‘The Housekeeper,’ 1833; 
~“The Wedding Gown,’ 1884; ‘The School-fellows’ and ‘ Doves in a 
a age,” 1855; ‘ Prisoner of War,’ 1842; ‘Bubbles of the Day’ and 
_* Time Works Wonders,’ 1845; ‘ The Catspaw,’ 1*50; ‘ Retired from 
> Business,’ 1851; ‘St. Cupid,’ 1858; ‘Heart of Gold,’ 1854. The. 
plays of Jerrold, like all his other writings, abound in pointed and 
Witty sayings and lively illuctration. His incidents and characters 
» a : ; 


\ 
a 


[ro 1876. — 


‘194 . ~“CYCLOP/EDIA, OF Ay 
are also well contrasted and arranged for stage-effect, yet there isa 
want of breadth and simplicity. 
About 1831 Jerrold became a contributor to the magazines; and in 
1840 he was editor of a series of sketches, called ‘Heads of the- 
People,’ illustrated by Kenny Meadows, to which Thackeray, R. H. 
Worne, Blanchard, Peake, and others contributed. Some of the best _ 
of Jerrold’s essays appeared in this periodical. Afterwards ‘Punch’ 
absorbed the greater part of this time, though he still continued to 
write occasionally for the stage. Henceforward his life was that of a 
professional littérateur, steadily rising in public estimation and in 
worldly prosperity—famous for his sarcasm, his witty sayings, and 
general conversational brilliancy. In 1852a large addition wasmade _ 
to his income—£1000 per annum—by his becoming editor of ‘ Lloyd’s — 
Weekly Newspaper.’ He was a zealous advocate of social reform; a 
passionate hater of all cant, pretence, and affectation; and though on 
some grave questions he wrote without sufficient consideration, his — 
career was that of an honest journalist and lover of truth. Of his 
personal generosity of character many memorials remain. Mr. 
Dickens relates one instance: ‘There had been an estrangement - 
between us—not on any personal subject, and not involving an angry ~ 
word—and a good many months had passed without my even seeing 
him in the street, when it fell out that we dined, each with his own 
separate party, in the strangers’ room of the club. Our chairs were 
almost back to back, and I took mine after he was seated and at 
dinner. I said not a word—TI am sorry to remember—and did not — 
look that way. Before we had sat long, he openly wheeled his chair — 
round, stretched out both his hands, and said aloud, with a bright» 
and loving face that I can see as I write to vou: ‘‘ For God’s sake 
let us be friends again! A life ’s not long enough for this.” ’* He 
died, after a short illness, on the 8th of June 1857, and was interred ~ 
in Norwood Cemetery—followed to the grave by all his literary 
confreres, who nobly raised a memorial fund of £2000 for the benefit 
of his family. The collected miscellaneous writings of Douglas 
Jerrold fill six duodecimo volume. The longest is a story of town- 
life, ‘St. Giles and St. James,’ by no means his happiest production, 
He was best in short satirical and descriptive sketches—sponta- 
neous bursts of faney or feeling. “His ‘Caudle Lectures,’ ‘Story of a 
Feather,’ ‘Men of Character,’ and ‘Sketches of the English,’ were 
highly popular. The style is concise and pungent—too much, per-— 
haps, in the manner of dramatic dialogue, but lightened up by poetic — 
feeling and imagery. His satire was always winged with fancy.- 
Some brilliant or pointed saying carried home his argument or senti- — 
ment, and fixed it firmly in the mind. Like Charles Lamb and most — 


* The Life and Remains of Dougias Jerrold, by his Son. Blanchard Jerrold, 1859, 
Mr. Blanchard Jerrold sueceeded his father as editor of Llovd’s Weekly Newspaper. 
and ee author of Jmperial Paris, The Life of the Emperor Napoleon 1II., and othe? 
works. a 


“JERROLD. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. . 195 


 humorists, he had tenderness and pathos, ‘After all,’ he said, ‘life 
_ has-something serious in it—it cannot be all a comic history of hu- 


real mingles with the ideal, and shrewd, kindly observation and ac- 
tive sympathy are at the bottom of his picturesque sketches and 
- portraits, He was oftcn wrong, often one-sided—an ardent, impul- 
sive man—but high-principled, sincere, and generous. In witty re- 
parte he was unequalled among his contemporaries. 

_ The following extracts are from his drama of ‘Bubbles of the 


pe Day’. 
~ Fancy Fair in Guildhall for Painting St. Pauls. 


Earn PHENIX CLEARCAKE,. I come with a petition to you—a petition not parlia- 

_ mentary, but charitable. We propose, my lord, a fancy fair in Guildhall; its object 

_s0 benevolent, and more than that, so respectable. 

_ Lorp SKINDEEP. Benevolence and respectability! Of course ’m with you. Well, 

~ the ee object ? 

_ Sim P. It is to remove a stain—a very great stain from the city; to give an air of 

maiden beauty to a most venerable institution ; to exercise a renovating taste at a 

a. most inconsiderable outlay ; to call up, as it w ere, the snowy: beauty of Greece in the 

. coal smoke atmosphere of London: in a word, my lord, but as yet ’tis a profound 

_ 8ecret—it is to paint St. Paul’s! ‘To give it a vir gin outside—to make it so truly re- 

_ -spectable. 

Lorp SEIN. A gigantic effort. 

Sir P. The fancy fair will be on a most comprehensive and philanthropic scale. 

eat th alderman takes a stall, and to give you an idea of the enthusiasm of the city— 

ee) but Opes also is a secret—the ‘Lady Mayoress has been up three nights making pin- 
~ cushions. 

~  Lorp SKIN. But do you want me to take a stall—to sell pincushions? 

Sir P. Certamly not, my lord. And yet your philanthropic speeches in the 

_ House, my lord, convince me that, to obtain a certain good, you would sell anything. 

LorpD SKIN. Ww ell, well; command me in a any way; benevolence is my foible. 


_ Companies for leasing Mount Vesuvius, for making a Trip all round 
the World, for Buying the Serpentine Ruer, Le. 


CAPTAIN SMOKE. We are about to start a company to take on lease Mount Vesu- 
_yius for the manufacture of lucifer matches. 

~ $1r P. A stupendous speculation. I should say that, when its countless advan- 
ie ~ tages are duly numbered, it will be found a certain w heel of fortune to the enlight- 
ened capitalist. 

___ Smoke. Now, sir, if you would but take the chair at the first meeting—[A side to 
~ Chatham: We shall make it all right about the shares]—if you would but speak for 
_ two or three hours on the social improvement conferred by the lucifer-match, with 


man, woman, or child to strike a light without our permission. 

5 ee CHATHAM. Truly, sir, in such a cause, to Such an auditory—I fear my eloquence, 
_ — Smoke. Sir, if you would speak well anywhere. there’s nothing like first grinding 
“ee eloquence on amixed meeting. Depend on ’t, if you can only manage a little 
umbug with a mob. it gives you great confidence for another place. 

_ Lorp Sx1n. Smoke, never say humbug; it’s coarse. 

’ Sir P. And not respectable. 


_ “such high patronage, that now it’s quite classic. 
: Cuat. But why not embark his lordship in the lucifer question ? 
SMOKE. I can’t: I have his lordship in three companies already. Three. First, 
there’s a company—half a million capital—for extracting civet from asafetida. ‘The 
Gomes is a company for a trip all round the world. “We propose to hire a three- 
a 


>. — manity.’ Hence, amidst all the quips and turns of his fancy, the _ 


_ the monopoly of sulphur secured to the company—a monopoly which will suffer no — 


‘SMOKE. Pardon me, my lord, it was coarse. But the fact is, hnmbug has received 


os 7 


196 ~CYCLOP-EDIA OF 


decker of the Lords of the Admiralty, and fit her up with every accommodation fis 
families. We've already advertised for wet-nurses and maids-of-all-work. 

sir P. A magnificent project! And then the fittings-up will be so respectable. 
A delightful bilhard-table in ‘the ward-room; with. for the humbler classes, skittles 
on the orlop-deck, Swi ings and archery for the ladies, trap-ball and cricket for the 
children, whilst the marine sportsman Will find the stock of gulls unlimited. W se aan 


pert’s quadrille band is cngaged, and os é 
SmoxkeE. For the convenience of lovers, the ship will carry a parson. = 
Cuat. And the object? fs © 


SMOKE. Pleasure and education. At every new country we shall drop anchor tor 
at Jeast a week, that the children may go to school and learn the language. ‘The trip 
must answer: ’twill occupy only three years, and we’ve forgotten nothing to make 
it delightful—nothi ing from hot rolls to cork jackets. . 

Brown. And now, sir, the third venture? 3 re 

SMOKE, That, sir, is a company to buy the Serpentine River for a Grand Junc- 
tion ‘femperance Cemetery. 

Brown. What! so many watery graves? 

SmoKE. Yes, sir, with floating tompstones. Here’s the prospectus. Look here: i 
surmounted by a hy acinth—the very emblem of temperance—a hyacinth floweringin _ 
the limpid flood. Now, if you don’t feel equal to the Juciters—I know his lordship’s ~ 
goodness—he’ll give you ep the cemetery. [Aside to Chatham: A family vault as ao 
bonus to the chairman. J 

Sir P. What a beautiful subject fora speech! Water-lilies and aquatic plants © 
gemming the translucent crystal, shells of rainbow brightness, a constant supply of 
gold and silver fish, with the right of angling secured to shareholders. The extent 
of eae er being necessarily limited, will render lying there so select, so PLY re- 
spectable 

e 


Time's Changes.—From ‘Time Works Wonders,’ 


FLORENTINE. O, siz, the magic of five long years! We paint Time with glase- 
and scythe—should he not carry harlequin’s own wand? for, oh, indeed Time’s 
changes ! y S 
~ CLARENCE, Are they, in truth, so very great? 

FLoR. Greater than harlequin’s ; but then Time works them with so grave a@ 
face, that even the hearts he alters doubt the change, though often turned from very 
flesh to stone. 

CuaR. ‘time has his bounteous changes too; and sometimes to the sweetest bud 
will give an unimagined beauty in the flower. ; 


¥ . 


Retired from Business. 


TACKLE. Kitty, see what you ll get by waiting! Ill grow you such a garland 
for your wedding. 4 : 

Kirry. A garland, indeed! A daisy to-day -is worth a rose-bush to-morrow, 

Purrins, But, Mr. Pennyweight, I trust you are now, in every sense, once and 
for ever, retired from business ? 

GUNN. No; in every sense, who is? Life has its duties ever; none wiser, better, 
than a manly disregard of false aistinctions, made by ignorance, maintained by weak: 
ness. ~ Resting from the activities of life, w e haye yet our daily task—the interchange | 
of simple thoughts and geutle doings. When, following those already passed, we 
rest beneath the shadow of yon distant spire, then, and ‘then Yate may it be said of 
us, retired from business. 5 oe 


Winter in London. 


The streets were empty. Pitiless cold had driven all who had the shelter of a roof , 
to their homes; and the northeast blast seemed to howl in triumph above the un- 
trodden snow. Winter was at the heart of all things. The wretched, dumb with ~ 


‘a 


excessive misery, suffered, in stupid resignation, the tyranny of the season. Hu-_ m4 


man blood stagnated in the breast of want ; and death in that despairing hour, 


josing its terrors, looked in the eyes of many a wretch a sweet deliverer. It was a_ $ 


edi Be ey se ae apc: SG oo ee 5 
Se: : a4 oo = oe “4 > ig = 
Sx: tes —~ e. RAE > vi 
J --  —_ENGLISII LITERATURE. _- 197 


me when the very poor, barred from the commonest things of earth, take strange 
ounsel with theniselves, and in the deep humility of destitution, believe they ure 
the burden and the offal of the world. eee 
oe At was a time \ ben the easy, comfortable man, touched with finest sense of human 
> suffering, gives from his abundance ; and, whilsi bestowing, feels xlmost ashamiwd that; 
with such wide-spread misery circled round him, he has sll things fitting, all thines 
grateful. ‘The smiitten spirit asks wherefore he is not of the muliitude of wretched- 
hess; demands to “now tor what cspeciai excclience he is promoted above the 
thonsand thousand starving creatures; in his very tenderness for misery, tests his 
privilege of exemption from a woe that withers manhood in man, bowing lim down- 
‘ward tothe brute. And so questioned, this man gives in medesty of spi:it—in very 
thankfulness of soul. His alms are not cold, formal charitics; but reverent. sacri- 
‘fices to his suffering brother, rset 
It was a time when selfishness hugs itself in its own warmth, with no other 
thoughts than of its pleasant possessions, all made pleusenter, sweeter, by the de- 
“solation zround ; when the mere worldhng rejoices the more in his warm Chamber, 
_ because it is so hitter cold without; when he eats and drinks with whetted appetite, 
because he hears of destitution prowling like a wolf around his well-barred house: 
“when, in fine, he bears bis every comfort about him with the pride of « conqueror. 
A time when such a man sees in the misery of his fellow-beings nothing save his 
own yictory or foriune--his own successes in a suffering world. To such a man, 
‘the poor are but the tattered slaves that. grace his triumph. 
- Itwas a time. too, when human nature often shews its true divinity, and with 
Misery like a garment clinging to it, forg¢ts its wretchedness in sympathy with suf- 
ering. A time when, in the cellars and garrets of the poor, are ucted scenes which 
nake the noblest heroism of life; which prove the immortal texture of the human ~ 
heart not wholly seared by the branding-iron of the torturing hours. A time 
when in“want. in anguish, in throes of mortal agony, some seed is sown that bears 
a flower in heaven. ; 


: The Emigrant Ship. 

-_ Some dozen folks, with gay, dull, earnest, careless, hopeful, wesried looks, epy 
about the ship. their future abiding-place upon the deep for many aday. Some 
dozen, with different feelings, shew in different emotious, enter cabins, dip below. 
, emerge on deck, and weave their way among packages and casks, merchandise 
and food, lying in a labyrinth about. ‘he ship isin most seemly confusion. The 
‘Tandsman thinks it i:,possible she can be all taut upon the wave in a week.- Her 
yards are all soup and cuw and her rigging in such a tangle. euch disorder. like a 
-wench’s locks after amacd <;}iae at romps. Nevertheless, Captain Goodhody’s wo d 
“isastrne asoak. On the. vpointed day. the skies permitting, the frigate-built Hai- 
ce fd with her white wings spread, will drop down the Thames—down to the illimit- 
able sea, 

She-carries a glorious freightage to the sntipodes—English hearts and English 
_ 8inews—hope and strength io conquer and control the waste, turning it to usefu:nces 
‘and beauty. She carrics in her the seeds of English cities, with English laws to 
crown thein free. She carries with her the strong, deep, earnest music of the 
&nglish tongue—the music soon to be universal as the winds of heaven. What 
should fancy do in a London dock? All is so hard, material. positive. Yet 
there, amid the tangled ropes. fancy will behold---clustered like birds—poets and 
philosophers, history-men and story-inen, annalists and -legalists—English all 
—bound for the other side of the world. to rejoice it with their voices. Put 


g horr of Vietoria; sees them all gathered aloft, and with fine ear lists the rustling 
. their bays. mx 


ty 


198 CYCLOPEDIA OF 5 ifro. 1876.: 
Puns and Sayings of Jerrold. 


DoGmATIsM is the maturity of puppyism. 

UNREMITTING KINDNESS. —‘ Call that a kind man,’ said an actor, speaking of an 
absent acquaintance 5 ; ‘aman who is away from his family, and never sends them a 
farthing! Call that kindness!’ ‘ Yes, unremitting kindness,’ Jerrold replied. 

Tur Retort Direct.—Some member of ‘ Our Club,’ hearing an air mentioned, 
exclaimed: ‘That always carries me away when I hear it.’ ‘Can nobody whistle 


it?’ exclaimed Jerrold. 
AusTRALIA.—Earth is so kindly there that, tickle her with a hoe, and she laughs’ 


with a harvest. 

THe SHARP ATTORNEY.—A friend of an unfortunate lawyer met Jerrold, and 
sail: ‘Have you heard about poor R.——? His business is going to the devil. 7a 
JERROLD: ‘ That’s all right: then he is sure to get it back again,’ 

Tue Reason WHy.—One evening at the Museum Club a member very ostenta- 
tiously said in a loud voice: ‘ Isn’t it “strange ; we had no fish at the marquis’s last 
night? That has happened twice lately—l can’t account for it.’ ‘Nor JL’ replied 
Jerrold, ‘ unless they ate it all up-stairs.’ 

OSTENTATIOUS GRIEF. —Reading the pompous and fulsome inscription which 
Soyer the cook put on his wife’s tomb in Kensal Green Cemetery, Jerrold shook his 


head and said: ‘ Mock-furile.’ 

A Fiuiau Smite.—In a railway-carriage one day, a gentleman expatiated on the 
beauty of nature. Cows were grazing in the fields. ‘ In reading in the fields,’ said 
he, ‘sometimes a cow comes and bends its head over me. I look up benignantly at 
it.’ ‘ With a filial smile,’ rejoined Jerrold. 

Tur ANGLO-FRENCH ALLIANCE —A Frenchman said he was proud to see the 
English and French such good friends at last. JERRou~p: ‘Tut! the best thing I 
know between France and England is—the sea.’ 

TuE Scorcon.—Jerrold w as fond of girding at the Scotch jocularly. ‘ Every 
Scotchman hus a niche [an itch] iu the temple of Fame.’ Look at the antiquity of 
the paintings in Holyrood Palace! ‘Ay, and _you had the distemper before the oil- 
paintings.’ 3 

GILBERT ABBOT A BECKETT—MARK LEMON—SHIRLEY BROOKS— > 

TOM. TAYLOR. 


This cluster of genial wits and humorists—contributors to ‘ Punch, 
and all of them well known in general literature—attempted the. 
drama, and one of them (Mr. Tay lor) with continued and marked 
success. Mr. A Becxerr (1810-1856) delighted in puns and bur? 
lesque; he produced above thirty dram atic pieces, and wrote the 
-“Comic Blackstone’ and ‘ Comic Histories of England’ and ‘ Rome.’ 
He latterly filled the office of police magistrate—a man universally 
respected and beloved. 
Mark Lrmon (1809-1870) wrote a vast number of dramatic pieces 
—above fifty, it is said—but his highest honours were derived from 
his editorship of ‘Punch,’ a valuable weekly peri dical, witty with- 
out coarseness, and satirical without scurr ility—which he conducted - 
from its commencement, July 17, 1841, till his death. Mr. Lemon 
was author also of occasional poems. and prose sketches. ; 
CHARLES SHIRLEY Brooks (1815-1874) succeeded Mark Lemon as © 
editor of ‘Punch,’ to which he had for many years been a regular 
contributor.. Mr. Brooks was a native of London, studied for the 
law, and was articled to a solicitor (his uncle) at Oswestry: but he 
early adopted literature as a profession, He was engaged on the 
‘ Morning Chronicle,’ writing the parliamentary summary of that 


vs 7 


Pexooxs} © | ENGLISH LITERATURE... _ 199 


Bo. ‘ - * 
ee for five years. He also travelled in the south of Russia, Asia 
_ Minor, and Egypt as special commissioner for the ‘ Chronicle,’ investi- 
_gating the condition of the labouring classes; and part of the results 
_ of his journey was published under the title of ‘The Russians in the 
_ South.’ Mr. Brooks was author of several successful dramas and 
_of four novels—‘ Aspen Court,’ ‘The Gordian Knot,’ ‘The Silver 
Cord’ and ‘Sooner or Later.’ All these works are distinguished by 
-witty and sparkling dialogue, by variety of incident and knowledge 
of the world, especially of town life and character. We subjoin one 
short extract from ‘The Gordian Knot:’ 
ee : Portrait of Douglas Jerrold. 


+. Margaret found herself alone; but not being one of.the persons who find them- 
_ selves bores, and must always seek companionship, she sat down, and amused her- 
- 8elf with one of the new books on the table. And as the volume happened to bea 
» fresh and noble poem by a poetess who is unreasonable enough to demand that 
- those who would understand her magnificent lines shall bestow on them some little 
~ thonght in exchange for the great thought that has produced them (and then the 
_ Yreader is but like the scrubby Diomed giving his brass arms for the golden harness 
_ .0f splendid Sarpedon), Margaret’s earnest attention to Mrs. Browning rendered the’ 
__ reader unaware that another person had entered the room. 
_ His footfall was so light that her not hearing his approach was not surprising ; 
_ andas he stood for a minute or more watching her intelligent face_as it expressed 
__ the pleasure she felt as rose-leaf after rose-leaf of an involved and beautiful thought 
_ unfolded and expanded to her mind. Then, as she raised her eves, her half-formed 
smile changed to a look of surprise as she found herself confronted by a stranger ; 
and she coloured highly as that.look was returned by a pleasant glance and a- bow, 
respectful and yet playful, as the situation and the difference of age might warrant. 
— Before her stood a gentleman, considerably below the middle height, and in form 
_ delicate almost to fragility, but whose appearance was redeemed from aught of fee- 
4 bleness by a lion-like head, and features which, classically chiselled, told of a mental 
_ force and will rarely allotted, The hair, whose gray was almost whiteness, was long 
and luxuriant, and fell back from a noble forehead. The eye, set back under a bold 
strong brow, yet in itself somewhat prominent, was in repose, but its depths were 
those that, under excitement, light up to a glow. About the flexible mouth there 
lingered a smile, too gentle to be called mocking, but evidence of a humour ready at 
the slightest call—and yet the lips could frame themselves for stern or passionate ut- 
terances at need. The slight stoop was at first taken by Margaret for part of the 
‘a _bow with which the stranger had greeted her, but she perceived that it was habitual, 
i as the latter, resting his small white hands on the head of an ivory-handled cane, 
‘said in a cheerful and kindly voice, and with a nod at the book: ‘Fine diamonds 
__ ina fine casket there, are there not ?’ 
ae _ His tone was eyidently intended to put Margaret at her ease, and to make her for- 
get that she had been surprised; and his manner was so pleasant, and almost 
_- fatherly, that she felt herself in the presence of some one of a kindred nature to that 
_ Of her Uncle Cheriton. By a curious confusion of idea, to be.explained only by the 
sf suddenness of the introduction, Margaret seized the notion that her other uncle was 
4 before her. Iam sorry, however, to say that neither the poetess’s page nor the visi- 
aes ee pErace inspired her with a cleverer answer to his speech than a hesitating ‘O— 
ie. es, very. : E = 
= And abn she naturally expected to receive her relative’s greeting; but as she 
4 rose, the gentleman made a slight and courteous -gesture. which seemed to beg her 
se to sit, or do exactly what she liked, and she resumed her chair in perplexity. Her 
_ companion looked at her again with some interest, and his bright eye then fell upon 
 Bertha’s volume, which Margaret had laid on the table. 
- _*Ah,’ he said, pointing to. the word on the cover, ‘those five letters again in con- 
- Spiracy against the peace of mankind. They eught to be dispersed by a social police, 
_ Sut-may one look ?’-— ; 


a 


Deep,’ ‘The Ticket-of-Leave Max,’ ‘Victims,’ ‘An Unequal Match,’ 


= - 3 > ee ine 3 ; 
ON Bt eee Fe Reto a 
200 - | CYCLOPADIA GF Sarg: sae 


- = 


‘There is scarcely anything there,’ said Margaret, as he Dougan the book. : Only 
afew pages have been touched.’ 

‘Ah, I see,’ he said. . ‘Just a few songsivrs, as ine bird-catchers put some caved. - 
birds near the nets, to persuade the otis that the sifnation is eligible. But,’ he 
continued, turning on until he came to a drawing, ‘this is another ikind of thing. 2 
This is capital. ? It was a sketch by Margaret, and represented her cousin Latimer, 
in shooting-costnme, and gun in hand... At his feet lay a hare, victim of his skill. 
= vapital, >he re epeated. «*‘ Your own work?’ 7 

- Yes,’ said Margaret; ae likeness happeued to be thought fortunate, and so’ 

“Nc, no; you draw char mingly. Ili give you a motto for the picture. Shall I??_ 

‘Pleass. Tai glad of any contribution.’ 

Ye tu0k a pen and in a curious little hand wrote below the sketch: Se X 
And beauty draws us with a -ingle hare. ~ 


‘T shall not find any poetry of yours here.” 1e said. ‘You read Mrs. Brbwning, - 
and so you know better. What a treasure-u use of thought that woman is! Some — 
ot the boxes are locked, and you must tutu: he key with a will; but when you have 
opened, you are rich for life” - ie 

Tom TAYLor is said to have ntpaoesd about a hundred dramatic ‘ 
pieces, original and translated Many of these have been highly - 
successful, and in particular we may mention ‘Still Waters Run 


‘The Contested Election,’ ‘'The Overland Route,’ ‘”"T'wixt Axe-and ~ 
Crown,’ and ‘Joan of Are.’ ‘The two last mentioned are historical ~ 
dramas of a superior class, and to ‘Joan of Arc,’ Mrs. Tom Taylor ~ 
(nee Laura Barker, distinguishes. as a musical composer) contributed — 
an original overture and Gar ace, At the Literary Fund banquet, — 
London, in June 1878, Mr. Txylor said that, ‘while serving litera- 
ture as his mistress, he inde ser ed the state as his master—a jealous — 
one, like the law, if not so je*:ous—and while contributing largely 
to: literature grave and gay,-fy help of the invaluable three hours 
before breakfast, he had gives’ the daily labour of twenty-two of — 
his best years to the duties of « public office.’ In 1850 Mr. Taylors J 2 
was appointed Assistant-secretsy to the Board of Health ; and in — 
1854, on the reconstruction of that Board, he was made Secretary 3 
of the local Government Act Oi¥ce, a department of the Home Office — 
connected with the administration of the Sanitary Act of 1866. 
From this public employment he retired in 1872. Besides his 
dramatic pieces Mr. Taylor has been a steady contributor to ‘Punch,’ — 
and on the death of Shirley Brooks became editor of that journal. a 
He has added to our literature the ‘Autobiography of B. R. Hay- — 
don,’ 1858, compiled and edited from the journals of that unfortunate — 
ast also the ‘Autobiography and Correspondence of the late 
Cal; Leslie, R.A.,’ 1859 ; and the ‘Life and Times of Sir Joshua ~ 
Reynolds, > 1865—the last having been commenced by Leslie shortly — 
before his death, and left in a very incomplete state. Mr. Tayloris — 
a native of Sunderland, born in 1817; he studied at Glasgow Uni- — 
versity, and afterwards at Trinity College, Cambridge, of which he 
was elected a Fellow. He héld for two years the Professorship ofa 
_ English Literature at University College, London ; was called tothe — 
“bar of the Inner Temple in 1845, and went the northern circuit until 


= 
+= 
% 


_ MARSTON, J 
A p ws 
his appointment to the Board of Health in 1850. A rare combination 
of taste and talent, industry and private worth, has insured Mr. 
_ Taylor a happy and prosperous life, with the esteem and regard of 
all his literary and artistic contemporaries. 
aaa : WESTLAND MARSTON, ETC. 


' . There are numerous other dramatists: Mr. WESTLAND MARSTON 
~ {born at Boston, in Lincolnshire, in 1820) produced ‘The Patri- 
- cian’s Daughter,’-1841; ‘The Heart and the World,’ 1847; ‘Strath- 
> more,’a tragedy, 1849; &c.—Mr. Rosertr B. Brovew (born m 
_ tL ndon in 1828) has produced several burlesque and other dra- 
--inatic pieces.—In the list of modern draratists are Mr. PLANCHE, 
s Mr. Buckstonn, Mr. Oxenrorp, Mr. Leman Reps, Mr. Svuvt- 
» VAN, Mr. Strruinc Coyne, Mr. Epwarp Firzpauni, Mr, Dron 
~ BovucitcavutT, Mr. W. S. Gitpert, &c. The play-goers of the me- 
_ tropolis welcome these ‘ Cynthias of the minute,’ and are ever calling 
for new pieces, but few modern dramas can be said to have taken a 
__ permanent place in our literature. 


YW 


_) 
Zr Ut i pe Nair gh 5 
r i -F ST 
\ ‘eS 
d 
/ 


As NOVELISTS. 


a _ JAMES. FENIMORE COOPER, 
co This distinguished American novélist (1789-1851) has obtained great 


celebrity in England and over all Europe for his pictures of the sea, 
_ sea-life, and wild Indian scenery and manners. . His imagination is 
_— essentially poetical. He invests the ship with all the interest of a 
_ living being, and makes Nis readers follow its progress, and trace the 


ety. Of humour he has scarcely any perception ; and in delineating 
fs character and familiar incidents, he often betrays a great want of 
_ taste and knowledge of the world. ‘When he attempts to catch the 
_ ease of fashion,’ it has been truly said, ‘ he is singularly unsuccessful.’ 


*& 


_ was born at Burlington, New Jersey, son of Judge William Cooper. 
_ Afier studying at Yale College, he entered the navy asa midshipman; 
_and though he continued only six years a sailor, his nautical experi- 
- ence gave a character and colour to his after-life, and produced im- 
_ pressions of which the world has reaped the rich result. On bis mar- 
_ Ylage, in 1811, to a lady in the state of New York, Mr. Cooper left 
the navy. His jirst novel, ‘Precaution,’ was published anonymously 


youn 


e 


7 


_ ENGLISH LITERATURE. oS 2 OO 


_ operations of those on board, with intense and never-flagging anxt?- | 


_ He belongs, like Mrs. Radcliffe, to the romantic school of novelists— . 
especially to the sea, the heath, and the primeval forest. Mr. Cooper — 


* 


ms 


302 CYCLOPEDIA OF 7. Fro 1876 


a 


in 1819, and attracted little attention ; bus in 1821 appeared his story 


of ‘ The Spy,’ founded upon incidents connected with the American 


Revolution. This is a powerful and interesting romanee, and it was 


highly successful. 
waa’ ’ . . z 4 <Ty7 
‘The authcr’s fame was still more increased by his novels of *'The 
Pioneers’ and ‘The. Pilot,’ published in 1828; and these were suc- 
ceeded by a long train of fictions—‘ Lionel Lincoln,’ 1825; ‘The 


Last of the Mohicans,’ 1826; ‘The Red Rover’ and ‘ The Prairie,’ a 


1827; ‘Travelling Bachelor,’ 1828; ‘Wept of Wish-ton Wish,” 1829; 
“The Water Witch,’ 1830; ‘Bravo,’ 1831; ‘Heidenmauer,’ 1832; 
‘Headsman,’ 1833; ‘ Monikins,’ 1835; ‘Homeward Bound’ and 
‘Home as Found,’ 1888; ‘The Pathfinder’ and ‘ Mercedes of Cas- 


tile, 1840; ‘The Deerslayer,’ 1841; ‘ The Two Admirals’ and ‘ Wing ~ 


and Wing,’ 1842 ; ‘Ned Myers’ and * Wyandotte,’ 1843 ; ‘Afioat and 
Ashore’ and ‘Miles Wallingford,’ 1844; ‘The Chainbearer’ and 
‘Satanstoe,’ 1845 ; ‘The Redskins,’ 1846 ; ‘ Vhe Crater,’ 1847 ; ‘Jack 
Tier’ and ‘Oak Openings,’ 1848 ; ‘The Sea Lions,’ 1849 ; and ‘The 
Ways of the Hour,’ 1850, Of this numerous family of creations, 
the best are—‘The Spy,’ ‘The Pilot,’ ‘The Prairie, ‘The Last of 
the Mohicans,’ and ‘The Red Rover.’ In these his characteristic 
excellences—his noble marine painting and delineation of American 
scenery and character—are all combined. Besides his novels, Cooper 
wrote ten volumes of sketches of European travels, a ‘ History of 
the Navy of the United States,’ and various treatises on the institu- 
tions of America, in which a strong democratic spirit was manifested, 
In these he does not appear to advantage. -He seems to have cher- 
ished some of the worst prejudices of the Americans, and, in his 
zeal for republican institutions, to have forgotten the eandour and 
temper becoming an enlightened citizen of the world. In the 
department of fiction, however, Cooper has few superiors, and his 
_ countrymen may well glory in his name. He ‘emphatically belongs 
to the American nation,’ as Washington Irving has said, while his 
painting of nature under new and striking aspects, has given him a 
European fame that can never wholly die, 


A Virgin Wilderness—Lake Otsego. 


On-all sides, wherever the eye turned, nothing met if, but the mirror-like surface 


of the lake, the placid view of heaven, and the dense setting of woods. So richand 


fleecy were the outlines of the forest, that scarce an opening could be seen; the 


whole visisle earth, from the rounded mountain-top to the water’s edge, presenting 
one unvaried line of unbroken verdure. Asif vegetation were not satisfied with a 
triumph so complete, the trees overhung the lake itse'f, shooting out towards the 
light; and there were miles along its eastern shore where a boat might have pulled 
beneath the branches of dark Rembrandt-looking hemlocks, quivering aspens, and 
melancholy pines. In a word, the hand of man had never yet defaced or deformed 
any part of this native scene, which lay bathed in the sunlight, a giorious picture of 


effiuent forest grandeur, softened by the balminess of June, and relieved by the | 


beautiful variety afforded by the presence of so broad an expanse of water. ~ 


ae 


< 


¥ 


’ 


4 ee tr hn) 


a 


s 


\ 
we 


ENGLIST LITERATURE. 203 
Death of Long Tom Coffin. . 


Lifting his broad hands high into the air, his voice was heard in the tempest. 

6 Gad’s will be done with me,’ he cried: ‘I saw the first timber of the Arzel laid, and 

shail live just long enough to see it turn out of her bottom; after which I wish to 

live no ionger.’? But his shipmates were far beyond the sounds of his voice before 
these were half uttered. All command 0: the boat was rendered impossible, by the 
numbers it contained, as well asthe raging of the sarf; and as it rose on the white 

crest of a wave, Tom saw his beloved little craft for the last time. It fell into a 

trough of the sea. and in afew moments more its fragments were ground into 

splinters on the adjoining rocks. The cockswain [Tom] still remained where he had 

cast off the rope, and beheld the numerous heads and arms that appeared rising, at 

short intervals, on the waves, some making powerful and well-directed efforts to gain 

the gands, that were becoming visible as the tide fell, and others wildly tossed, in the 

frantic movements of helpless despair. The honest old seaman gave acry of joy as 
he saw Barnstable [the commander, whom ‘om had forced into the boat] issue from 
the surf, where one by one several seamen soon appeared also, dripping and ex- 
hansted. Many others of the crew were carried in asimilar n.ianner to places of. 
safety ; though, as ‘l’om returned to his seat on the bowsprit, he could not conceal 
from his reluctant eyes the lifeless forms that were, in other spots, driven against 
the rocks with 2 fury that soon left them but few of the outward vestiges of hu- 
munity. 

Dillon and the cockswain were now the sole occupants of their dreadful station. 

~The former stood ina kind of stup:d despair, a witness of the scene; but as his 
curdied blood began again to fiow more warmly to his heart, he crept close to the 
side of Tom, with that sort of selfish feeling that makes even hopeless misery more 
tolerable, when endured in participation with another. 

‘ When the tide falls,’ he said in a voice that betrayed the agony of fear, though 
his words expressed the renewal of hope, ‘ we shall be able to walk to land.’ 

‘There was One and only Oue to whose feet the waters were the same as a dry 
deci,’ returned the cockswain; ‘and none but such as have His power will ever be 
able to walk from these rocks to the sands.’ The old seaman paused, and turning 
-his eyes, which exhibited a mingled expression of disgust and compassion, on his 
companion, ie added with reverence: ‘Had you thonght more of Him in fair 
weather, your case would be less to be pitied in this tempest.’ 

‘Do you still think there is much danger?’ asked Dillon. 

*To them that have reason to fear death. Listen! Do you hear that hollow noise 
beneath ye ?’ 

~ **Tis the wind driving by the vessel !” 

‘*Tis the poor thing herself,’ said the affected cockswain, ‘ giving her last groans. 
The water is breaking up her decks; and in a few minutes more, the handsomest 
mode] that ever cut a wave will be like the chips that fell from her in framing 

‘Why then did you remain here?’ cried Dilion wildly. 

‘To die in my coffin, if it should be the will of God,’ returned Tom. ‘These 
Waves are to me what the land is to you; I was born on them, and I have always 
meant that they should be my grave.’ 

“ ‘ But I—I,’ shrieked Dilion, *I am not ready to die!—I cannot die !— I will not 
die! 

‘Poor wretch ;’? muttered his companion ; ‘you must go like the rest of us; when 
the deatli-watch is called, none can skulk from the muster.’ 
ican swim,’ Dillon continued, rushiug with frantic eagerness to the side of the 
wreck. ‘Is there no billet of wood, no rope, that I can take with me?’ 

‘None; everything has been cut away, or carried off by the sea. If ye are about 
to strive for your life, take with ye a stout heart and a clean conscience, and trust the 
rest to God.’ 

‘God!’ echoed Dillon, in the madness of his frenzy; ‘I know no God! there is no 

’ God that knows me” 

‘Peace! said the deep tones of the cockswain, in a voice that seemed to speak in 
the elements; ‘ blasphemer, peace 5 

The heayy groaning produced by the water in the timbers of the Arie/, at that 


_ _moment added its impulse to the raging feelings of Dillon, and he cast himself head- 


204 ‘CYCLOPHDIA OF — ~——[rro 1876 


long into the sea. The water thrown by the rolling of the surf on the beach was 


necessatily returned to the ocean, in eddies, in different places favourable to such an ~ 


action of the element. Into the edge of one of these counter-currents, that was 


produced by the very rocks on which tae schooner lay, and which the watermen Call ~ 


the ‘uuder-tow,’ Dillon bad unkuowingly thrown Its person; and when the waves 


bad driven hiura shore distance from tue wreck, he was met by a stream that his ~ 


most desp2rate elfovts could not overcome. He was alight aud powerful swimmer, 


and the struggle was hard aud protracted, With the suore immediately before his — 


eyes, and at no great distance, ne was ted as by a false phantom, to continue his 
efforts, although they did wot advance him a foot. ‘The old seaman, who at first had 
watched his motions with careless indifference, understood the danger of his situa- 
tion at a glance, and, forgetful of his own fate, he shouted aloud, in a voice that was 
driven over the struggling victim to the ears of his shipmates ou the sands: ‘Sheer 
to port, and clear the under-tow! Sheer to the southward ! ‘ 

Dilion heard the sounds, but his faculties were too much obscured by terror to 
distiuguish their object; he, however, blindly yielded to the call, and: gradually 


changed his direction until his face was Once more turned towards the vessel. ‘l’om > 


Jookeil around hiin for a rope, but all had gone over with the spars, or been swept 
away by the waves, At this moment of disappointment, his eyes met those of the 
desp2rate Dillon. Calm and inured to horrors as was the veteran seaman, he invol- 
untatily passed his hand before his brow to exclude the look of despair he encoun- 
tered ; and when, a moment afterwards, he removed the rigid member, he beheld the 
sinking fori of the victim as it gradually settled in the ocean, still struggling with 


regular but impotent strokes of the arms and feet to vain the wreck, and to preserve |= 


an existeuce that had been so much abused in its hour of allotted probation... * He 
will soon meet his God. and learn that his God knows him!’ murmured the cock 
swain to himself. As he yet spoke, the wreck of the Aried yicided to an overwhelin- 
ing sea, and after a universal shudder, her timbers and piunks gave way, and were 


swept towards the clitfs, bearing the body of the simple-hearted cockswain among - 


the rains. 
RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM. 


The Rev. Rrowarp Harris Barwa (1788-1845), under the name 


of Thomas Ingoldsby, contributed to ‘ Bentley’s Miscellany’ a series 
of papers, ‘The Ingoldsby Legends,’ which were afterwards collected 
into volumes, and went through several editions. To the third series - 
(1847) was prefixed a life of the-author by his son. Mr. Barham also 


wrote a novel, ‘ My Cousin Nicholas.’ The Ingoldsby papers, prose ~ 


. 


. 


and verse, contain sallies of quaint humour,-classic travesties and 
illustrations, droll rhymes, banter and irony, with a sprinkling of — 


ghost stories and medieval legends. The intimate friend of Theodore — 


Hook, Mr. Barham had something of Hook’s manner, with a love of ~ 


punning and pleasantry as irrepressible as that of Hood, though ac- 


companied with less literary power. Few of the readers of ‘ Ingolds- - 


by,’ unless moving in a certain circle, imagined that their author was — 


a dignitary of the Church, a minor canon of St. Paul's, a rector and 
less than witty and agreeable man. : 


CAPTAIN FREDERIC MARRYAT. 


This popular naval writer—the best painter of sea characters since 
Smoiiett—commenced what proved to be a busy and highly success- ~ 


ful literary career in 1829, by the publication of ‘The Naval Officer,’ 


> 


y 


royal chaplain. Heappears to have been a learned and amiable, no~ ~ 


<i 


~ 


a 

33 
ix 
Z 
z 


a nautical tale ia three volumes, This work partook too strongly of 


ine 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 209 


» the free spirit of the sailor, but amidst its occasional vic1ations of 
_taste and decorum, there was a rough racy humour «and dramatic 
- liveliness that atoned for many faults. in the following year, the 
captain was ready with other three volumes, more cavefully finished, 
and. presenting a well-compacted story _ entitled ‘ The King’s Own 
- Though occasionally a littie awkward on la and, Captain Marryat was 
at home on the sea; and whether serious or comic—whether deline- 
a ating a captain, midshipman or common tar, or even a carpenter— 
che evinced a minute practical acquaintance with all on board ship, 
‘ pad with every variety of nautical character. ‘Newton Foster, or 
_the Merchant Service,’ 1832, was Marryat’s next work, and is a tale 
of various and sustained interest. It wus s surpassed, however, by its 
~ immediate successor, ‘Peter Sinn vie,’ ths most amusing of all the 
a : 
> author’s works. His naval commander, Captain, Savage, Chucks 
~ the boatswain, O’Brien the Irish licutenant, and Muddle the car- 
. ~ penter, are excellent individual portraits—as distinct and life-like as 
- Tom Bowling, Hatchway, or Pipes. Thescenes in the West Indies 
- display the higher powers of the novelist; and the escape from the 
rich prison interests us almost as deeply as the similar efforts of 
“Caleb Williams. 
om Continuing his nautical scenes and portraits—Captain Marryat 
< wrote about. thirty volumes—as ‘Jacob Faithful’ (one of his best 
reo uctions), ‘The Phantom Ship,’ ‘Midshipman Easy,’ ‘ The- 
- Pacha of Many Tales,’ ‘Japhet in Search of a Father,’ ‘'The Pirate 
and the Three Cutters,’ ‘Poor Jack,’ ‘Joseph Rushbrook the Poach- 
er, ‘Masterman Ready,’-&c. In the hasty production of so many 
$ volumes, the quality could. not always be equal. The nautical hu- 
~ mour and racy dialogue could not always be produced at will, of a 
* new and different stamp at each successive effort. Such, however, 
2 was the fertile fancy and active observation of the author, and his 
ie Basely powers of amusing and describing, that he has fewer repeti- 
tions and less tediousness than almost any other writer equally volu- 

Minous. His next novel, ‘Percival Keene,’ 1842, betrayed no fall- 
: ing-off, but, on the contr ary, is one of the most vigorous and interest- 
_ ing of his ‘sea cha unges.’ In 1843 he published a ‘ Narrative of. the 
sat Travels and Adventures of Monsieur Violet,’ in which fact and fiction 
are blended with little artistic skill, and which -was proved to be 
_ chiefly a compilation. Two other works of mediocre character fol- 
= lowed—‘ The Settlers in Canada,’ 1844, and ‘The Mission, or.Scenes 
_ in Africa,’ 1845.. In 1846 he regained something of his old nautical 

_ animation in ‘The Privateersman One Hundred Years Ago.’ 

Captain Marryat made a trip to America in 1837, the result of 
Which he gave to the world in 1839 in three volumes, entitled ‘A 
‘Diary in Ameri ica, with Remarks on its Institutions.’ This was fly- 
om ing at higher game than he had previousiy brought down; but the 
“real value of these volumes consists in their resemblance to parts of 
his novels—in humorous caricature and anecdote, shrowd observa- 


806 CYCLOPADIA OF “<4 fro 1846, 


tion, and lively or striking description. His account of the Ameri- 
can navy is valuable; and so practical and sagacious an observer 
could not visit the schools, prisons, and other public institutions of 
the New World wivhout throwing out valuable reflections, and noting 
what is superior or defective. He was no admirer of the democratic 
government of America; indeed, his ‘ Diary’ is as unfavourable to 
the national character as the sketches of Mrs. Trollope or Captain 
Hall. But it is in relating traits of manners, peculiarities of speech, 
and other singular or ludicrous characteristics of the Americans, that 
Captain Marryat excelled. These are as rich as his fictitious delinea- 
tions, and, like them, probably owe a good deal to the suggestive 
fancy and love of drollery proper to the novelist. The success of 
this ‘ Diary’ induced the author to add three additional volumes to it 
in the following year, but the continuation is greatly inferior. 

The life of this busy novelist terminated, after a long and painful 
illness, at Langham, in Norfolk, August 9 1848. Captain Marryat 
was the second son of Joseph Marryat, Esq., M. P., of Wimbledon » 
House, Surrey, and was born in the year 1792. He entered the navy 
at an early age, and was a midshipman on board the Jmperieuse when 
that ship was engaged as part of Lord Cochrane’s squadron in sup- 
porting the Catalonians against the French. On board the Linpericuse 
young Marryat was concerned in no less than fifty engagements. — 
After one of these, an officer, who had an aversion to the youth, see- 
ing him laid out, as if dead, among his fallen comrades, exclaimed: 
‘Here’s a young cock who has done crowing. Well, for a wonder, — 
this chap has cheated the gallows!’ Marryat faintly raising his head, 
exclaimed: ‘ You’re a liar!’ Afterwards the ‘chap’ served in the 
attack on the French fleet in Aix Roads and in the Walcheren ex- ~ 
pedition. In 1814, as heutenant of the Wewcastle, he cut out four 
vessels in Boston Bay, an exploit of great difficulty and daring. 
During the Burmese war, he commanded the Larne, and was for 
some time senior officer on the station. His services were rewarded 
by professional promotion and honours. He was a Companion of 
the Bath, a Knight of the Hanoverian Guelphie Order, an officer of © 
the Legion of Honour, &c. The latter years of the novelist were 
spent in the pleasant but not profitable occupations of a country 
gentleman. His receipts from farming, in one year, were £164, 2s. 
9d.; his expenditure, £1637, 0s. 6d.! He spent large sums on his 
place in Norfolk. At one time, we are told, he hada hobby for mak- — 
ing a decoy ; he flooded some hundred acres of his best grazing- 
ground, got his decoy into full working order, so as to send some 
five thousand birds yearly to the London market, and then—drained 
it again. In February 1848, Captain Marryat received intelligence 
of the death of his son, lieutenant on board the Avenger steam-frigate, — 
Which was lost on the rocks off Galita. This bereavement tended to 
hasten the death of the able and accomplished novelist. In 1872, 


7 


aNUy pe me 


= ‘ A 
~~ = 


f ec 


PMARRYAT.) © ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 207 


‘The Life and Letters of Captain “Marryat’ were published by his 
- daughter, Mrs. Ross Church. 


A Prudent Sea Captain—Abduse of Ship’s Stores.—From ‘ The King’s - 
gt . : . Own,’ : 


‘Well, Mr. Cheeks, what are the carpenters about 2?’ ; 

4 ‘Weston and Smaljbridge are going on with the chairs—the whole of them will be 

- finished to-morrow.’ 

__ * Well?’—‘ Smith is about the chest of drawers, to matth the one in my Lady 
~ Capperbar’s bedroom.’ ; 

- ‘Very good. And whatis Hilton abont ?’—‘ He has finished the spare leaf of the 
 dining-table, sir; he is now about a little job for the second iieutenant.’ 

_ +A job for the second lieutenant, sir! How often have I told you, Mr. Cheeks, 
_ that the carpenters are not to be employed, except on ship’s duty, without my special 
; a eon Y—‘ His standing bed-place is broken, sir; he is only getting out a chock 
y Yor two. : 

‘Mr. Cheeks, you have disobeyed my most positive orders. By the by, sir, I un- 
~ derstand you were not sober last night.’—‘ Please your honour,’ replied the carpenter, 
‘J wasn’t drunk—I was ouly a little fresh.’ 

ee ‘Take you care, Mr. Cheeks. Well, now, what are the rest of your crew about ?— 
~ ‘Why, Thomson and Waters are cutting out the pales for the garden out of the jib- 
boom; I’ve saved the hec! to return.’ 

- ‘Very well; but there won’t be enough, will there?’ 

*No, sir; it will take.a hand-mast to finish the whole.’ 

*Then we must expend one when we go out again. We can carry away a top- 
* mast, and make a new one out of the hand-mast at sea. In the meantime, if the 
_ Sawyers have nothing to do, they may as well cut the palings at once. And now, let 
_ me see—oh, the painters niust go on shore to finish the attics.’. ; 
 _ * Yes, sir; but my Lady Capperbar wishes the jealowsees to be painted vermilion ; 
_ she says it will look more rural..—' Mrs. Capperbar ought to know enough about 
_ ship’sstores by this time to be aware that we are only allowed three colours. She 
' may choose or mix them as she pleases; but as for going to the expense of buying 
paint, I can’t afford it. What are the rest of the men about ?’—‘ Repairing the se- 
cond cutter, and making a new mast for the pinnace.’ 

i ‘By the by—that puts me in mind. of it—have you expended any boat’s masts 2” 

_ -—‘ Only the one earried away, sir.’ 

_ _ ‘Then you must expend two more. Mrs. C. has just sent me off a list of a few 
_ things that she wishes“made while we are at anchor, and I see two poles for 
_ ¢lothes-lines. Saw off the Sheave-holes, and put two pegs through at right angles— 
~ you know how I mean ? 

_ ‘Yes, sir. What amTI to do, sir, about the cucumber frame? My Lady Capper- 
-. bar says she must have it, and [ haven’t glass enough. ‘They grumbled at the yard 
last time.’— Mrs. C. must wait a little. What are the armourers about?’ 

_ __-* They have been so busy with your work, sir, that the arms are in a very bad 
E. _ condition. The first lieutenant said yesterday that they were a disgrace to the ship.’ 
__. ‘ Who dares say that ?’—‘ The first lieutenant, sir.’ : 


x 


___. ‘Well, then, let them rub up the arms, and let me know when they are done, and 
_ we'll get the forge up.’ 
‘The armourer has made six rakes and_six hoes, and the two little hoes for the 


_ Children ; but he says that he can’t make a spade.’ 

_ _ ‘Then Vl take his warrant away, by heavens! since he does not know his duty. 
_ What will do, Mr. Cheeks. I shall overlook your being in liquor this time; but take 
_ care. . Send the boatswain to me.’ 


eS CAPTAINS GLASSCOCK AND CHAMIER—MR. HOWARD—M, scoTT— 


aes - J. HANNAY. 


ae A few other authors have, like Captain Marryat, presented us 
_ With good pictures of maritime life and adventures. ‘The Naval 


ES fal 
sl tinh - 


: ; : . AW 2 Po ae et ae 
: OS LOSS eee re 
DOSS eS SC¥CLOPASDIA*OF ¢ Fi. ee pmo. 1870; 8 


Sketch-Book,’ 1828; ‘Sailors and Saints,’ 1829; ‘Tales of a Tar,’ 
1880; ‘Land Sharks and Sea Gulls,’ 1838; and other works, by Car: 
TAIN GLASSCOCK, R._N., are all gentine tales of the sea, and display. _ 
& hearty comic humour and rich phraseology, with as cordial a con- 
tempt for regularity of plot. _ Captain Glasscock died in 1847, He 
was one of the inspectors under the Poor Relief Act in Ireland, and ~ 
in that capacity, as well as in his naval character, was distinguished 
by energy and ability.—‘ Rattlin the Reefer,’ and ‘Outward Bound, 
or a Iferchant’s Adventures,’ by Mr. Howanrp, are better managed 
as to fable—particularly ‘Outward Bound,’ which is a well-con- ~ 
structed tale—but have not the same breath of humour as Captain ~ 
Glasscock’s novels.—‘ The Life of a Sailor’ and ‘Ben Brace,’ by 
CAPTAIN CHAMIER, are excellent works of the same class, replete —_ 
with nature, observation, aud humour.—‘Tom Cringle’s Log,’ by ~ 
Micnaren Scorr, and ‘The Cruise of the Midge’—both originally 
published in ‘ Blackwood’s Magazine ’—are also veritable productions 
of the sea—a little coarse, but spirited, and shewing us ‘things as _ 
they are.’ Mr. Scott, who was a native of Glasgow, spent a consid- 
_erable part of his life—from 1806 to 1822—in a mercantile situation — 
sat Kingston, in Jamaica. Ue settled in_his native city as a mer- 
chant, and died there in 1885, aged forty-six.—Mr. JAMps HANNAY 
also added to our nautical sketches. He may, however, be charac- - 
terised as a critical and miscellaneous writer of scholastic taste and 
acquirements. Mr. Hannay was a native of Dumfries, a cadet of 
an old Galloway family, and was born in 1827. He served in the 
_ navy for five years—from 1840 to 1845, and was afterwards engaged 
in literature, writing in various periodicals—including the ‘Quarterly ~ 
and Westminster Reviews,’ the ‘ Athenseum,’ &c.—and he published 
the following works: ‘Biscuits and Grog,’ ‘The Claret-Cup,’ and 
‘Hearts are Trumps,’ 1848; ‘King Dobbs,’ 1849; ‘Singleton Fonte- 
noy, 1850; ‘Sketches in Ultramarine,’ 1858; ‘Satire and Satirists,’ a 
series of six lectures, 1854; ‘ Eustace Conyers,’ a novel in three vo- 
lumes, 1855; &c. Mr. Hannay died at Barcelona (where he resided 
as British consul), January 8, 1873, in the forty-sixth year of his age. 
We subjoin from ‘ Eustace Conyers’ a passage descriptive of . 


Nights at. Sea. , 


Eustace went owdeck. A dark night had come on by this time. The ship was 
tranquilly moving along with a fair wind. Few figures were moving on deck. ‘The 
officer of the wetch stood on the poop. The man at the wheel and quarter-master 


4 


_- stood in silence before the binnacle 3 inside which, in a bright spot of light, which 


contrasted strongly with the darkness outside, lay the compass, with its round elo- ~~ 
quent face, full of meaning and expression to the nauticaleye. ‘The men of the | 
watch were lying in black heaps, in their sea-jatkets, along both sides of the ship’s 
waist.- Nothing could be stiller than the whole scene. Eustace scarcely heard the 
ripple of the ship’s motion, till he leant over the gangway, and looked ont on thesea, 
Nights like these make aman meditative ; and sailors are more serious than js gen- 
erally supposed ; being serious just, as they are gay, because they give themselves up. 
to natural impressions more readily than other people. At this moment, the least 
conventional men now living are probably afloat. If you would know how your an- 


— eR we 


LS As 


~ GLASSCOCK.) | 
NS Sere ora 


‘es 


nae 
“— 


Ipust co and have a cruise on salt water, for the sea’s businessis to keep the earth 
fresh : and it preserves character as it preserves meat, Our Frocley Foxes and Pearl 
“studdses are exceptions; the results of changed times, which have brought the navy 
nto closer relation with the shore than it was mold days; and sprinkled .t with tho 
Genizens of other regions, - Our object is toshew how-the character of the sailor born 
is afrected by contact with the results ofsmodern ages. . Can we retdin the spirit of 
Benbow minus that pigtail to which clegant gentlemen have a. natural objection ? 
Can we.be at onc polished, yct free from: what the newspapers call ‘jnvenile extrav- 
#eance?’ Such i; owr ambition for Itustacc. Still, we know that Pearl Stucds 
> would go into action as checrfuly as eny en. and fears less any foo’s face than the 
~» banner of Levy, and we musi do him no injustice. 

‘Such nights, then, Eustace already felt as fruitfel in thought. If he had been 
-- pining for a little more activity, if he had drooped under the influence of particular 
- kinds of talk, a qniet muse-on deck refreshed him. The sca regains all its natural 


ss grand old familiar majesty you forget trouble. and care little for wit. Hence, the 
talk of the middle watch, which occupies the very heart of the night. from twelve to 
_ four. in the most serious, the deepest, the tenderest, the most confidential of the 
_ twenty-four hours; and by keeping the micde with a man, you Jearn him more inti- 
_ mately than you would in any other way.. Even Studds in the middle watch. at Jeast 
_ after the ‘ watch-stock.’ or refreshment. was disposed of. grew a somewhat different 
~ man. ~A certain epicnrean melancholy came over the spirit of Studds. like moonlight 
- falling ona banquet-tablé after the lamps are out! ‘By Jove. sir.’ he would sigh, 
~ Speaking of the hollowness of life generally; and was even heard to give tender re- 
> Mminiscences of one ‘ Eleanor.’ whose fortune would probably have pleased him as 
- mnuch as her beauty, had not both been transferred in matrimony to the possession 
_ of x Major Jones, : ere ‘Ss 


_ . Hannay was very profuse, and often very happy, in similes, a few 
- of which we subjoin. ; 


Repti ts Detached Simitles. 


Many a hich spirit, which danger, and hardship, and abgénce from home could 
never turn from its aims, has shrunk from the chill thrown on its romantic enthusi- 
asm. ‘The ruder the hand, the more readily it brnshes away the fine and delicate 
_bioom from ige grape. And the bloom of character is that ight enthusiasm which 
~~ makes men love their work for the beauty in it—which is the essence of excellence 
= inevery-pursuit carried on in this world. 
|, ¥romné/ admirari to worldly ambition is only a short step. Itis an exchange of 
a passive selfishness for active selfishness—that’s all. Z 
»» how that-chanees! But for regular consistency, there’s nothing koa broomstick ; 
». for-it never puts out a fresh leaf. 5; 

Theré were signs of cnergy about the boy. which on a small scale predicted 
_ power. Mr. Conyers studied them, as Watt studied the hissing of a tea-kettle, de- 
 gseryine far off the steam-cngine. 


cs 


_ tions of me~kind? A ship goes along so merrily with a trade-wind. 

4 A party is like a mermaid; the head and face may cuchant-and attract you. and 
- “ed in a moment you shall be frightened off by a wag of the cold, scaly, and slimy 
Srabails 

' ~~ (Of Sir W. Scott.) We Co nct hear s0 much of himas his contemporaries did, of 
' eour es but jnst-as we don’t have any longer yesterday’s rain, which is the life of 
__ to-dav’s vegetation. 

© (Of Thackerary’s poetical vein.) He was not essentially poetical, as Tennyson, 
. for instance, is. Poetry was not the predominant mood of his mind, or the 
_ dntellectual law by which the objects of his thought and observations were arranged 
- and classified. But inside his fine sagacious common-sense understanding. there 
__was, so to speak, a pool of poctry—like the ampluvium in the hall of a Roman house, 


ne 
= 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. > 209 


cestors looked and talked, before towns became Babylonish, or trade despotic, you 


ee ihe over the spirit, when the human life of the ship ishushed. In the‘presence of 
Tt 


Consistency.—There may be consistency and yct change. Look ata growine tree,’ 


> ~ Could he place him but safely under the influence of one of the leading ambi- © 


>. 


210 CYCLOPEDIA OF 


2 [To 1876, 


which gave an air of coolness, and freshness, and nature, to the solid marble columns 
aud tesselated floor. . x; 


‘ 


MRS. CATHERINE GRACE FRANCES GORE. - : 
This lady (1799-1861) was a clever and prolific writer of tales and 
fashionable novels. Her first work, ‘Theresa Marchmont,’ ‘was 
published in 1823; her next was a small volume containing two tales, 
‘The Lettre de Cachet’ and ‘The Reign of Terror,’ 1827. One of 
these relates to the times of Louis XIY., and the other to the French 
Revolution. They are both imteresting, graceful tales—superior, we. 
think, to. some of the more elaborate and extensive fictions of the 
authoress. A series of ‘Hungarian Tales’ succeeded. In 1830 ap~ 
peared ‘Women as they Are, or the Manners of the Day,’ three 
volumes—an easy, sparkling narrative, with correct pictures of 
modern society; much lady-like writing on dress and fashion ; and 
some rather misplaced derision or contempt for ‘excellent wives’ and 
‘good sort of men? This novel soon went through a second edition; 
and Mrs. Gore continued the same style of fashionable portraiture. 
In 1831, she issued “Mothers and Daughters, a Tale of the Year 1830. 
Here the manners of gay life—balls, dinners, and fétes—with clever — 
sketches of character and amusiag dialogues, make up the customary 
three volumes. The same year we find Mrs. Gore compiling a series 
of narratives for youth, entitled ‘The Historical Traveller.”. In 1832 
she came forward with ‘The Fair of May Fair,’ a series of fashion- 
able tales, that were not so well received. The critics hinted that 
Mrs. Gore had exhausted her stock of observation; and we believe 
she went to reside in France, where she continued some years. Her 
next tale was entitfed ‘ Mrs. Armytage,’ which.appeared in 1836; and 
in the following year came out ‘Mary Raymond’ and ‘ Memoirs of 
a Peeress.’ In 1838, ‘The Diary of a Desennuyee,’‘The Woman 
of the World,’ ‘ The Heir of Selwood,’ and ‘ The Book of Roses, or 
Rose-fancier’s Manual,’ a delightful little work on the history of the 
rose, its propagation and culture. France is celebrated for its rich 
varieties of the queen of flowers, and Mrs. Gore availed herself of 
the taste and experience of the French floriculturists. Mrs. Gore 
long continued to furnish one or two novels a year. She had seen 
much of the world both at home and abroad, and was never at a loss 
for character or incident. The worst of her works must be pro- — 
nounced clever. Their chief value consists in their lively caustic 
pictures of fashionable and high society. Besides her long array of 
regular novels, Mrs. Gore contributed short tales and sketches to the 
periodicals, and was perhaps unparalleled for fertility. All her 
works were welcome to the circulating libraries. They are mostly 
of the same class—all pictures of existing life and manners; but the 
want of genuine feeling, of passion and simplicity, in her living 
models, and the endless frivolities of their occupations and pursuits, 
make us sometimes take leave of Mrs. Gore’s fashionable triflers in 
the temper with which Goldsmith parted from Beau Tibbs—*The 


fue eee io = ~ 


“ENGLISH LITERATURE... .-° . ‘11 


ee! ; ¢ 
* company of fools may at first make us smile, but at last never fails 
of rendering us melancholy.’ 

_ Mrs. Gore waSa native ot East Retford, Nottinghamshire, daughter 
- of Mr. Moody, a wine-merchant of that town. In 1823 she was 
' married to Captain C. A. Gore, by whom she had two children, a 
son and daughter; the latter married, in 1858, to Lord Edward 
 Thynne. : 
Character of a Prudent Worldly Lady.—From ‘Women as they Are.’ 


Lady Lilfield was a thoroughly worldly woman—a worthy scion of the Mordaunt 
_ stock. She had professedly accepted the hand of Sir Rebert because a connection 
with him was the best that happened to present itself in the first year of her débui— 
' the‘best match’ to be had at a season’s warning! She knew that she had been 
brought out with the view to dancing at a certain number of balis, refusing a certain 
numberof good offers, and accepting a better one, somewhere between the months 
- of January and June; and she regarded it as a propitious dispensation of Providence 
_ to her parents and to herself, that the comparative proved a superlative—even a high- 
sheriff of the county, a baronet of respectable date, with teu thousand a year! She 
F felt that her duty towards herself necessitated an immediate acceptance of the dullest 
 *good sort of man’ extant throughout the three kingdoms; and the whole routine of 
her after-life was regulated by the same rigid’ code of moral selfishness. She was 
peed with a most exact sense of what was due to her position in the world; 

ut she was equally precise in her appreciation of all that, in her turn, she owed to 
society ; nor, trom-lLer youth upwards— 


. Content to dwell in decencies for ever— 


had she been detected in the slightest infraction of these minor social duties. She 
knew with the utmost accuracy of domestic arithmetic—to the fraction of a course 
or an entrée—the number of dinners which Beech Park was indebted to its neigh- 
_ bourhood—the complement of laundry-maids indispensable to the maintenance of its 
-_ county dignity—the aggregate of pines by which it must_retain its horticultural pre- 
4 cedence. She had never retarded by a day or an hour the arrival of the family-coach 
in Grosvenor Square at the exact moment creditable to Sir Robert’s senatorial pune- 
_tnality ; nor procrastinated by half a second the simultaneous bobs of her ostenta- 
tious Sunday school, as she sailed majestically along the aisle towards her tall, stately, 
ig ee squire-archical pew. ‘True to the execution of her tasks—and her whole 
__ life was but one laborious task—true and exact as the great bell of the Beech Park 
_ turret-clock, she was enchanted with the monotonous music of her own cold iron 
_ tongue; proclaiming herself the best of wives and mothers, because Sir Robert’s 
 rent-roll couid afford to command the services of a first-rate steward, and butler, and 
housekeeper, and thus insure a well-ordered household ; and because her seven sub- 
stantial children were duly drilled through a daily portion of rice-pudding and spell- 
: ~_ ing-book, and an annual distribution of mumps and measles ! All went well at Beech 
~ Park; for Lady Lilfield was ‘the excellent wife’ of ‘a good sort of man?’ 
~ — So bright an example of domestic merit—and what country neighbourhood cannot 


Ys 


¥ 


; eS 

boast of its duplicate ?—was naturally superior to seeking its pleasures in the vapid and. 
_ varying novelties of modern fashion. ‘The habits of Beech Park still affected the 
_ dignified and primeval purity of the departed century. Lady Lilfield remained true 
_ to her annual eight rural months of the county of Durham; against whose claims 
' Kemp.Town pleaded, and Spa and Baden bubbled in vain. During her pastoral se- ~ 
_ clusion, by a carefuldistribution of her stores of gossiping, she contrived to prose, 
~ in undetected tautology, to successive detachments of an extensive neighbourhood, 
- concernisg her London importance—her court dress —her dinner parties—and her re- 
_ ‘fusal to visit the Duchess of --—; while, during the reign of her London importance, 
_ she made it equally her duty to bore her select visiting list with the history of the 
: “new Beech Park school-house—of the Beech Park double dahlias—and of the Beech 
__ Park privilege of uniting, in an aristocratic dinner-party, the abhorrent heads of the 
 rivul political factions—the Bianchi e Neri—the houses of Montague and Capulet of 
~ the county palatine of Durham. By such minute sections of the wide chapter of col- 
> loquial boredom. Lady Lilifield acquired the character of being a very charming 


is ~ * ~ - = at ran 
* : = ; al Z A 


p19 CyCLORADIA-OR= oa 


~ ~ 


woman throughout her respectable clan of dinner-giving baronets and their wives; 
but the reputation of a very miracle of prosiness aniong those _ . 

Men ofthe world who know the world like men., 
She was but a weed in the nobler field of society. 


Heclusive London Life. 


A squirrel in a cage, which pursucs its monotonous round from summcr to sume 
mer, as though it had forgotten the gay green-wood and glorious air of libctty, is 
not condemncd to a more wonotonous cxistence thaw the fashionable world in the 
unvarylng ronune of its amusements; xand when a London beauty expands into 

_ecstasies couccrning the delights of London to some country neighbour on a foggy 
auilunu cay, vaguely alluding to the ‘countless’ pleasures and ‘diversificd’ 
auiusements Of Londen, the country neighbour may be assured that the truth is not 
inher, Nothing can be more mimutely monotonous than the recreations of the 
really fashionavic; monotony being, in fact, essential to that distinction. Tigers 
muy amuse themselves in a thousand irregular diverting ways ; “but the career of a 
gcnulue exclusive is one to which a miil-horse would scarcely look for relief. — 
London houses, London establishments, are formed after the same unvarying model. 
At the fifty or sixty balls to which she is to be indebted for the excitement of her 
season, the fine lady listens to the same band, is refreshed from.a buffet prepared by 
the same skill, looks at the same diamonds, hears the same trivial observations; and but 
for au incident or two, the growth of her own fellies, night find it difficult t- point ont_ 
the slichte st difference between the féte of the countess on the first of June and thut of 
the marquis on the first of July. But though twenty seasons’ experience of these dego- 
luting facts might be expected to damp the odour of certain dowagers and dandies who ~ 
are to be found hurrying along the golden railroad year after ycur, it is not wonderful 

. that the young girls their daughters should be easily allurcd from their dull school- ~ 
roous by fallacious promises of. pleasure. 


MRS. FRANCES TROLLOPE, 


Another keen observer and caustic delineator of modern manners, 
Mrs. Frances TROLLOPE, was the authoress of a long series of - 
fictions. . This lady had nearly reached her fiftieth year before she 
entered on that literary career which proved so prolific and distin- ' 
guished. She first came before the public in 1882, when her 
“Domestic Manners of the Americans’ appeared, and excited great 
attention. The work was the result of three years’ residence and — 
travels in the United States, commencing in 1829. Previous to this 
period, Mrs. Trollope had resided at Harrow. ‘She drew so severe 
a picture of American faults and foibles—of their want of delicacy, 
their affectations, drinking, coarse selfishness, and ridiculous pecu- 
liarities—that the whole nation was incensed at their English — 
satirist. There is much exaggeration in Mrs. Trollope’s sketches ; 
but having truth for their foundation, her book is supposed to 
have had some effect_in reforming the ‘minor morals’ and social 
‘habits of the Americans...The same year our authoress continued ~ 
her satiric portraits, in a novel entitled ‘The Refugee in America,’ 
marked ‘by the same traits as, her former work, but exhibiting litile - 
art or talent in the construction of a fable. Mrs, Trollope now tried ~ 
new ground. In 1883, she published,‘ The Abbess,’ a novel ; and in 
the following year, ‘Belgium and Western Germany in 1888,’ coun. 
tries where she found much more to gratify and interest her than in ~ 
America, and where she travelled in generally good-humour, The 


7 


7 


, A Se eine Be Si A id BP ~ y _ ¢ “~ 
4 Peo ee ar LS ae Saag ter OFSa 3 é 
c_ i *- 


OLLOPE.] _ ENGLISH LITERATURE, Seale OS. 


- only serious oa phuket Mrs. Trollope seems to have encountered in 

“Germany was the  tobacco-smoke, which ‘she vituperates with 
~unweariled perseveranec. 2 

‘In 1836’ she renewed her war with the Amerfe ans in ‘The Aaven- 
fures of Jonathan Jefferson Whitlaw,’ a tale in -which she power. 
fully depicts the miseries of the black and coloured population of the 
een, States.’ In this year, also, she published ‘Paris and: the 
- Parisians in 1835. In 1887 appeared the ‘Vicar of Wrexhill.’ her 
*best novel, an able and interesting work, full of prejudices, but con- 
J ‘taining some excellent painting | ‘of manners and eccentricities. In 
_ -1838 our authoress appeared again as a traveller: ‘ Vienna and the 
_ Austrians’ was of the same cast as ‘ Belgium and Germany,’ but more 
E ‘deformed by predjudice. Between 1838 and 1843, Mrs. Trollope 
threw off seven or eight novels, and an account of a ¢ Visit to Italy.’ 
~ ‘The smart caustic style of our authoress was not so well adapted to’ 
the classic scenes, manners and antiquities of Italy, as.to the broader 
features of ‘American life and character, and this work was not so 
-successful.as her previous publications. Returning to fiction, we find 
Mrs. Trollope, as usual, abounding. ‘Three novels, of three volumes 
each, were the produce ‘of 1843—< ‘Hargrave,’ Jessie Phillips, and the 
-* Laurringtons.’ The first is asketch of aman of fashion; the second 
~ an attack on the new English poor-law ; and the third, a lively satire 
‘on- ‘superior people,’ the ‘bustling Botherbys’ of society. Other 
Peayels followed , but these later works of Mrs. Trollope are much in- 
ferior to her early novels : the old characters are reproduced, and 
coarseness is too often substituted for strength. The indefatigable 
novelist died at Florence (where she had for several years resided) 
October 6, 18638, in the eighty-fifth year of her age. 

Mrs. Trollope was born at Stapleton, near Bristol, daughter of the 
Rev. William Milton. She was married in 1809 to Thomas Anthony 
gene a barrister, by whom she had six children. ‘The wife of 
a barrister who-had not been fortunate,’ says the ‘ Athenszeum’ (1863), 

‘Frances Trollope found herself, after an unsuccessful attempt to- 
establish a home in America, here in England, with the world to 
 begin-again, a husband too ill to aid her, and children who needed 
aid and could as yet give none. Many men in like circumstances 
would have appealed to public charity, but the true woman’s heart - 
did not fail her. She wrote for bread, and reaped that and honour.’ 
She has been honoured too in her surviving sons, Anthony and 
~ Thomas Adolphus Trollope. 


i 


LNT Oe NGS ere et 


+ 


MARGUERITE, COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 


This lady, long known in the world of fashion and light! literature, 
_ was born ‘at Knoc! xbrit, near Clonmel, September 1, 1790. Her: 
father, Edmund Power, was a small proprietor in Ireland—a squdreen 
"who ig said to have forced his daughter, when only fifteen, into a 
Marriage with a Captain Farmer. ~The marriage Was unhappy; 


ss ee Lg” ae J 


- 4 


Seis eae ee 


* 


o14 - €YCLOPAIDIA OF 


Marguerite left her husband, and Captain Farmer «was accidentally 


killed. This was in 1817. In a few months afterwards, Marguerite | 


was united to an 8h peer, Charles Gardiner, Earl of Blessington. 
Her rank, her beauty, and literary tastes: now rendered her the 


centre of a brilliant circle, and the doting husband revelled in every - 


species of extravagant display. ~ te a r 

In‘1822 they set out on a continental tour. They visited Byron in 
Genoa; and Lady Blessington’s ‘Conversations with Lord Byron’ 
(published after the death of the poet) present a faithful and in- 
teresting—though of course incomplete—picture of the noble bard. 
In May 1829, Lady Blessington was again left a widow, but with a 
jointure of about £2000 a year. A daughter of the deceased earl, by 
a former marriage, became the wite of Count Alfred D’Orsay, son of 
a French general officer, and remarkable for his handsome appear- 


[ro 1876, eS 


ance and varied accomplishments. This marriage also proved un- _ 


fortunate; the parties separated, and while the lady remained in 
Paris, the count accompanied Lady Blessington to England. This 
connection was only broken by death. It gave rise to scandalous 
rumours, yet the countess and her friend maintained a conspicuous 
_ place in society. Count D’Orsay was the acknowledged leader of 
fashion, besides being an accomplished artist in both painting and 


scuipture. A career of gaiety and splendour soon involved the - 


countess in debt. She then applied herself -to literature, and pro-. 


duced several light sketchy works, now forgotten. Latterly, the 
popularity of the countess greatly declined. She was forced to break 
-up her establishment in Gore House, Kensington; all was sold off, 
and Lady Blessington and D’Orsay repaired to Paris. She died June 
4, 1849. The count survived her just three years. The most favour- 
able—perhaps the truest—view of. this once popular lady is thus 
given in the epitaph written for her tomb by Mr. Procter (Barry 
Cornwall): ‘In her lifetime she was loved and admired for her many 


graceful writings, her gentle manners, her kind and generous heart. - 


Men, famous for art and science, in distant lands sought her friend- 
ship; and the historians and scholars, the poets and wits, and 
painters of her own country found an unfailing welcome in her 


ever-hospitable home. She gave cheerfully, to all who were in need, ~*~ 


help and sympathy, and useful counsel; and she died lamented by 
many friends. Those who loved her best in life, and now Jament 
her most, have reared this tributary marble over the place of her 
rest.’ 


7 MRS. 8. C. HALL, : 
Mrs. 8. ©. Hat, authoress of ‘Lights and Shadows of Irish 


* 


Life,’ and various-other works, ‘is a native of Wexford, though by — 


her mother’s side she is of Swiss descent. Her maiden name was 
Fielding, by which, however, she was unknown in the literary 
world, as her first work was not published till after her marriage to 


3H 
; 


STS ae et Bo ieee Lat ty 
= - - i * 
ai “A s _ 


: ; a! . : i > ‘ : 
) ; ENGLISH LITERATURE. water 2 i" 
Samuel Carter Hall in 1824. She first: quitted Ireland at the early age 


of fifteen, to reside with her mother in England, and it was some time 
before she revisited her native country ; but the scenes which were 


familiar to her as a child have made such a vivid aud lasting impres- 
‘sion on her mind, and all her sketches evince so much freshness and 


vigour, that her readers might easily imagine she had spent her life 
amoug the scenes she describes. To her early absence from her 


native country is probably to be traced one strong characteristic of 


all her writings—the total absence of party feeling on subjects 
counected with politics or religion.’* Mrs. Hall’s first work appeared 
in 1829, and was entitled ‘Sketches of Irish Character.’ These 
bear a closer resemblance to the tales of Miss Mitford than to the 
Irish stories of Banim or Griffin, and the works of Miss Edgeworth 


probably directed Mrs: Hall to the,peculiarities of Irish character. 


They contain some fine rural description, and are animated by a 
healthy tone of moral feeling and a vein of delicate humour. ‘The 
coquetry of her Irish girls—very different from that in high life—is 


_ admirably depicted. In 1831 she issued a second series of ‘ Sketches 
of Irish Character,’ fully equal to the first, and which was well 


received. The ‘Rapparee’ is an excellent story, and some of tbe 


_ satirical delineations are hit off with great truth and liveliness. In 
1852 she ventured on a larger and more difficult work—an historical 


romance in three volumes, entitled ‘The Buccaneer.’ The scene of 
this tale is laid in England at the time of the Protectorate, and 


_ Oliver himself is among the characters. The plot of ‘' The Buccaneer’ 


a 
N 


. 
; 
; 
- 


03 
_ 
S 
$ 


3 


ee 


is well managed, and some of the characters—as that of Barbara 
Iverk, the Puritan—are skilfully delineated ; but the work is too 
feminine, and has too little of energetic passion for the stormy 


» times in which it is cast. 


In 1834 Mrs. Hall published ‘Tales of a Woman’s Trials,’ short 
stories of decidedly moral tendency, written in the happiest style of 


- the authoress. Jn 1885 appeared ‘Uncle Horace,’ a novel; and in 
- 1888, ‘Lights and Shadows of Jrish Life,’ three volumes. The latter 
had been previously published’in the ‘ New Monthly Magazine,’ and 


enjoyed great popularity. The principal tale in the collection, ‘The 
Groves of Blarney,’ was dramatised at one of the theatres with dis- 
tinguished success. hi 1840 Mrs. Hall issued ‘ Marian, or a Young 
Maid’s Fortunes,’ in which ber knowledge of Irish character is again 
displayed. Katey Macane, an Irish cook, who adopts Marian, a 
foundling and watches over her with untiring affection, is equal to 
any of the Irish portraitures since those of Miss Edgeworth. The 
next work of our authoress was a series of ‘Stories of the Irish 
Peasantry,’ contributed to ‘Chambers’s Edinburgh Journal,’ and 
afterwards published in a collected form. In 1840, Mrs. Hall aided 
her husband in a work chiefly composed by him, and which reflects 


* Dublin University Magazine for 1840. 


— 
as 


“ 


[- a 


CYCLOP-EDIA OF — 


316 [ro 1876, 


3 "7% 


credit upon his talents and industry—‘ Ireland, its Scenery, Character,” 
é&c. ‘Topographical and statistical information is here blended with 
the poetical and romantic features of the country—the legends oz 
the peasantry—scenes and characters of humour or pathos—and all 
hat could be gathered in five separate tours through Freland, added 
o early acquaintance aad recollection of the country. The work 
was highly embellished by British artists, and extended to three large 
volumes. In 1345, Mrs. Hall published what is considered by many 
her best novel, ‘The Whiteboy’—a striking Irish story—and a fairy 
tale, ‘ Midsummer Eve;’ in 1857, ‘a Woman's Story,’ in 1862, “Can 
Wrong be Right?’ in 1868-9, ‘The Fight of Faith.” To the 
‘Art Journal,’ conducted by hershusband, Mrs. Hall has con- 
tributed many pleasant and picturesque sketches, some of which 
have been collected and re-issued under the title of * Pilgrim- 
ages to English Shrines,’ ‘The Book of the Thames,’ &c. Mrs. 
Hall has also produced some pleasing children’s books. In tasteful ~ 
description of natural objects, and pictures of everyday life, Mrs, 
Hall has few superiors. Her humour is not so broad or racy as that 
of Lady Morgan, nor her observations so exact and extensive as Miss 
Edgeworth’s: her writings are also unequal, but in general they con- ; 
atitute easy delightful reading, and possess a simple truth and purity 
of sentiment. Stn. 


Depending upon Others.—From Sketches of Irish Character. — < 


‘Independence !’—it is the word, of all others, that Irish—men, women, and - 
children—least understand; and the calmness. or rather indifference. with which — 
they submit to dependence, bitter and miserable as it is, must be a source of deep. ~ 
regret to all who * love the land,’ or who feel anxious to uphold the dignity of humane 
kind. Let us select a few cases from our Irish village, such as are abundant in every ~ 
neighbourhood. Shane Thurlongh, ‘as dacent a boy,’ and Shane’s wife, as ‘clane- 
skinned a girl,’ as any in the world. There-is Shane, an active handsome-looking 
fellow, leaning over the half-door of his cottage, kicking a hole in the wall with his- 
brogue, and picking up all the large gravel within his reach to pelt the ducks with— - 
those useful Irish scavengers. Let usspeakto him. ‘*Good-morrow, Shane!’ ‘Och! . 
the bright bames of heayen on ye every day! and kindly welcome, my lady; and 
won't ye step in and rest—it’s powerful hot, and a beautiful summer, sure—the Lord _ 
be praised’. *'Thank you, Shane. I thought you were going to ent the hay-field to- — 
day; if a heavy shower comes it will be spoiled; it has been fit for the scythe these. 
two days.” ‘Snre it’s all owing to that thief. 0? the world, Tom Parrel, my lady. 
Didn’t he promise me the loan of his scythe; and, by the same token. I was to pay. 
him for it; and depinding on that, I didn’t buy one, which I have been threatening — 
to do for the last two years.’ ‘But why don’t you go to Carrick and purchase one? - 
‘To Carrick! Och. ’tis a good step toCarrick. and my toes are on the ground—saving 
your presence—for I depinded on Tim Jarvis to tell Andy Cappler, the brogne- 
maker, to. do my shoes; and, bad Inck to. him, the spalpeen! he forgot it. 
*Where’s your pretty wife, Shane?’ ‘She’s in all the woe o’ the world, ma’aim,~ 
dear And she puts the blame of it on me, though I’m not in the fault — 
this time anyhow. The child’s taken the small-pox. ‘and she deninded on— 
me to tell the doctor to cut it for the cow-pox, and I depinded on Kitty Cackle, the 
limmer, to tell the doctor’s own man, and thought she would not forget it, because 
the boy’s her bachelor: but ont o’ sight, out o’ mind—the never a word she tould 
him about it, and the babby has got it nataral. and the woman’s in heart trouble—to ~ 
say nothing o’ myself—and it the first, and all.’ ‘I am very sorry, indeed, for you — 
have got a much better wife than most men.’ ‘That’s a true word, my lady, only 


om 


c 
4 
4; 
b 


Fhe *y > Rag ers '¢ We ~ 
oe .S 


_ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 217 


_ she’s fidgety-like sometimes, and says I don’t hit the nail on the head quick enough ; 
' and she takes a dale more trouble than she need about many a thing.’ ‘I do not 
‘think | ever saw Ellen’s wheel without flax before, Shane.’ ‘Bad cess to the wheel! 
- —I got it this morning about that too. I depinded on John Williams to bring the 
© flax from O7ilaherty’s this day week, and he forgot it; and she says I ought to have 
| broueht it myself, and I close to the spot. But where’s the good’ says1; sure he'll 
-bring it next time.’ +I suppose, Shane, you will soon move inio the rew cottage af _ 
> Cinrn Bul? I passed if to-day, and it looked so cheerful; and when you get tere, 
F you must take Kilen’s advice, and depend solely on yourself.’ ‘Och, maam dear, 
» don’t mintion if; sure it’s that makes me so down im the mouth this Very nuit. 
~Sare I saw that born blackeuard, Jack Waddy, and he comes in here quite innocent- 
like: ‘¢Shane, you’ve an eye to squire’s new lodge,” says he. ‘‘ Maybe 1 have,” says 
I.- “Iam yer man,” says he. ‘‘How so?” says I. ‘Sure J’m as good as married 
_ to my lady’s maid,” said he; ‘and Ill spake to the squire for you my own self.” 
_ “The blessing be about you,” says I, quite grateful—and we took a strong cup oR 
the strength of it—and, depinding on him, I thought all safe. And what d’ye think, 
- mylady’ Why, himself stalks into the place—talked the squire over, to be sure— 
~ and without so much as by yer lave, sates himself and his new wife on the laase in 
’ the house; and I may go whistle.’ ‘It was a great pity, Shane, that you didn’t go 
yourself to Mr. Clurn.’ ‘‘That’s.a true word for ye ma’am, dear; but it’s hard it a 
_ poor man can’t have a frind to depind on.’ 


~ 


G. P. R. JAMES. 


_ Mr. Grorcr Payne RArssrorp JAMEs was one of Scott’s historical 
imitators. If he bad not written so much—if, instead of employing 
-an amanuensis, to whom he dictated his ‘thick-coming fancies,’ he 
had concentrated his whole powers on afew congenial subjects or 
periods of history, and resorted to the manual labour of penmanship 
as a drag-chain on the machine, he might have attained to the highest 
_ honours of this department of literature. As it is, he has furnished 
‘many light, agreeable, and picturesque books—none of questionable’ 
tendency. Mr. James’s first appearance as an author was made at 
_ the age of seventeen, when he published some eastern’ tales, entitled 
_*The String of Pearls.’ In 1822 he published a ‘ History of the Life 
of Edward the Black Prince.’ In 1825, he struck into that path in 
' which he was so indefatigable, and produced his historical romance 
of ‘ Richelieu,’ a very attractive fiction. In 188(, he issued two 
‘romances, ‘Darnley, or the field of the Cloth of Gold,’ and ‘De 
'L’Orme.’ Next year he produced ‘Philip Augustus ;’ in 1832, a 
‘History of Charlemagne,’ and a tale, ‘Henry Masterton ; in 1832, 
‘Mary of Burgundy, or the Revolt of Ghent ; in 1834, ‘The |! ife 
and Adventures of John Marston Hall;’ in 1885. ‘ One ina Thousand, 
or the Days of Henri Quatre,’ and ‘The Gipsy, a ‘Pale ; in 1837, 
‘Attila,’ a romance, and ‘The Life and Times of Leuis XIV.;’ in 
-1838, ‘The Huguenot, a Tale of the French Protestants,’ and ‘The 
Robber ; 1889, ‘Henry of Guise ;’ and other works of fiction of a simi- 
Jar character. Altogether. the original works of Mr. James extend to 
one hundred and eighty-nine volumes, and he edited about a dozen 
“more! ‘There seems,’ says a lively writer, ‘to be no limit to his 
ingenuity, his faculty of getting up scenes and incidents dilemmas, 
artifices, contre-temps, battles, skirmishes, disguises, escapes, trials, 
% E.L. v.7%-8 


/ 


218 __ CYCLOPADIA OF 


combats, adventures.’ The sameness of the author’s style and 
characters is, however, too marked to be pleasing. 

Mr. James was a native of London, born in the year 1801. He 
early commenced writing tales, encouraged by Washington Irving, 
and the success of ‘ Kichelieu’ proved an incentive to exertion. 
During the reign of William IY., the honorary office of Historio- 
grapher of Great Britain was conferred upon him ; but he afterwards 
relinquished it, and proceeded with his family to the United States. 
He was six years (from 1852 to 1858) consul at Richmond, Virginia ; 
and at the expiration of that period, was appointed consul at Venice, 
which ofiice he held till his death, June 6, 1860. 


_ EDWARD, LORD LYTTON. 


Among our modern authors, the name of Epwarp Lytton 
BuLWER, afterwards Lorp Lyrron, was long conspicuous. It is 
half a century since he appeared as an author, and during that time” 
till his death there was, as Scott said of Byron, ‘no reposing under 
the shade of his laurels—no living upon the resource of past reputa- 


tion: his foot was always in the arena, his shield hung always in the 


lists.’ He is remarkable also as having sought and obtained distinc- 
tion in almost every department of literature—in poetry, the drama, 
the historical romance, domestic novel, philosophical essay, and 


_ political disquisition. Like Cowley, too, he is memorable as having 


appeared as an author, in a printed volume, in his fifteenth year. 

This early and indefatigable candidate for literary distinction enjoyed. 
advantagés in the circumstances of his birth, education, and fortune. 
He was born in May 1805, the youngest son of General Bulwer of. 
Haydon Hall and Wood-Dalling, in the county of Norfolk. His. 
mother, an amiable and accomplished woman, was of the ancient 
family of Lytton of Knebworth, in Hertfordshire; and on her death. 
in 1848, the novelist suceeeded to her valuable estate, and took the ~ 
name .of Lytton.* General Bulwer died in 1807, and the charge of. 


his three sons fell to his widow, whose care and tenderness have 


been commemorated by the youngest and most distinguished of her’ 
children. ‘From your graceful and accomplished taste,’ says the: 
novelist, in the dedication of his works to his mother, ‘I early. 


® His fnll name, like that of his brother-novelist, Mr. James, might serve in point 
of lencth for a Spanish hidalgo. It was Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer Lytton. 
His brother, Sir Henry Lytton Bulwer (in 1871 raised to the peerage a8 Lord Dalling — 
and Bulwer. and who died in 1872), was a well-known diplomatist, and author of 
several works—A7 Autumn in Greece» France, Social and Literary ; The Monarchy of % 
the Middie Classes; a Life of Lord Byron, prefixed to a Paris edition of the poet's 
works: Historical Characters, Life of Lord Palmerston, &e. Lord Dalling was de~— 
scribed as ‘the prop and pillar of the Palmerstonian Policy in the East.’ In 1827 Lord ~ 
Lytton was married to Rosina, daughter of Francis Wheeler, Esq., of Lizzard Con- 
nel, county of Limerick—an unhappy connection which was soon dissolved. The — 
lady wrote several novels not deficient in talent. but wild and extravagant. The 
issue of this marriage was a son and daughter. ~The latter died in 1848; the former, — 
Edward Robert, now Lord Lyiton, has already been noticed as a poet. Yara 


= a> - 


arto], ENGLISH LITERATURE. 29 


learned that affection for literature which has exercised so large an 
- influence over the pursuits of my life ; and you who were my first 
guide were my earliest critic.’ He is said to have written verses 
when he was only five or six years old. 
Tn June 1820, appeared his first volume, ‘fsmael, an Oriental Tale, 
with other Poems, written between the Age of Thirteen and Fifteen.’ 
‘The boyish rhymes are, of course, merely imitative. His next public 
appearance was as the successful candidate for the prize poem in 
Cambridge University; he was then a fellow-commoner of Trinity 
Hall; and in 1825 he carried off the Chancellor's gold medal for the 
_ best English poem. The subject selected by Bulwer-was Sculpture, 
3 ‘and his verses are above the average of prize poems. ‘The long vacation 
- in his college terms was spent by our author in rambles over England | 


—_ 


and Scotland and France. In 1826 he published a volume of miscel- 
~ Janeous verse, entitled ‘Weeds and Wild Flowers; and in 1827 a 
" poetical narrative, called ‘ O’Neill, or the Rebel.’ The latter was in 
_ the style of Byron’s ‘ Corsair,’ echoing the false sentiment and mor- 
_ bid feeling of the noble poet, but wanting the poetic ardour, con- 
densed energy of expression, and graceful picturesqueness which 
 gild, if they do not redeem, the errors of Byron’s style. A love of 
- poetry, however intense, even when combined with general literary 
' talent and devoted study of the art ‘unteachable, untaught,’ will 
~ never make a poet; and of this truism Lytton Bulwer was a striking 
- illustration. He returned again and again to his first love and early 
ambition, and at times seemed to be on the brink of complete suc- 
cess; yet, with all his toil and repeated efforts, ke never was able to 
~ yeach the summit of the sacred mount. The following is a favour- 
> able specimen of these poetic aspirations: 


Py Se ere th 


‘Eternal air—and thou; my mother earth, 
Hallowed by shade and silence—and the birth 
Of the young moo: (now watching o’er the sleep 
Of the dim mountains and the dreaming deep): 
. And by yon star, Heaven’s eldest born—whose light. 
Calls the first-smile upon the cheek of night; 
And beams and bodes, like faith beyond the tomb, 
Life through the calm, and glory through the gloom ; 
A My mother earth—and ye, her loftier race, 
Midst whom my soul hath held its dwelling-place ; 
Rivers, and Rocks, and valleys, and ye shades 
Which sleep at noonday o’er the haunted glades 
Made musical by waters aud the breeze, ; 
All idly dallying with the glowing trees; 
Aud songs of birds which, ever as they fly. 
Breathe soul and gladness to the summer sky 3 
Ye courts of Nature; where aloof and lone 
She sits and reigns with darkness for her throne; 
Mysterious temples of the breathing God, 
If ’mid your might my earliest steps have trod; 
If in mine inmost spirit still are stored 
The wild deep, memories childhood most adored ¢ 
Tf still amid the drought and waste of years, 
Ye hold the source of smiles and pangless tears: 


} 


220 see CYCLOPADIA OF fro 18976 


: Will ve not yet inspire me ?—for my heart 
Beats low and languid—and this idle art 
Wiich J have suimmoned for airidle exd, 
Forsakes and flies me like a faithless friend. 
Are all your voices silent? Ihave made | 
My home as erst amid your thickest shade: 
Aud even now your sott sir from above 
Brceathes on my temples like a sister’s love. 
Ah! could it bring the freshness of the day : 
When first my young heart lingered o’er its lay, J + 

- Tain would this wintry soul and frozen string * 1 
Recall one wind—one whisper {rom the spring! 


Tn the same year, 1827, Bulwer published his first novel, ‘ Falkland,’ 
a highly coloured tale of love and passion, calculated to excite and 
inflame, and evidently based on admiration of the peculiar genius 
and seductive errors of Byron. Taking up the style of the fashion- 
able novels—rendered popular by Theodore Hook, but then on the 


wane—Bulwer next came forward with ‘ Pelham, or the Adventures _ 


of a Gentleman,’ 1828. This is a novel full of brilliant and witty 
writing, sarcastic levity, representations of the manners of the great, 


piquant remark, and scenes of intrigue -and passion. ~- There was a - 


want of skill in the construction of the story, for the tragic and 
satirical parts were not well adjusted; put the picture of a man of 
fashion—a Charles Surface of the nineteenth century—was attractive, 
and a second cdition of ‘ Pelham’ was called for in a few mouths. 


Towards the close of the same year, Bulwer issued another novel, - 


‘lhe Disowned,’ intended by the author to contain ‘ scenes of more 
exciting interest and vivid colouring, thoughts less superficially ex- 


pressed, passions more energetically called forth, and a more sensible _ 
and pervading moral tendency.’ This was aiming at a high mark; 


but the labour was too apparent. The scene of the novel was laid in 
the last century—the days of Chesterfield, George Selwyn, and 
Horace Walpole; but it had no peculiar character or appropriate 
illustration, and consequently did not attain to the popularity of 
‘Pelham.’ ‘ Devereux, a Novel,’ 1829, was a more finished perform- 
ance. ‘The lighter portion,’ said one of the critics in the ‘ Edinburgh 
Review,’ ‘ does not dispute the field with the deepér and more sombre, 


but follows gracefully by its side, relieving and heightening it. We _ 


move, indeed, among the great, but it is the great of other times— 
names familiar in our mouths—Bolingbroke, Louis, Orleans; amidst 
manners perhaps as frivolous as those of the day, but which the gen-" 
tle touch of time has already invested with an antiquarian dignity; > 
the passions of men, the machinery of great motives and universal 


feelings, occupy the front; the humours, the affections, the petty | 
badges of sects and individuals, retire into the shadows of the back- — 


ground: no undercurrent of persiflage or epicurean inditference checks 
the flew of that mournful enthusiasm which refreshes its pictures of 
life with living waters; its eloquent pages seem consecrated to the 


memory of love, honour, religion, and undeviating faith.’ In 1830 | 


“\ 


s we i x 
<p . 


ae ~ > 


i¥rTon.) == ENGLISH LITERATURE. 221 


> 
7 


, 
- 
5 
\. 


- Bulwer brought out another work of fiction, ‘Paul Clifford,’ the 
hero being a romantic highwayman, familiar with the haunts of low 
vice and uissipation, but afterwards transformed and elevated by the 
influence of love. Parts are ably written, but the general effect of 
the novel was undoubtedly i:ajurious to the public taste and morals. 
‘The author seemed to be sinking into a representative of the artificial, 
unnatural school—an embodiment of Moore’s sentimentalist— 
A fine, sallow, subiime sort of Werther faced man, 
= With inoustaches that gave—what we read of so oft— 
a _ The dear Corsair exprersion, half-savage, half-soft. 
_ And with this sickly sentimentalism there was a great deal of prolix 
 Gescription. The love of satire, which had mingled largely in all Bul- 
» “wer’s works, taoka more definite shape in 1881 in ‘The Siamese 
‘Twins,’ a poem satirical of fashion, of travellers, of politicians, London 
__ notoriety, and various other things, discussed or glanced at in sport- 
~ ive or bitter mood, and in verses that tlow easily, and occasionally 
express vigorous and lively thoughts. . Among the miscellaneous 
poems that follow ‘The Siamese ‘I'wins,’ is one entitled ‘ Milton,’ 
which was subsequently corrected and enlarged, and is unquestion- 
ably Bulwer’s best poetical production. He tried fiction again—the 
poetical satire having proved a comparative failure—and produced, 
in 1881, ‘ Eugene Aram,’ a story of English life, founded on the his- 
_ tory of the clever murderer of that name. This novel was suggested 
_ to Bulwer, and partly sketched out, by Godwin. The character of 
the sordid but ingenious Eugene Aram is idealised by the fancy of 
~ -the novelist. He is made an enthusiastic student and amiable vision- 
ary. The humbling part of his crime was, he says, ‘its low calcu- 
lations, its poor defence, its paltry trickery, its mean hypocrisy: 
these made his chiefest penance.’ Unconscious that detection was 
close at hand, Aram is preparing to wed an interesting and noble- 
' minded woman, the generous Madeline; and the scenes connected 
_ with this ill-fated passion possess a strong and tragical interest. 
~ ‘Throughout the work are scattered some beautiful moral reflections 
and descriptions, imbued’ with poetical feeling and expression. 
<b What lover of literature, for example, does not sympathise with this 
~~ passage ? 


Admiration of Gentus. 


_. There is a certain charm about great superiority of intellect that winds into deep 
 $ffections, which a much more constant and even amiability of manners in less7 

nen often fails to reach. Genius makes many enemies, but it makes sure ficnds— 
> -frien?s who forgive munch. who endure long..who exact little; they partake cf the 
i character of disciples as well us friends. There lingers about the Luan heart a 
it 


ry 


- frong inclination to Jook upward—to revere: in this inclination lies the source of 1e- 
ligio::. of loyalty, 2nd also of the worship and immortality which are rendcred £0 
cheerfi lly to the great of old. And, in truth. it is a divine pleasure to admire! ad- 

_ ‘Miration seemsinu some mengsure1o appropriate to ourselves the qualities it honours 
in others. We wed—we root ourselves to the natures we so love to conteimp!ate, and 
_ their life grows apart of onrown. Thus, when a great man, who has engrossed our 
_  thonghts, our conjectures, our homage, dies, a gap seems_suddenly left in the world 


~~ 


ae : _ CYCLOPEDIA-OF-  --——‘fr0-1876. 


—a wheel in the mechanism of our own being appears abruptly stilled ; a portion of 
ourselves, and not our worst portion—for how many pure, high, generous sentiments 
it contains !—dies with him. . 


There was strong interest, though a want of simplicity and nature, in 
‘Eugene Aram; but Bulwer’s next novel, ‘Godolphin,’ published - 


anonymously, was in all respects an inferior work. About this time, 


he undertook the management of the ‘New Monthly Magazine’— _ 


which had attained a high reputation under the editorship of Camp- 


bell—and published in that work several essays and criticisms, su} _ ; 


sequently collected and issued under the title of ‘ The Student.’ le 
1833 appeared his ‘England and the English,’ a seri.s of observe: 
tions on society, literature, the aristocracy, travelling, and other chai 

acteristics and peculiarities of the English people. Some of these 
are acute and clever, but many are tinged with prejudice, and a de- 
sire to appear original and sarcastic. ‘The Pilgrims of the Rhine’ 
-(1834)—a fanciful and beautifully illustrated work—was Bulwer’s 


next offering; and it was almost immediately afterwards succeeded 


@o? 


by one’ of his best romances, ‘The Last Days of Pompeii.’ This 
brilliant and interesting classic story was followed by one still more 
vigorous and masterly, the tale of ‘ Rienzi, the Last of the Tribunes,’ 
which is the most complete, high-toned, and energetic of al! the 
author’s romantic fictions. His tendency to minute and prolonged 
description is, in these works, relieved by the associations connected 
with hig story, and by historical information, while the reader’s in- 
terest in the characters and incidents is seldom permitted to flag. 
Bulwer might then be said to have attained the acme of popularity as 
an imaginative writer, but he was still to appear as a master of the 
English domestic novel. ; 
Ambitious of shining in politics as in literature, our author had 
obtained a seat in the House of Commons. In 1831 he was returned 


for the borough of St. Ives, and in the folowing year for the city of — 


Lincoln, which he continued to represent until the year 1842. - He 
was a supporter of extreme Reform. principles; and in 1885 he con- 
ferred a signal favour on his party by a political pamphlet, entitled 
‘The Crisis,’ which had almost unexampled success. Lord. Mel- 


bourne, in return for this powerful support, offered Bulwer an ap- — 


pomtment in his administration. He declined to accept office; butin 
1838 the honour of a baronetcy was conferred upon him. He after- 


wards greatly modified his political opinions—conscientiously, there 
is every reason to believe—and in 1852 he was returned as a Con-- 
servative member for Hertfordshire, the county in which his property —— 


was situated. His few parliamentary speeches were able and com- 
prehensive. They evinced little of the partisan or keen debater; but 
were marked by a thoughtful earnestness, and by large and liberal 


views of our national interests and dependencies. In politics, he — 
was still the man of letters—not a political adventurer; and in the — 


busiest portions of his public life, literature was never neglected, - 


= 


3 


: t, 
‘ Ping 


ae 2 My +! (eter 


‘ 


eet 


~_————_ 


~ tyrron.] - | ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 228 


In 1837 appeared Bulwer’s novel of ‘Ernest Maltravers.’ He de- 
signed this story to illustrate ‘what, though rare in novels, is com- 
“mon in human life—the affliction of the good, the triumph of the un- 
principled.’ The character of Maltravers is far from pleasing ; and 
Alice Darvil is evidently a copy from Byron’s Haidee. Ferrers, the 
villain of the tale, is also a Byronic creation; and, on the whole, the © 
‘violent contrasts and gloomy delineations of this novel render it more 
akin to the spurious offspring of sentimental romance, than to the 
family of the genuine English novel. A continuation of this work 
was given in the following year, under the title of ‘ Alice, or the Mys- 
teries,’ with no improvement as to literary power or correct moral 
philosophy, but still containing some fresh and exquisite descriptions, 
~ and delightful portraiture. His next work was ‘ Athens,’ partly his- 
torical and partly philosophical. In the same year (1888) we had 
‘Leila, or the Siege of Granada,’ and ‘ Calderon the Courtier ’—light 
and sketchy productions. Passing over the dramas of Bulwer, we 
come to ‘ Night and Morning,’ a novel with a clear and simple plot, 
- and some good characters. Gawtrey, a swindler, is well drawn, and 
~ the account of his death affords a specimen of the novelist’s ‘ scenic’ 
_ style. Gawtrey is the chief of a gang of coiners in Paris; they are 
detected, and Gawtrey, with his associate Morton, is pursued to the 


attic in which they live. 
am ~ Death of Gawtrey the Coiner. 
= : > : 
4 At both doors now were heard the sound of voices. ‘Open, in the king’s name, 
aS SOF expect no mercy!’ ‘Hist!’ said Gawtrey. ‘One way yet—the window—the 
~ rope. er 3 


Morton opened the casement—Gawtrey uncoiled the rope. The dawn was break- 
ing ; it was light in the streets, but all seemed quiet without. The doors reeled and 


‘Hark! hark!—are youmad? You keep guard! What. is your strength to mine? 
~_ Twenty men shall not move that door, while my weight is against it. Quick, or you 
- destroy us both! Besides, you will hold the rope for me; it may not be strong 
~ enough for my bulk of itself. Stay!—stay one moment. If you escape, and I fall— 
- Fanny—iny father, he will taketare of her—you remember—thanks! Forgive me 
aii! Go; that’s right !~ 
_ With a firm pulse, Morton threw himself on that dreadful bridge; it swnng and 
_ erackled at his weight. ~ Shifting his grasp rapidly—hoiding his breath—with set 
_ _teeth—with closed eyes—he moved cn—he gained the parapet—he stood safe-on the 
opposite side. And, now straining his eyes across, he saw through the open.caxe- 
‘ent into the chamber he had just quitted. Gawtrey was still standing against the 
door to the principal staircase, for that of the two was the weaker and the more 
4 assailed. Presently the explosion of a firearm was heard; they had shot through 
the panel. Gawtrey seemed wounded, for he staggered forward, and uttered a fierce 
cry: a moment more, and he gained the window—he seized the rope—he hung over 
<li the tremendous depth! Morton knelt by the parapet, holding the grappling-hook in 
— -its place, with convulsive grasp, and fixing his .eyes, bloodshot with fear and sus- 
_, pense, on the huge bu!k that clung for life to that slender cord ! 
ad - ‘he voila! le voila !’ cried a voice from the opposite side. Morton raised his gaze 
‘froin Gawtrey ; the casement was darkened by the forms ef the pursuers—they had 


~ 


924 ~  GYCLOPADIA OF ————= [rr 2876. - 


burst into the room—an officer sprang upon the parapet. and Gawtrey, now aware of 
his danger, opened his eyes, and, as he moved on, glared upon the foe. The police- 
man deliberately raised his pistol—Guwtrey arrested himself—from «wound in his 
side the blood trickled slowly and darkly down, drop by drop, upon the stones below : 
eyen the officcrs of the law shuddered as they eyed him; his hair bristling—his 
cheek white—his ips drawn convalsively {ronr his teeth, and his eyes glaring from 
beueath the frown of agony and menace in which yet spoke the indoniitable power 
and fierceness of the nian. Hislook, so fixed—so intense—so stern, awed the police- 
Wei: Lis hand trembled as he fired. and the bailsiruck. the parapet an inch below 
(he spot. where Morton knelt. An inaistiuet, wild, gurgling sound—half langh, half 


yell—of scorn and glee, broke from Gawtrey’s lips. He swung himself ou—near—/ 


near—neurer—a yard from the parapet. 


>You ure saved? cried Morton; when at that moment a volley burst from the - 


fatal casement—the smoke rolled over both the fugitives—a groan, or rather howl, 
of rage and despair, and agony, appalled even the hardiest on whose ear it came. 
Morton sprung to his feet, and looked below. He saw on the rugged stones, far 
down, a dark, tormless, motionless mass—the strang man of passion and levity—the 
giant who had played with life and soul, as an infant with tre baubles that it prizes 
and breaks—was what the Cesar and the leper aike are, when all clay is without 
God’s breath—what glory, genius, power, and beauty, would be for ever and for ever, 
if there were no God! 


This novel of ‘Night and Morning’ was followed by ‘ Day and 
Night,’ ‘Lights and Shadows,’ ‘Glimmer and Gloom,’ an afiected 
title toa picturesque and interesting story. ‘Zanoni,’ 1842, is more 
unconnected in plot and vicious in style than the previous fictions of 
Bulwer, and possesses no strong or permanent interest. ‘ Eva, the 
Iil-omened Marriage, and other Tales and Poems,’ 1842, was another 
attempt of our author to achieve poetical honours, ever present to 
his imagination, but, like the Mowers on the mountain cliff, 

Not to be come at by the willing hand. 


We give, however, from the volume a happy definition: 


Talent and Genius. 


Talent convinces—genius but excites 5 

This tasks the reason. that the sou] delights. 
Talent from sober judgment takes its birth, 
And reconciles the pinion to the earth ; 

Genius unsettles with desires the mind, 
Contented not ti}l earth be left behind ; 

Talent. the sunshine-on a culiured soil. 

Ripens the fruit by slow degrees for toil. 
Genius the sudden Iris of the skies. 

On cloud itself reflects its wondrous dyes? 

And. to the earth. in tears and giory given, 
Clasps in its airy arch the pomp of Heaven! 
Talent gives all that vulgar critics need— 

From its plain horn-book learn the dull to read 3 
Genius, the Pythian of the beantifal, 

Leaves its large truths a riddle to the dull— 
From eyes profane a veil the Isis screens, 

And fools on fools sti}] ask—' What Hamlet means ?? 


The next Work of our author was ‘The Last of the Barons,’ 1848. 


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“LYTTON | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 225 


and even dreary as a story, this romance, viewed as a whole, is a 


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powerful and great work. in 1844 the novelist appeared as a trans- 
later: he gave to the world a version of Schiller’s poems—executed 
carefully, as all Bulwer’s works are, and occasionally with poctic 
spirit and felicity. He then ventured on an original poetic work, 
“The New Timon,’ a poem partly satirical and partly narrative, 
which he issued anonymously, the first part appearing at Christmas, 
1845, and three others being subsequently added. ‘'Limon”’ is a ro- 
mance of London, exhibiting, on the groundwork of an improbable 
plot, sketches of the leading public men and authors of the metro- 
polis—culogising some, vituperating others, and dealing about praise 
“and censure with a degree of rashness, levity, and bad taste almost 
inconceivable in so practised a writer and so accomplished a man. 
Among those whom he assailed, both in verse and prose, was Alfred 
Tennyson, who was designated ‘School Miss Alfred,’ and the po- 
etry of the laureate—so highly original, refined, and suggestive— 
was classed among 
The jingling medley of purloined conceits, 
Out-babyiug Wordsworth and out-glittering Keats. 


‘That the satirist was unable to appreciate the works of Wordsworth, 
Keats, or Tennyson, is incredible. We must impute this escapade to 
a desire to say smart and severe things, as Pope and Byron had 
said before him, and to try his artistic hand in a line of authorship 
sure to attrict attention. The disruise of the ‘New Timon’ was 
seen through, and-‘ Miss Alfred’ is believed to have rebuked the 
audacity of the assailant in a very masculine reply.* But whatever 
were his affectations or blunders, Bulwer persevered, and he at last 
wrought out works worthy of hisfame. His next novel, however, 
Was nota happy effort. ‘ Lucretia, or the Children of Night,’ was 
written to exhibit some of the workings of the arch-ruler of civilisa- 
tion, Money, ‘which ruins virtues in the spendthrift, no less than 


* We know him, out of Shakspeare’s art, 
And those fine curses which he spoke— 

The Old ‘fimon with his noble heart, 
‘That strongly loathing, greatly broke. ° 


So died the Old; here comes the New: 
Regard him—a familiar face ; 


ig I thought we knew him. What! it’s you. 


The padded man that wears the stays ; 


Who killed the girls and thrilled the boys 
With dandy pathos when you wrote: 
O Lion, you that made a noise, * 
And shook a name en papillotes.... 


But men of long-enduring hopes, 
_ And careless what the hour may bring, 


Can pardon little would-be Popes 

And Bruinmels when they try to sting. 
An artist, sir, should rest in art, 

And waive a little of his claim: 
To have the great poetic heart 

Is mere than all poetic fame... - 


What profits now to understand 
The merits of a spotless shirt— 
A dapper boot—a little hand— 
If half the little soul is dirt? 


A Timon you! Nay, nay. for shame $' 
It looks too arrogant. a jest— 
That fierce old man—to take hi: name, 
_ You bandbox! Off, and Jet him rest. 
Punch, 1846, 


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926 | CYCLOPEDIA OF | ~_ [to 1876, 


engenders vices in the miser.’ The subject is treated in a melo- 
dramatic style, with much morbid sentiment and unnecessary 
horrors ; and the public condemnation of the tale was so emphatic, 
that Sir Edward (who was tremblingly alive to criticism on his 
works) deemed it necessary to reply in ‘A Word to the Public.” In 
this pamphlet the novelist sought to vindicate the moral tendency of 
his tales, and to defend the introduction. of crime and terror in 
works of fiction. His reasoning was just in the abstract, but had no 


- particular reference to the story in question, which was defective as 


| 


a work of art; and, notwithstanding his defence, Sir Edward, in a 
subsequent edition, modified some of the incidents and details. 
As_a.contrast to ‘ Lucretia,’ he next presented the public with a_ 
tale of English domestic life, ‘The Caxtons, a Family Picture,’ 
which appeared in monthly parts in ‘Blackwood’s Magazine,’ and in 
1849 was collected and issued in the usual three-volume form, Free 


from all mysticism and terror, and abounding in humour, quaint ~ 


fancies and delineation of character, this work was highly success- 
ful. The characters were modelled upon the creations of Sterne— 
jie head of the family being a simple, learned, absent recluse, who 
speculates like Mr. Shandy ; while his brother the half-pay captain, 
his son Pisistratus—the historian of the family—his gentle, affection- 
ate wife, and the eccentric family doctor, are ail more or less copies 
from the elder novelist, retaining much of his genial spirit, whim, 
and satire, but with none of his grossness. While this work was in- 
progress, delighting the readers of the magazine, its untiring author 
issued another historical romance, ‘ Harold, the Last of the Saxon 
Kings,’ a story of love and war, of Gothic and Celtic superstitions 
and character, presenting much animated description, though some- 
what overlaid with archeological details. 

_ The same year (1848), alternating, as before, poetical with prose 
fiction, and again assuming the anonymous guise, Sir Edward came 
forward with the first part of a metrical romance, ‘King Arthur, by 
the Author of the New Timon.’ The concluding portion was pub- 
lished.early in 1849, and with it the name of the author was given, 
A serio-comic legendary poem in twelve books was a bold experi- 
ment. Sir Edward had bestowed on the work much thought and 
Jabour. It exhibits a great amount of research, of curious mytho- 
Jogical and Scandinavian lore, and of ingenious allusions to modern 
events and characters, mixed up with allegorical and romantic inci- 
flents. We have the wandering king sent out by Merlin in quest of 
chivalrous adventures, guided by his emblematic silver dove (love), 
and protected by his magic sword (heroic patriotism) and by his sil- 


ver shield (freedom). He vanquishes, of course, all enemies, and ~ 
_ ranges through all regions, having also his ladye-love, Aigle, a fair 


maid of Etruria. But with all its variety, its ingenuity, and learned 
lore, ‘King Arthur’ is found to be tedious. Thecharm of human 
interest is wanting, and the vivifying soul of poetry which lightens 


+ 
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. tyTTon.] —- © ENGULISH° LITERATURE. 227 
-. up the-allegories of Spenser and Ariosto is absent from the pages of 
_ their modern imitator. he blending of satire and comic scenes with 
romantic fable, though sanctioned by the example of Ariosto, was 
also a perilous attempt; and we cannot say that the covert de- 
_ scriptions of Louis-Philippe, Guizot, or the Parisian February revo- 
_. lution, are either very just or very effective. Here is the portrait of 
the French minister: 


7 With brow deject, the mournful Vandal took 
Pe Occasion prompt to leave his royal guest, 
” And sought a friend who served him, as a book 
~ _ Read in our illness, in our health dismissed ; 
Yor seldom did the Vandal condescend 
To that poor drudge which monarchs call a friend. 


; And yet Astutio was a man of worth 

Sp. Before the brain had reasoned out the heart; 
= But now he Jearned to look upon the earth 
2 As peddling hucksters look upon the mart ;' 
3%. Took souls for wares, and conscience for a till; 
=a And damned his fame to save his master’s will. 


E Much lore he had in men, and states, and things, " 
s And kept his memory mapped in prim precision, ' 
= * : With histories, laws, and pedigrees of kings, 


And moral saws which ran through each division, 
All neatly colored with appropriate hue— 
The histories black, the morals heavenly blue! 


e 

s } sits actioned 

7 But state-craft, mainly, was his pride and boast; 

: The ‘ golden medium’ was his guiding star, 

ae Which means, ‘move on until you ’re uppermost, 
And then things can’t be better than they are!’ 

ty Brief, in two rules, he summed the ends of man— 

‘Keep all you have, and try for all you can!’ 


_ was performed at Devonshire House, m aid of the Guild of Litera- 
- ture and Art—an institution for decayed and destitute authors and 
artists, projected by Charles Dickens and others, but which proved 
a failure. The Queen and Prince Consort were present at this dra- 
_ matic representation, and among the amateur performers were Dick- 
ens, Forster, R. H. Horne, Mark Lemon, and Frank Stone. 

- The later works of this eminent author fulfilled the promise of 
healthtul moral feeling, and the more complete mastery of his intel- 
lectual resources, indicated in the family picture of the Caxtons. 
‘My Novel, or Varieties of English Life,’ 1853, and ‘ What will He 
Do with It? 1858, are genuine English stories, uniting the charac- 
teristics of town and country life, and presenting the contrasts of 
tational character. His country squires and clergymen are perhaps 
tvo good, and his manufacturers and borough Radicals too coarse 
- aad vulgar. He views society too exclusively from the atmosphere 
_of-Admack’s and May Fair. -He is also more apt. to describe his 
 characters-than~to develop: them ‘in ‘action -and. dialogue; and _ his 


. 

Es: 

~_ In 1851 Bulwer wrote a comedy, ‘ Not so Bad as we Seem,’ which 
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228 CYCLOPADIA OF ~ [ro 1876. ~ 


digressions, though always ingenious, even when they are pedantic 
and egotistic, are sometinies misplaced. These are his most promi-- 
ment defects or drawbacks. But there is so much variety in his por- 
traits, so much to delight the fancy and exercise the understanding, 
that it is on these Hnelish tales, as we conceive, that the novelist’s. 
fame will ultimately rest. His .‘ Caxtoniana,’ a series of essays 
(1863) and contributions to the Reviews, are also worthy of his repu-— 
tation. In the course of his long career he exhibited an amazing 
versatility of intellect and noble perseverance. He worked himself! 
free of the pruriency and affectations of his early manner, and dis- 
played the matured powers of the artist, with deeper and broader ~ 
sympathies, and a wiser philosophy of human life. 

In 1853 Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer received from the university _ 
of Oxford the degree of D. C. L.; in 1856 he was elected Rector of / 
the university of Glascow; and in 1858 he joined the administration 
of the Earl of Derby as Secretary for Colonial Affairs Iu 1:66 he - 
was elevated to the pee'age as Baron Lytton. His literary industry 
was never relaxed. He successfully. produced ‘The Lost Tales of 
Miletus,’ a collection of. ancient. legends in original rhythmical_ 
strophes (1866) ; a translation of ‘‘ Horace’s Odes* (1865) ; ‘ Walpole, 
or Every Man has his Price,’ a rhyming comedy (1869); and ‘The 
Coming Race’ (1870)... The last is a narrative of imaginary travels ; 

it was published anonymously, and.excited much attention and specu- 
lation, running rapidly through ‘several editions. In this curious 
work Lord Lytton seems to have been indebted for some hints to a 
Latin work by Holberg, the Danish poet, ‘ Nicolia Kliminii Iter Sub-, 
terranean,’ of which a translation is given in Weber’s Popular Ro- 
mances. Both profess to be the narrative of an underground jour- 
ney, the countries that are the scene of the travels being alike situa-_ 
ted in the interior of the earth. In 1872-8, a novel, ‘ The Parisians,’ 
appeared in monthly parts in ‘ Blackwood’s Magazine ; and Lord 
Lytton had just completed another work, ‘Kenelm Chillingly,’ when 
his busy career terminated. He was seized with a severe pain—a 
terrible agony—from inflammation in the ear and head, which in 
three days proved fatal. He died at Torquay on the 18th of January. 
1573, and was interred in Westminster Abbey. The sudden death of 
Lord Lytton was much regretted, He was at the head of our litera- 
ture, with the single exception of Mr. Carlyle ; his works were popu- 
Jar over all Europe, and his fertility and industry seemed unabated. 
His son, the present Lord Lytton, has, with a just pride, said of his 
father: ‘Whether as an author, standing apart from all literary 
cliques and coteries, or as a politician, never wholly subject to the — 
exclusive dictation of any political party, he always thought and 
acted in sympathy with every popular aspiration for the political, 
Social, and intellectual improvement of the whole national life.’* 


.* Prefatory Memoir to Speeches of Edward, Lord Lytton, 1874, 


ee 


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4yttox.] +-ENGLISH LITERATURE. — 229 


e 


“Lord Lytton left an. unfinished romance, ‘Pausanias, the Spartan,’ 
which was published (edited by his son) in 1876. 


Imagination on Canvas and tn Books. 


__ It is when we compare works of imagination in writing with works of imagina 
’ tion on the canvas, that we can best form a critica! idea of the different schoo's 
_ which exist in each; for common both to the author and the painter ure those styies 
— which we call the fa: iliar, the picturesque, and the intellectual. By recurring to 
this comparison, we can without much difficulty classify works of fiction in their 
a proper order, and estimate the rank they should severally hold, ‘The inte!lectau will 
_ probably never be the most widely popular for the moment. He who prefers to study 
~ inthis school, must be prepared for much depreciation, for its. greatest excellences, 
even if he achieve them, are not the most obvious to the many. In discussing, for 


a 

- instance, a modern work, we hear it praised, perhaps, for some striking passage, 
some prominent character; but when do we ever hear any comment on its harimouy 
Of coustruction, on its‘fitness of design, on its ideal character, on its essentials—in 
— short, asa work of art?» What we hear most valued in a picture. we often find the most 
- neglected in 2 book—namely, the composition ; and tnis, simply, because in England 


_ painting is recognised as‘an art, aud estinated according to definite theories. But 
in literature, we judge froma taste never formed—from a thousand prejudices and 
_ ignorant predilections. We do not yet comprehend that the author isan artist. and 


ge: . 1 4 Sess 

A that the true rules of art by which he should be tested are precise and immutable. 

* Hence the singular and fantast.c caprices of the popular opinion—its exaggerations 
_ Of. praise or ceusure—its passion aud reaction. These violent fluc uations betray 


+ 
~ botha public and a criticism utterly unschooled in the clenentary principles of lit- 
3 erary art. and entitle the hu:nblest author to dispute the c.usure ef the hour, while 
_ ther ought to render the greatest suspicious of its praise. 

It is, then, in conformity, not with any presumptuous conviction of his own supe: 
s riority. but with his common experience 2nd common fense. that every author who 
~. addresses an English audience in serious carnest: is permitted to feel that his final 
__ Sentence rests not with the jury before which he is first he rd. The literary history 


Pon veut 


~ of the day consists of a series of jud ments set aside. 

4 But this nnce'tainty must more essentially betide every student. however lowly, 
- in the school I have called the intellectual, which must ever be more or less at 
variance with the popnlar canons; it is its hard necessity to use and disturb the lazy 
_ quietude of vulgar taste, for unless it did so. it could neither elevate nor move. He 
~ who resigns the Dutch art for the Italian. must continue through the dark to explore os 
4 the principles upon which he founds his design—to which he adapts his execution ; 
~ in hove or in despondence, still faithful to the theory which cares less for the 
amount of intere t created. than for the sotirces from which the interest is to be 
 drawn—seeking in action the movement of the pronder passions or the subtler 
- springs of conduct—seeking im repose the colouring of intellectual beauty. 

The low and the high of art are not very readily comprehended ; they depend not 
npon the worldly degree or the physical condition of the characters delineated ; they 
_ depend entirely upon the quality of the emotion which the characters are intended to 
excite: namely, whether of sympathy for something low, or of admiration for some- 
_ thing high. There is nothing high ina boor’s head by Teniers—there is nothing low 
jin a boor’s head by Guido. What makes the difference between the two? The 
9 absence or presence of the ideal! But every one can judge of the merit of the 
a 


oF ern 


=) 


first. for it is of the familiar schoo!; it requires a connodijsscur to see the merit of the 


A> 


___ las:, for it is of the intellectual. : 
Power and Genius—Idols of Imagination.—From ‘The Last of the 
ag Barons.’ 


_ The father and child seated themselves on the pavapet..and saw. below, the ery 
and numerous vessels that @ided over the sparkling river. while the dark walls f 
~ Bavnard’s Castle. the adjoining bulwark and battlements of Montfichet. and the t: 1 
__watch-tower of*Warwick’s mighty mansion, frowned, in the distance, against the 
_ boft blue sky. 


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930 CYCLOPEDIA OF ~  ————- Fro. 1896, 


‘There,’ gaid Adam quietly, and pointing to the feudal roofs—‘ there seems to rise 
power ; and yonder’ (glancing to the river)— * yonder seems to flow genius! A cen-- 
tury or so hence the walls shall vanish, but the river shall roll on. “Man makes the 
castle and founds the power—God forms,the river, and creates the genius. And yet, 
Sybill, there may be streams.as broad and stately as yonder Thames, that flow afar 
in the waste, never seen, never heard by man. What profits the river unmarked? 
what the genius never to be known?’ acai = 

It was not a common thing with Adam Warner to be thus eloquent. Usually silent 
and absorbed, it was not his gift to moralise or declaim. His soul must be deeply 
moved before the profound and buried sentiment within it could escape into words, 

Sybill pressed her father’s hand, and though her own heart was very heavy, she 
forced her lips to smile, and her voice to soothe. Adam interrupted her. : iz 

2 ‘Child, child, ye women know not what presses darkest and most bitterly on the 
minds of men. You know not what it is to form out of immaterial things some ab=_ 
stract but glorious object—to worship—to serve it—to sacrifice to it. as.on an altar, 
youth, health, hope, life—and suddenly, in old age, to see that the idol was a phan- 
tom, a mockery, a shadow laughing us to scorn, because we have sought to clasp it.’ 

_‘*O yes, father, women have known that illusion.’ 
{ * What! do they study ?’ 

“No, father, but they feel!” 

‘Feel! I comprehend thee not.’ is 3 

‘AS man’s genius to him, is woman’s heart to her,’ answered Sybill, her dark and 
deep eyes suffused with tears. ‘Doth not the heart create—invent? Doth it not 
dream? Doth it not form its idol out of air? Goeth it not forth into the future to 

rophesy to itself? And, sooner or later, in age or youth, doth it not wake itself at 
ast, and see how it hath wasted its all on follies? Yes, father, my heart can answer, 
when thy genius would complain.’ ae 


WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH. 


Mr. W. Harrison Atnswortn, son of a solicitor in Manchester, 
“was born in 1805. He has written several novels and: romances, 
partly founded on English history and manners. His first novel, 
“Sir John Chiverton,’ appeared in 1825. His next work, ‘ Rook- 
wood,’ 1834, is a very animated narrative, in which the adventures of 
Turpin the highwayman are graphically related, and some of the 
vulgar superstitions of the last century coloured .with a tinge of 
romance. In the interest and rapidity of his scenes and adventures, 
Mr. Ainsworth evinced a dramatic power and art, but no originality 
or felicity of humour or character. His romance, ‘ Crichton,’ 1836, 
is founded on the marvellous history of the Scottish cavalier, but is 
scarcely equal to the first. He has since written ‘Jack Sheppard’ 
(1839),-a sort of Newgate romance, ‘The Tower of London,’ 
‘Guy Fawkes,’ ‘Old St. Paul’s,’ ‘ Windsor Castle,’ ‘ The Lancashire 
Witches,’ ‘The Star Chamber,’ ‘The Flitch of Bacon,’ * The Spend- 
thrift,’ &c. There are rich, copious and brilliant descriptions in ~ 
some of these works, hut their tendency must be reprobated. To 
portray scenes of low successful villainy, and to paint ghastly and 
hideous details of human suffering, can be no elevating task for a 
man of genius, nor one likely to promote among noyel-readers. a 
healthy tone of moral feeling or sentiment. The story of ‘Jack 
Sheppard,’ illustrated by the pencil of Cruikshank, had immense 
-guccess, and was dramatised. i, Ye a = 


“DISRAELT. | -.\ ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 281 


| BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 


, 
' The Rigut Hon, Bensamrn DisRaest, son of Mr. Isaac D’Israeli, 
. author of the ‘Curiosities of Literature,’ was born in London, De- 
_ cember 21, 1804. He-was privately educated; and placed in a 
 solicitor’s office, in order to give him some knowledge of business. 
_ His inclination, however, was for literature, not law, and in 1826 he 
_ appeared as an author, publishing ‘ Vivian Grey,’ a novel, in two 
volumes. <A second part was added in the following year. The 
' work was read with great avidity. It contained so many and such 
direct references to public men and recent events—such sarcastic 
views of society and character in high life—and was at once so 
» arrogant, egotistic, and clever, that it became the book of the season 
and the talk of the town. - Passages of glowing sentiment and 
- happy description gave evidence of poetic feeling and imagination. 
In 1828, the young novelist continued his vein of sarcasm in ‘The 
_ Voyage of Captain Popanilla,’ an adaptation of Swift’s ‘Gulliver’ 
' to modern times and circumstances. He then sought out new 
- scenes abroad, travelling over Italy and Greece, residing for a winter 
_ in Constantinople, and exploring Syria, Egypt, and Nubia. On his 
return to England, Mr. Disraeli began to mingle in the political 
contests and excitement caused by the Reform Bill and the advent 
' of the Whigs to power. He was ambitious of a seat in parliament, 
and made three unsuccessful efforts for this purpose—the first two 
as an extreme Reformer, and the third in the character of a Con- 
servative. He quarrelled with O’Connell and Joseph Hume, wrote 
furious letters against all gainsayers, and sent a challenge to O’Con- 
-nell’s son. He then became the Corypheus of the party denominated 
“Young England,’ and professed to look for the elements of 
_ national regeneration and welfare in the exertions and energies of 
_ the ‘heroic youth’ of the country. 

4 From 1830 to 1833 he produced several works of fiction—‘ The 
Young Duke,’ ‘Contarini Fleming,’ ‘The Wondrous Tale of Alroy,’ 
E “The Rise of Iskander,’ ‘Ixion in Heaven,’ &c. The best of these 
is ‘ Contarini Fleming,’ which he afterwards termed ‘The Psycho- 
“ageal Romance’ Though in the highest degree improbable as a 
story, and exaggerated in tone and sentiment, passages of fine imagi- 
nation, satire, and description abound in this romance. The hero 
seemed to be a self-delineation of the author—an idealised Disraeli, 
' Yevelling in scenes of future greatness, baffling foreign diplomatists 
and political intriguers, and trampling down all opposition by the 
_ brilliancy of his intellect and the force of his will. In ‘ Alroy,’ the 
_ author’s imagination ran to waste, It is written in a strain of Has- 
tern hyperbole, in a sort of lyrical prose, and is without purpose, 
toherence, or interest. « Nothing daunted by the ridicule heaped on 
this work, Mr. Disraeli made a still bolder flight next year. In 1834 
“&ppeared, in quarto, ‘The Revolutionary Epick, the Work of Dis- 


CYCLOPADIA OF . — [ro 1876, 


racli the Younger, Author of The Psychological Romance.’ Such a 
title was eminently provocative of ridicule, and the fecling was 
heightened by the preface, in which the author stated that his poem 
was suggested on the plains of Troy, but that ‘the poet hath ever 
embodied the spirit of his time.” He instanced the ‘ Iliad,’ the 
‘ Aneid,’ the ‘Divine Comedy,’ and the ‘ Paradise Lost,’ adding ; 
‘And the Spirit of my Time, shail it alone be uncelebrated? For 
m) remains the ‘Revolutionary Hpick.’” Accordingly, the Genius of 
Feudalism and the Genius of Federalism are made to appear before 
the throne of Demogorgon, to plead in blank verse the cause of their 
separate political systems, and Faith and Fealty and ‘Young Eng- 
Jand’ are triumphant. No work of Mr, Disraeli’s was ever without 
some passage of origirality or power, and a few of the monologues 
and descriptions in this epic are wrought up with considerable effect; 
but on the whole it is heavy and incongruous, and was universally 
considered a failure. Some political di-sertations succeeded—‘ The 
Crisis Examined,’ ‘Vindication of the English Constitution,’ ‘ Let- 
ters of Runnymede.’ &c. These are strongly anti-Whiggish, wriiten 
after the model of Junius, and abound in elaborate sarcasm and in- 
vective, occasionally degenerating into bombast, but with traces of 
that command of humorous illustration which afterwards distin- 
guished Mr. Disraeli as a parliamentary debater. The years 1836 
and 1837 were marked by the production of two more novels—‘ Hen- 
rietta Temple, a Love Story,’ and ‘ Venetia.’ The former is one of — 
the most pleasing and consistent of the author’s fictions; the second. 
is an attempt to portray the characters of Byron and Shelley in con- 
nection with a series of improbable incidents. Shortly after the ap- 
pearance of his tale of ‘ Venetia,’ its author was gratified by the 
acquisition of that long-coveted honour, a seat in parliament. He 
was returned for the borough of Maidstone,. along with Mr, Wynd-— 
ham Lewis, who died in 1838, and in the folowing year Mr. Dis- 
racli married the widow of his late colleague, who, in 1568, was 
elevated to the peerage with the title of Viscountess Beaconsfield. 
Mr. Disraeli’s first speech was looked forward to with some interest, 
for he had menaced O’Connell with the threat, ‘We shall -meet at 
Philippi,’ and had piqued the public curiosity by his political reve- 
ries and the bold satire ; so that a performance rich in amusement, 
if not one of high triumph, was anticipated. In style and de- 
livery the speech resembled Mr. Disraeli’s oriental magnificence: it 
was received with shouts of derisive laughter, in the midst of which 
the speaker fairly broke down, but in conclusion he thundered out © 
with prophetic sagacity: ‘I have begun several times many things, 
and have often succeeded atlast. I shall sit down now, but the time 
will come when you wili hear me.’ It was long, however, before he 
ventured on a second attempt; and when he did come forward again 
on that trying arena, it was obvious that he had profited by the fail- 
ure and by the subsequent discipline it had ied him to undertake. It 


ie 


~~ 


RAFLEJ =~ ENGLISH LITERATURE.. | 253 


Pak 4 


DIS 


- 


aS f 
is not within our province to review the political career of Mr. Dis- 
racli. In time his talent, or rather genius, took a practical shape; his 
taste and ambition were chastened, and his efforts as a politician and 
_ debater were crowned with brilliant success. ‘'t is a common opin: 
ion, as he has himself said, ‘that a man cannot at the same time be 
“successful both in meditation and in action. Butin life it is wisest to. 
judge men individually, and not decide upon them by general rules. 

fhe common opinion in this instance may be very often correct; but 


f 


> 
2 
~ oF 


_ where it fails to apply its influence, may involve usin fatal mistakes, 
_ A literary man who is a man of action is a two-edged weapon; nor 
- should it be forgotten that Caius Julius and Frederick the Great 
'. were both eminently literary characters, and yet were perhaps the 
- twomost distinguished men of action of ancient and modern times.’ 
' Before the novelist had succeeded in realizing this rare combination, 
he continued his literary labours. In 1839 he produced:a tragedy, 
' *Alcaros,’ which is alike deficient in poetic power and artistic skill. 
In 1844 and 1845 he was successful with two semi-political novels, 
_ ‘Coningsby, or the New Generation,’ and ‘Sybil, or the Two Na- 
B.! tions.’ The former was a daring attempt to portray the public men 

- of his own times—to delineate the excesses of the Marquis ot Hert- 
ford, the subserviency and Irish assurance of Mr. John Wilson Cro- 
ker (Rigby), the tuft-hunting and dissipation of Theodore Hook, ‘and 
_ the political influence and social life of men like the Duke of Rut- 
~ Jand and Lord Lonsdale. 'The lower class of trading politicians and 
_ supple subordinates was well drawn in the trio Messrs. Earwig, Tad- 
~ pole and ‘i’aper; while the doctrines of ‘Young England’ were -€X- 
_ emplified in the hero Coningsby (the Hon. Mr. Smythe), in Sidonia 


Mt, 


the Jew (obviously Mr. Disraeli himself) and in the various dialogues 
- and episodes scattered throughout the work. Pictures of high life 
~ and fashionable frivolities vary the gravcr scenes, and defects in our 
_ domestic institutions and arrangements are commented upon in the 
-. author’s pointed and epigrammatic style: ‘These opinions of the ‘new 


Mee ee ee 


3 generation’ are often false in sentiment and utterly impracticable— 
: ~ such as the proposed revival of May-games and other rustic sports, 
_- with profuse hospitality on the part of land-owners—while the his- 
torical retrospects of public affairs and English rulers are glaringly 
- partial and unjust. ‘The same defects characterise ‘Sybil,’ but with 
' less interest in the narrative portions of the work. Jt is, indeed, 
— more strictly a collection of political:essays and conversations than a 
- novel. One peculiarity in these works, and one which has become 
_ characteristic of .Mr. Disraeli, is his chivalrous defense of the Jews. 
-- Touched by hereditary associations and poctic fancy, he places the 
‘ Hebrew race above all others. But even in their day of power the 
Jews yielded to various conquerors, and their depressed political 
+ condition cannot but be regarded as a proof of their inferiority. 
_ . The next flight of our author was towards the East. ‘Tancred, or 


" the New Crusade,’ 1847, is extravagant and absurd in its whole con- 


~s 


~ 


234 CYCLOPADIA OF 


ception and plot, yet contains some gorgeous descriptions of oriental 
lifé*and scenery. The hero, Tancred; a young English nobleman, 


= bro 1876. 


desires to ‘penetrate the great Asian mystery,’ and travels over the — 


Holy Land, encountering perils and adventures; he fights, loves, and 
meditates; but in the end, when the reader expects to be able to 
‘pluck the heart out of this great mystery,’ the English father and 
mother appear in Jerusalem, and bear off the érrant and enthusiastic 
crusader. With this second ‘ wild and wondrous tale’ Mr. Disraeli’s 
career as a novelist closed for a quarter of a century. He was now 
iminersed in politics and conspicuous as a debater. : 
When Sir Robert Peel avowed and acted upon his conversion to 
the principles of free-trade, he was assailed, night after night, by 
Mr. Disraeli in speeches memorable for their bitterness, their concen- 
trated sarcasm, and studied invective. No minister since Walpole 
had been so incessantly and perseveringly attacked. He denounced 


Sir Robert- Peel as the head of an ‘organised hypocrisy,’ and as a- 


politician who had ‘found the Whigs bathing, and stolen their 
clothes.’ The Opposition at this time was led by Lord George Ben- 
tinck; and when the chief was cut off by a sudden and premature 
-death, Mr. Disraeli commemorated his services in a volume entitled 
‘Lord George Bentinek, a political Biography,’ 1851. A few months 
after this period, the Earl of Derby was called upon to form a Con- 
servative administration, and Mr. Disraeli was made Chancellor of 
the Exehequer. He retired with his party after about nine months. 
possession of office; but when Lord Derby returned again to power 


in 1858, Mr. Disraeli resumed his former important appointment... 


In 1859, the defeat of the administration again led to his retirement. 
In February, 1868, he attained the highest parliamentary distinction 
—he was appointed first Lord of the Treasury or Premier. This 
Office he held till December of the same year, when the Conserva- 
tive administration was supplanted by that of Mr. Gladstone. In 
1870 Mr. Disraeli astonished the world by appearing again as a no- 
velist 
. one which has had the greatest circulation. In 1874 Mr. Disraeli 
Wes once more restored to his high office of First Minister of the 


Crown, and in 1876 he was called to the House of Lords as Earl of - 


Beaconsfield. é 
The Principle of Utility. 


‘Tu this country,’ said Sidonia, ‘since the peace, there has been an attempt to ad- 


author of ‘ Lothair,’ the weakest of all his novels, yet the 


vocate a reconstruction of society on a purely rational basis. The principle of utility 


has been powerfully developed. I speak not with lightness of the labours of the dis- 
ciples of that school. I bow to intellect in every form; and we should be grateful to 
any school of philosophers, even if we disagree with them; doubly grateful in this 
country, where for so long a period our statesmen were in so pitiable an arrear of 
public intelligence. There has been an attempt to reconstruct society on a basis of 
material motives and calculations. It has failed. It must ultimately have failed 


under any circumstances: its failure in an ancient and densely peopled kingdom was ~ 


inevitable. How limited is human reason, the profoundest inquirers are most con- 
scious. We are not indebted to the reason of man for any of the great achievements 


aa 3 = Rie _° Et ; e = oe : 
~ pIsRAELt.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 235 
_ which are the landmarks of human action and human progress. It was not reason 
/ that besieged Troy; it was not reason that sent forth the Saracen from the desert to 
* conquer the world; that inspired the Crusades; that instituted the monastic orders; 
_ it was not reason that produced the Jesuits; above all, it was not reason that created 
the French Revolution. Man is only truly great when he acts from the passions; 
ever irresistible but when he appeals to the imagination. Even Mormon counts 
more votaries than Bentham.’ . ‘ And you think, then, that as imagination once sub- 
_ dued the state, imagination may now save it?’ ‘Man is made to adore and to obey ; 
. but if you will not command him—if you give him nothing to worship—he will fash- 
jon his own divinities, and find a chieftain in his own passions.’ ‘ But where can we 
find faith in a nation of sectaries? Who can feel loyalty to a sovereign of Downing 
- §treet?’ ‘I speak of the eternal principles of human nature; you answer me with 
the passing accidents of the hour. Sects rise and sects disappear. Where are the 

» Fifth-monarchy men? England is governed by Downing Street: once it was gov- 
-~ erned by Alfred and Elizabeth.’ 


* 
- 


Jerusalem.—From ‘ Tancred. 


- The broad moon lingers on the summit of Mount Olivet. but its beam has Jong 
* left the garden of Gethsemane and the tomh of Absalom, the waters of Kedron and 
_ the dark abyssof Jehoshaphat. Full falls its splendour, however, on the opposite 
city, vivid and defined in its silver blaze. A lofty wall, with turrets and towers and 
frequent gates, undulates with the unequal ground which it covers, as it encircles the 
Jost capital of Jebtovah. Itis acity of hills far more famous than those of Rome; 
- for all Europe has heard of Sion and of Calvary, while the Arab and the Assyrian, 
> -and the tribes and nations beyond, are asignorant of the Capitolan and Aventine 
_ Mounts as they are of the Malvern or the Chiltern Hills. 
é The broad steep of Sion crowned with the tower of David; nearer. still, Mount 
- Moriah, with the gorgeous temple of the God of Abraham, but built, alas! by the 
_ child of Hagar, and not by Sarah’s chosen one; close to its cedars and its cypresses, 
its lofty spires and airy arches, the moonlight falls upon Bethesda’s pool; further on, 
entered by the-gate of St. Stephen, the eye, though ’tis the noon of night, traces with 
ease the Street of Grief, a long winding ascent to a vast cupolaed pile that now 
covers Calvary—called the Street of Grief, because there the most illustrious of the 
human, as well as of the Hebrew race, the descendant of King David, and the divine son 
of the most favoured of women, twice sank under that burden of suffering and shame 
. Which is now throughout all Christendom the emblem of triumph and of honour ; 
passing over groups and masses of houses built of stone, with terraced roofs, or sur- 
mounted with small domes, we reach the hill of Salem, where Melchisedek built his 
mystic citadel; and still remains the hill of Scopas, where Titus gazed upon Jerusa- 
~ lem on the eve of his final assault. Titus destroyed the temple. ‘The religion of Ju- 
- dea has in turn subverted the fanes which were raised to his father and to himself in 
___ their imperial capital; and the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob is now wor- 
' shipped before every altar in Rome. 
as Jerusalem by moonlight! ’Tis a fine spectacle, apart.from all its indissoluble 
.. associations of awe and beauty. The mitigating hour softens the austerity of a 
~ mountain landscape magnificent in outline, however harsh and severe in detail; and, 
while it retains al! its sublimity, removes much of the savage sternness of the strange 
and unrivalled scene. A fortified city, almost surrounded by ravines, and rising in 
the centre of chains of far-spreading hills, occasionally offering, through their rocky 
-. gilens, the gleams of a distant and richer land ! 
> Tbe moon has sunk behind the Mount of Olives, and the stars in the darker sky 
shine doubly bright over the sacred city. ‘The all-pervading stillness is broken by a 
_ ~ breeze, that seems to have travelled over the plain of Sharon from the sea. It wails 
among the tombs, and sighs among the cypress groves. The palm-tree trembles as 
it passes. as if it were a spirit of woe. Is it the breeze that has travelled over the 
plain of Sharon from the sea? 
4 Or is it the haunting voice of prophets mourning over the city that they could not 
- save? Their spirits surely Sond: linger on the ant where their Creator had deigned 
__~ to dweil, and over whose impending faith Omnipotence had shed human tears. From 
~ ~- this mount! .Who-can but believe that; at-the-midnight-hour; from the summit-ef 
_ the Ascension, the great departed of Israel assemble to gaze upon the battlements of 


m~ 


ay Yr 
’ ca 


Ue ee ar tae et eee 


- 
236 CYCLOPZEDEA. OF a —- Fro.1876. 
their mystic city! There might be counted heroes and sages, who need shrink from ~ 
nO rivalry with the brightest and the wisesr of otherlands; but the lawgiver ofthe time — 
of the Pharaohs, whose !aws are still obeyed; the mouarch, whose reign has ceased ~ 
for three thousand years, but whose wisdom is a proverb in all nations of the earth; ~ 
the teacher, whos: doctrines have modeled civilised Hurope—the greatest of levisla- 
tors, the greatest of. adininistrators, and the greatest of reftormers—what race, extinct 
or living, can produce three such mien as these! 

The last light is extinguished in the village of Bethany. The wailing breeze nas _ 
become a moaning wind; a white film spreads over the purple sky} the stars are — 
veiled, the stars are hid; all becomes as durk as the waters Of Kedron and the valley 
of Jehoshaphat. ‘lhe tower of Dav.d merges into obscurity; no longer glitter the 
minarets of the mosque of Omar; Bethesd’s angelic waters, the gate of Stephen, | 
the street of sacred sorrow, the hill of salem, and the heights of Scopas, csn no 
louger be discerned. Alone in the increasing darkness, while the very line of the — 
walls gradually eludes theeye, the church of the Lioly Sepulchre is a beacon light. 

And why is the church of the Holy Sepuichre a beacon light? Why, when it is® 
already past the noon of darkness, when every soul slumbers in Jerusalem, and not 
a sound disturbs the deep repose execpt the howl of the wild dog crying to the wilder 
wind—why is the cupola of the sanctuary illumined, though the hour has Jong since 
been numbered. when pilgrims there kneel and monks pray 2? 

Anarmed Turkish guard are bivonacked in the court of the church: within the 
church itselr, two bretnren of the couvent of terra Santa keep holy watch end ward:- 
while, at the tomb beneath, there kneels a solitary youth, who prostrated himself at _ 
sunset, and who will there pass unmoved the whole of the sacred night. 

Yet the pilgrim is not in communion with the Latin Church; neither is he of the 
Church Armeiian, or the Church Greek; Maronite, Coptic, or Abyssinian—these 
al-o are Christian churches which caunot cali him child. : 

He comes trom a distant and auorthern isle to bow before the tomb of 2 descend 
ant of the kings of Israel, becuuse he, in common with all the peop!e of that isle,_ 
recognises in that sublime Hebrew incarnation the presence of a Divine Redeemer. 
Then why does he come alone? It is not that he has availed himself of ihe inven- 
tions of modern science, to repair first to a spot, which dl his countrymen may 
equally desire to visit. aud thus anticipate their hurrying arrival. _Betore the inven- 
tions of modern science, all his countrymen used to flock hither. Then why do they not 
now? Is the Holy Land no longer hallowed? Is it not the land of sacred ond mys- .__ 
terious truths? ‘fhe land of heavenly messages and earthly miracles ?- ‘The land of 
prophets and apostles? Is it not the land upon whose mountains the Creator of the 

Jniverse parleyed w.tlt man, and the flesh of whose anointed race He mystically as- 
sumed, when He struck the last blow at the powers of evil? Is it to be believed that 
there are no peculiar and eternal qualities in a land thus visited, which distinguish it 
from all others—that Palestime is like Normandy.or Yorkshire, or even Attica or 
Rome? 

There may be some who maintain this; there have been some, and those, too, 
among the wisest and the witiiest of the northern and western races, who. touched 
by a presumptuous jealousy of the long predominance of that oriental intellect to 
which they owed their civilisation, would have persuaded themselves and the world 
that the traditions of Sinai and Calvary were fables. Half a century ago, Europe 
made a violent and apparently successful effort to disembarrass itself of its Asian 
faith. ‘he most powerful and the most civilised of its kingdoms, about to conquer. 
the rest, shut up its churches, desecrated its altars, massacred and persecuted their _ 
sacred servants, and announced that the Hebrew creeds which Simon Peter brought 
from Palestine, and which his successors revealed to Clovis, were a mockeryand a 
fiction. What has been the result? In every city. town, village, aud hamlet of that 
great kingdom, the divine image of the most illustrious of Hebrews has been again 
raised amid the homage of ‘kneeling millions: while, in the heart of its bright and 
“witty capital, the nation has erected the most gorgeous of modern temples. and con-. 
secrated its marble and golden walls to the name, and memory, and celestial cflicacy 
of a Hebrew woman. : Par 

The country of which the solitary pilgrim, kneeling at this moment at the Holy — 
Sepulchre, was a native, had not actively shared in that insurrection against the first _ 
and second Testament which distinguished the end of the eighteenth century. But — 


DISRAELT.) ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 937 


more than six hundred years before. it had sent its king, and the flower of its peers 
and people, to rescue Jerusalem from those whom tucy considered infidels! and 
~ now, in-tead of tue third crusade, they expend their superiluous cuergies in the con- 
+ struction of railroads. 
Phe failure of tue European kingdom of Jerusalem, on which such vast treasure, 
~ guch prodigies of valour, aud such ardent belief had seen wasted, has been oue of 
- those circumstances winch have tended to disturb the taith of Kurope, altuough it 
should have czrried convictions of a very diiferent character. ‘he Crusaders looked 
upon the Saracens as intidels, whereas tae children of the Desert bore a much nearer 
‘aflinity to the sacred corpse that had, for a brief space, consecrated the Holy Sepul- 
 chre. than any of the invading host of Europe. ‘The same blood flowed in their 
~ veins, and they recognised the divine missons both of Moses and of his greater suc- 
cessor. In au age so deticient in physiological learning as the twelfth century, the 
mysteries of race were unknown. Jerusalem, if cannot be doubted, will ever remain 
the appan ige either of Israel or of Ishmavl; and it, in the course of those great vicis- 
situdes which are no doubt impending for the East, there be any atiempt to place 
upon the throne of David « priuce of the House of Coburg or Deuxponts, the saine 
fate will doubtiess await bim, as, with all their brilliant qualities and ail the sympathy 
of Europe, was the final doom of the Godfreys, the Baldwins, aud the Lusignans, 


The Hebrew Race.—From ‘Coningsby.’ 


You never obs2rve a great intellectual movement in Exrope iu which the Jews do 
not greatly participate. The first Jesuits were Jews: that mysterions Russian di- 
ppeacy which so alarms Western Europ: is organised and principally carried on by 

ews; that mighty revolution whichis at this moment preparing in G rmauy. aud 
which will -be, in fact, a second and greater Reformation, and of which so little is as 
yet known in England, is entirely developing under the anspices of Jews, who al- 
' most monopodlise the professorial chairs of Germany. Neander. the founder of 
spiritual Chistianity, and who is Regius Professor of Divinity in the University of 
Berlin, is a Jew. Benary, equally ‘famous, and in the same university, is a Jew. 
’ Wehl, the Arabic professor of Heidelberg, is a Jew. Years ago. when T was in 
Palestine. I met a German student who was accumulating materials for the His- 
_ toryof Christianity, and studying the genius of the place; a modest and learned 
man. It was Wehbl; then unknown, since become the first Arabic scholar of 
_ the day, and the author of the Life of Mohimmed. But for the German professors 


or ee. Wa © 


‘ 


1, 


‘ 


* 


y} 
4 


i 


Se it 


- rule to interpose when affairs of state were on thecarpet. Otherwise I never inter- 


x 
; 
2 


i ous. A few years back we were applied to by Russia. Now tiere has been no friend- 
_ ship between the court of St. Petersburg and my family. It has Dutch connections 


_ consult the president of the French council; I beheld the son of a French Jew, a 


russian minister, who attended a few days after our conference. 
entered the cabinet, aud I beheld a Prussian Jew. So you see, my dear Com 


[ro 1876 


-208 CYCLOPADIA OF. ~ 
ingsby, the world is governed by very different personages to what-is imagined by — 
those who are not behmd the scenes. Favoured by nature and by nature’s God, we prox — 
duced the lyre of David; we gave you Isaiah and Ezekiel; they are our Olynthians, 
our Phillipics. Favoured by nature we still remain; but in exact proportion as we ~ 
have been favored by nature we have been persecuted by man. After a thousand © 
struggles—after acts of heroic courage that Rome has never equalled—deeds of divine | 
patrotism that Athens, and Sparta, and Carthage have never excelled—we have en- 
dured fifteen hundred years of supernatural slavery ; during which every device that 
can degrade or destroy man has been the destiny that we have sustained and baffled, 
The Hebrew child has entered adolescence only to learn that he was the pariah of that 
ungrateful Europe that owes to him the best part of its laws, a fine portion of its lit« — 
erature, all its religion. Great poets require a public; we have been content with — 
the immortal melodies that we sung more than two thousand years ago by the waters — 
of Babylon, and wept. ‘They record our triumphs; they solace our affliction. Great 
orators are the creatures of popular assemblies ; we were permitted only by stealth — 
to meet even in our temples. And as for great-writers, the catalogue is not blank. 
What are all the schoolmer, Aquinas himself, to Maimonides? And as for modern- 
philosophy, all springs from Spinoza! . But the passionate and creative genius that is 
the. nearest link to divinity, and which no human tyrant can destroy, though it 
can divert it—that should have stirred the hearts of nations by its inspired sympathy, 
or governed senates by its burning elogquence—has found a medium for its expres- 
sion, to which, in spite of your prejudices and your evil passions, you have been 
obliged to bow. ‘rhe ear, the voice, the fancy teeming with combinations—the imag- 
ination fervent with picture and emotion, that came from Caucasus, and which we. 
have preserved unpolluted—have endowed us with almost the exclusive privilege of — 
music; that science of harmonious sounds which the ancients recognised as most — 
divine, and deified in the person of their most beautiful creation. I speak not of the 
past ; though were I to enter into the history of the lords of melody, you would find ~ 
it the annals of Hebrew genius. But at this moment even, musical Europe is ours. ~ 
There is not a company of singers, not an orchestra in a single capital, that is not 
crowded with our children, under the feigned names which they adopt to conciliate 
the dark aversion which your posterity will some day disclaim with shame and dis- 
rust. Almost every great composer, skilled musician, almost every voice that ray- 
ishes you with its transporting strains, springs from our tribes. ‘The catalogue is — 
too vast to enumerate ; too illustrious to dwell for a moment on secondary names, — 
however eminent. Enough for us that the three great creative minds, to whose ex- 
quisite inventions all nations at this moment yield—Rossini, Meyerbeer, Mendelssohn — 
—are of Hebrew race; ind little do your men of fashion, your ‘*‘ Muscadins” of 
Paris, and your dandies of London, as they thrill into raptures at the notes of a Pasta — 
or a Grisi, little do they suspect that they are offering homage to the sweet singers of 
Israel.’ = Ta ¢ 


Pictures of Swiss Scenery and of the City of Venice. 


It was in Switzerland that I first felt how constantly to contemplate sublime 
creation develops the poetic power. Jt was here that I first began to study nature. 
Those forests of black gigantic pines rising out of the deep snows; those tall white 
cataracts. leaping like headstrong youth into the world, and dashing from their preci- 
pices as if allured by the beautiful delusion of their own rainbow mist; those mighty 
clouds sailing beneath my feet, or clinging to the bosoms of the dark green’mountains, 
or boiling up like a spell from the invisible and wmfathomable depths; the fell ava- — 
lanche, fleet as a spirit of evil, terrific when its sound suddenly breaks upon the 
almighty silence, scarcely less terrible when we gaze upon its crumbling and pallid 
frame, varied only by the presence of one or two blasted firs; the head cf a mountain — 
loosenmg from its brother peak, rooting up, in the roar of its rapid rush, a whole 
forest of pines, and covering the earth for miles with elephantine masses; the super- 

- natural extent of landscape that opens tous new worlds; the strong eagles and the © 
strange wild birds that suddenly cross you in your path, and stare, and shrieking fly ~ 
—and all the soft sights of joy and loveliness that mingle with these sublime and 
savage spectacles, the rich pastures’and the numerous fiocks, and the golden bees — 
and the wild-flowers, and the carved and painted cottages, and the simple manners’ 
and the primeval grage—wherever I moved, Iwas in tura-appalled.or enchanted;- but — 


as 


» 


‘ 
- ~ 2 ¥ 
’ ~ Ud ~~ 
a 5 4 


s 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. soe 280 


ee  — ps 


“whatever I beheld, new images ever sprang up in my mind, and: new feelings ever 
crowded on my fancy. . . . 
If I were to assign the particular quality which conduces to that dreamy and 
voluptuous existence which men of high imagination experience in Venice, I should 
describe it as the feeling of abstraction, which is remarkable in that city, and pecu- 
liar to it. Venice is the only city which can yield the magical delights of solituce. 
“Ali is still and silent.. No rude sound disturbs your reveries; faucy, therefore, is 
ay put to flight. No rude sound distracts your self-consciousness. This renders 
existence intense. We feel everything. And we fee] thus keenly in a city not only 
eminently beautiful, not only abounding in wonderful crc ations of art, but each step 
of which is hallowed ground, quick with associalions. that in their more various 
nature, their nearer relation to ourselves, and perhaps their more picturesque charac- . 
=ter, exercisesa greater influence over the imagination than the more antique stary of 
» Greece and Roine. We feel all this in a city too, which, although her lustre be indeed 
~ dimnted, can still count among her daughters maidens faircr than the o1ient pearls 
- with which her warriors once loved to deck them. Poetry, Tradition, and Love— 
these are the Graces that Lave invested with an ever chalming cestus this Aphrodite 
of cities, 
S, =: ‘SAMUEL WARREN. 


- In vivid painting of the passions, and depicting scenes of modern 
life, the tales of Mr. SAamvEL WARREN (born in Denbighshire in 1607) 
_ enjoyed on their appearance a high degree of popularity. His ‘ Pass- 
ages from the Diary of a Late Physician,’ two volumes, 1887, contain 
“Many touching and beautiful stories. His ‘Ten ‘Ihousand a Year’ 
_ 1841), though in some parts ridiculously exaggerated, and liable to 
the suspicion of being a satire upon the middle classes, is also an 
_ amusing and able novel. ‘lhe same remark applies to his third work 
of fiction, ‘ Now and Then’ (1847). After the Great Exhibition of 
1851, Mr. Warren published a slight work, ‘The Lily and the Bee,’ 
eavbich was almost inconceivably puerile and absurd. In 1854 he pro- _ 
~duced a work on the ‘Moral and Intellectual Development of the 
* Age.’ He has contributed various articles to ‘Blackwood’s Maga- 

zine,’ and has written several professional works, besides editing 
-‘Blackstone’s Commentaries.’ In 1859 Mr. Warren was appointed 
one of the two Masters in Lunacy. 


tees ee 


. a MRS. BRAY. 

' Mrs. Anna ExizaA Bray has written several novels, and other 
‘works, descriptive and biographical. A native of Devonshire, this - 
lady became in 1818 the wife of Mr. Charles Stothard, author of ‘The 
Monumental Effigies of Great Britain; and on the premature death 
of Mr. Stothard, his widow published Memoirs of his life. She was 
afterwards married to the Rev. Mr. Bray, vicar of Tavistock. The 
novels of Mrs. Bray are—‘ De Foix, or Sketches of Manners and Cus- 
“toms of the Fourteenth Century,’ 1826; ‘The White Hoods,’ 1€28; 
‘The Protestant,’ 1829; ‘Fitz of Fitzford;’ ‘Henry de Pomeroy;’ 
_‘Talba, or the Moor of Portugal;’ ‘Trelawney of Trelawney ;’ ‘ Trials 
Bot Domestic Life;’ &c. Mrs. Bray has also published ‘ Traditions and 
‘Sketches of Devonshire’ (being a series of letters addressed to fouthey 
‘the poet); ‘Tours in Normandy and Switzerland;’ and a ‘Life of 
srioumis Stothard, -R.-A., 1851. In 1844 a collected edition of Mrs. 


" 


3a 
a aoe 


240 - CYCLOPHEDIA OF ——-——s«&r0. 18476, - 


Bray’s works of fiction was published in ten volumes, She has since _ 
added several works—‘Life of Handel,’ 1857; ‘The Good St. Louis’ 
and his Times;’ ‘ Hartland Forest,’ 1871; &c. | si 
THOMAS CROFTON CROKER. is 


Mr. Croker (1798-1854) was one of the most industrious and ~ 
tasteful collectors of the legendary lore, the poetical traditions, and 
antiquities of Ireland. He was a native of Cork—a city famous also 
as the birthplace of Maginn, Maclise. and Mahony (Father Prout). ~ 
In 1824 appeared Mr. Croker’s ‘Researches in the South of Ireland,’ 
in 1825, the first portion of his ‘Fairy Legends and Traditions of the — 
South of Ireland,’ to which two additional volumes were added in © 
1827. His other works are—‘ Legends of the Lakes, or Sayings and — 
Doings at Killarney,’ two volumes, 1828; ‘Daniel O’Rourke, or ~ 
Rhymes of a Pantomime founded on that Story,’ 1829; ‘ Barney Ma- 
honey,’ 1832; ‘My Village versus Our Village,’ 1232; ‘ Popular Songs 
of Ireland,’ 1839; ‘Historical Songs of Jreland,’ 1841; &c. Mr,. 
Croker edited various works illustrative of the history of his country. ” 
He held the office of clerk in the Admiralty, to which he had been 
appointed through the influence of his countryman and namesake, 
John Wilson Croker. The tales of ‘ Barney Mahoney ’-and ‘ My Vil- 
lage’ are Mr. Crofton Croker’s only strictly original works. Neither~ 
is of the first class. Miss Mitford, in ‘Our Village,’ may have occa-. 
sionally dressed or represented her village en raudeville, like the back- ~ 
scene of a theatre, but Mr. Croker in ‘ My Village’ errson the oppo- 
site side. He gives us a series of Dutch paintings, too little relieved — 
by imagination or passion to excite or gratify the curiosity of the 
reader. He is happiest among the fanciful legends of his native 
country, treasuring up their romantic features, quoting fragments of — 
song, describing a lake or ruin, hitting off a dialogue or merry jest, 
and chronicling the peculiarities of his countrymen in their humours, © 
their superstitions, and rustic simplicity. The following is related 
by-one of his characters: se | 


The Last of the Irish Serpents. 


Sure everybody has heard tell of the blessed St Patrick, and how he druve the 
sarpints and all manner of venomous things out of Ireland; how he ‘bothered al! — 
the varmint’ entirely. But for all that. there was one ould sarpint left who was too. 
cunning to be talked out of the country. or made to drown himself. St Patrick” 
didn’t well know how to manage this fellow. who was doing great havoc; till atlong ~ 
last he bethought himself and got a strong iron chest made with nine bhoults upon it. 
So one fine morning he takes a walk to where the sarpint used to keep: and the sar- 
yint, who didnt like the saint in the least, and small blame to him for that, began to_ 
giss and shew his teeth at him like anything. ‘Oh. says St. Patrick. says he, 
‘where’s the use of making such a piece of work abont a .entleman like myself 
coming to see you? ’Tis a nice house I have got made for you agin the winter: for 
I’m going to civilise the whole country. man and beast.’ says he, and you can come 
and look at it whenever you please, and ’tis myself will be glad to see you.’ The sar~ 
pint, hearing such smooth words, thought that though St. Patrick had druve all the 
rest of the sarpints into the sen. he meant no harm to himself; so the sarpint walkg 
fair and easy up to see him and the house he was speaking about. But when the sar- 


2 


. oe a ee) ew Gar Ce ~ are sk tans 7 eee 7 +>.” 
: Pate Net ages ee) Fo 25 Fas “A re 
Ty Ca, ; RY = ‘ 


4 . 2 Ge - 


croker.]  ..-«- ENGLISH LITERATURE. — 244 


int saw the nine boults upon the chest he thought he was sould (betrayed), and was 
“formaking off with himseif as fast as ever he could. ?fis a nice warm house. you’ 
‘see,’ says St, Patrick. ‘and ’tis a good friend Tanto you.’ *I thank “you kindly, St. 
'Paizrick for vour civility.’ says the sarpint; -but I thin: it’s too smali it is fcur-ime? 
SmMmeanive it for an cxcuse, ind away he was going. *Too sinali!’ says St. Patrick’: 
= *stop, if you picase,’ says he; *von ‘re out in tual, my dyy, anyhow—L om sure ’till.- 
Pht you conipletely ;and Vil tellycu what.’ says be,* Vi! bet you aga lon of porier,’ says 
he. ~thait it youw’il only iry and get in they'll be plenty of room for you’ ‘he sarpint 
sAwas aS thirsty as could be with his walk :*and ’twus great joy to bin the thougits 
-ofdoing St Pairick out of the gation: of porier; so, swelling himsele up as big as he 
© could, in he got to the chest, all but a litle. bit of his tau: ‘1here, now,’ says hie 3 
> *!l’ve won the gallon, for you see the house is 100 sniall ior me. for I can’t- get in my 
- wail’? When what does St. Patrick do, but he comes behind the great licavy iid of tae 
 ehest, and, putting his two hands to it, down he slaps it with a bang like thuuder. 
_-When the rogue of a sarpint saw the lid coming down, in went his t:dl like a shot, 
 forfear of be.ng whipped off him, and St. Patrick began at once to boult the nine 
- iron boults: ‘Oh, murder! won’t you let me out, St. Patrick?’ says the sarpint; 
- *}’ve lost the bet fairly, aud Tl pay you the gallon like aman.’ ‘Let you out, my 
- darling? says St. Patrick; ‘to be sure I will, by all manner of means; but you see 
I haven’t time now, so you must wait till to-morrow.’ And so he took the iron 
_ chest, with the sarpint in it, and pitches it into the luke here, where it is to this hour 
for certain; and ‘tis the sarpiut struggling down at the bottom that makes the waves 
upon it. Meny is the living man (continued P.cket) besides myself has heard the 
_ gsurpint, crying out from within the chest under the water: ‘Is it to-morrow yet ?— 
“is it. to-morrow yet?’ which, to be sure, it never can be. And t.at’s the way St. Pa- 

trick settled the lust of the sarpints, sir. 


im, r CHARLES DICKENS. 


_ Few authors succeed in achieving so brilliant a reputation as that 
- which was secured by Mr. CHarves Dickens in a few years. The 
3 sale of his works has been almost unexampled, and several of them 
have been translated into various languages, including even the 
_ Dutch and Russian. Writings so universally popular must appeal to 
" passions and tastes common to mankind in every country, and at the 
Piame time must possess originality, novelty of style or subject, and 
4 force of delineation. Mr. Dickens was born February 7, 1812, at 
a Landport, in Portsea, in that middle rank of English life, within and 
_ below which his svmpathies,and powers as a novelist were bounded. 
’ His father was a clerk in the N avy Pay Office, and was then stationed 
s in the Portsmouth Dockyard. He was a good-natured thriftless man; 
: but both he and his wife lived to enjoy the prosperity of their cele- 
brated son. Charles was the second in a family of ‘eight children, 
_ two of whom diéd in infancy, and only one of whom (a sister) sur- 
_ Vived her distinguished brother. When only two years old, Charles 
‘was brought with his parents to London; but their home was soon 
_ afterwards again changed, as the elder Dickens was placed upon duty 
inChatham. There Charles lived till he was about nine years of ave, 
_ and made his first acquaintance with ‘Don Quixote’ and ‘The Vicar 
of Wakefield,” with ‘Gil Blas,’ ‘Roderick Random,’ ‘ Peregrine 
- Pickle, ‘Humphrey Clinker,’ ‘Tom Jones,’ ‘The Arabian N ights,’ 
and ‘Tales of the Genii,’ some of the essayists, and Mrs. Inchhbald’s 
_ Collection of farces, The dramatic spirit was always strong in him. 
‘The family was again moved to London; and the circumstances of 


ion 


a 


a9 CYCLOP.EDIA OF — - ___ fro 1876. 


the elder Dickens getting embarrassed, he was before long imprisoned | 
in the Marshalsea for debt. Almost everything in the house was by — 
degrees sold or pawned, the books among other.things, and little 
Charles was the agent.in these sorrowful transactions. About the * 
same time a relative of the family took a-share in a blacking ware- 
house, which was. started in opposition to ‘ Warren's Blacking.’ 
Charles, then a weakly, sensitive child, was sent to work in this cs- 
tablishment at a wage of six or seven shillings a week, his occupation’ 
being to cover the blacking- pots with paper. 4 
Ina fragment of autobiography which he left unpublished, 
Charles describes his wretchednes at this time. It does not appear 
that he was over-wrought or received unkind treatment, but a sense — 
of degradation settled on his mind, his lively imagination intensified — 
the misery of his situation, and he suffered bitterly while suffering 
in silence. He was only eleven or twelve years old when he left— 
this uncongenial employment. Writing about a quarter of a 
century afterwards, he says: ‘ From that hour till this my father and — 
my mother have been stricken dumb upon it. I have never heard 
the least allusion to it, however far off and remote, from either of | 
them. I have never, until I now impart it to this paper, inany burst ~ 
of confidence with any one, my own wife not excepted, raised the — 
curtain which I then dropped, thank God.’ -He adds that he never 
_ had the courage to go back to the place where his servitude began — 
(about Hungerford Stairs) until the very nature of the ground was * 
changed! The bitterness with which Dickens speaks of this portion — 
of his life, and of the seeming neglect of his parents, appears rather ~ 
the reflection of what he felt in after -life, in the midst of his success 
than what he experienced at the time. It reminds us of. Swift's | 
recollection of what he deemed the sordid parsimony and neglect of | 
his uncle, on whose protection he was thrown. In both cases there 
was.an unhealthy morbid feeling. The,affairs of the elder Dickens — : 
afterwards improved a little, and Charles was put to school. When — 
about fifteen he was placed in an attorney’s office among the in- 
ferior grade of young clerks. Having probably small prospect of 
advancement there, he took to the study of short-hand, Redueted 
the British Museum, and read diligently. é Pray, Mr. Dickens,’ said 
a friend one day to the young student’s father, ‘where was your son — 
educated?’ ‘Why, indeed, sir—ha! ha!—he may be said to” have 
educated himself,’ In ‘Pickwick, *Mr. Weller speaks in a similar ~ 
strain about his hopeful son Sam: *I took a good deal o’ pains wit 
his eddication,. sir; let him run in the streets when he was wery — 
young, and shift for his-self,’ Charles got to practice asa reporter — 
in the law -courts, his father having also taken to it in 9'd of the 
~ family resour ces, | 
_ At the age of nineteen the persevering youth made his way into the . 
Gallery of the House of Commons, first as areporter for the “True Sun,” 
and afterwards for the ‘Morning Chronicle.’ At this ectploy eat 2 


a a i EE RSs a Se ; Tn 
Ae Y: ee _ ; : Peat 


‘PICKENS] ENGLISH ‘LITERATURE. 243 - 


was acknowledged as the best. The situation was one calculated to 
sharpen his faculties and store his mind with miscellaneous informa- 
tion. Parliamentary reporting is more of a mental than mechanical 
Jabour. To the power of wr iting rapidly, there must be joined quick- 
ness of apprehension, judgment - to select and condense, and a degree 
_ of imagination, ready sympathy, or dramatic talent which identifies 
_ the reporter with the speaker, and enables him to render his meaning 
_ faithfully and vividly. The difficulty is, to find the mechanical art 
3 combined with the intellectual qualifications ; but these Dicken® pos- 
a sessed in perfection. The Reporters’ Gallery was a good field of dis- 
_ cipline and observation for the future novelist, and out of it, in his 
long unemployed forenoons, he had the range of the world of London 
- —its oddities, humours, streets and houses—which he made his 
_ favourite study. One day he ventured to drop a story he had written 
: into the letter-box of the ‘Old Monthly Magazine;’ it appeared in all 
- the glory of print; and the young author followed it up with other 
sketches, signed ‘ Boz,’ which appeared in that magazine and in the 

~ ‘Byening Chronicle.’ In consideration of the ‘Chronicle’ sketches, 
= his salary was raised from five to seven guineas a week. ; 
The year 1836 was a memorable one in Dickens’s career. In that 

4 year he collected into two volumes the first series of ‘Sketches by Boz,’ 
x for the copyright of which he received £150,and which was repurchased 
next year for £2000! On 3ist March he commenced the ‘ Pickwick 
; Papers,’ the foundation of hisfame. On the 2d of April he was 
_ married to Catharine, eldest daughter of Mr. George Hogarth, one of 
his fellow-workers on the ‘Chronicle.’ In August he closed his con- 
necticn with the Reporters’ Gallery, trusting henceforth to literature 
- asa profession ; and in the same month he agreed to edit ‘ Bentley’s 
aad (which was to be started in the following January), and to 
_ contribute to ita serial story; and before the year was out he had 
_ written two dramatic pieces—‘The Strange Gentleman,’ a farce, acted 
“in September, and ‘The Village Coquettes,’ an opera, performed i in 
December 1836. ‘Pickwick’ was commenced with illustrations by 
- acomic draughtsman named Seymour ; but between the first and 
second number, the artist, in some moment. of despondency, com- 
f mitted suicide. Another artist, Mr. Hablot Browne, was procured, 
"and continued the illustrations under the name of ‘ Phiz.’ Boz and 
_ Phiz, after the first four or five numbers, became the rage of the 
‘town. The sale before the close of the work had risen to 40,000 ! 
Though defective in plan and arrangement, as Dickens himself ad- 
» mits—in fact, originally intended as only a representation of a club 
of oddities—the characters, incidents, and dialogues in this new 
F. series of sketches were irresistibly ludicrous and attractive. Criticism 
- was lost in laughter. The hero, Pickwick, is almost as genial, un- 
80 histicated, and original as My Uncle Toby; while his man, Sam 
Veller, and Sam’s father, Mr, Weller, senior, were types of low life 


oe distinguished himself: out of eighty or aivety reporters he 
a 
ee: 
as 
4 


‘2 


- Bad. CYCLOPEDIA OF, ~~. ae 1876. 


new to fiction. They were caricatures, as every Suet saw ; but so 
many curious traits of character were depicted, with such overflow-_ 
ing, broad, kindly humour, felicities of phrase and slang expression, 
and such a mass of comic incidents and details, that the effect of the 
whole was to place Dickens at one bound at the head of all his con- — 
temporary novelists. . 

The pictorial accompaniments aided greatly in the success of the 
work, What Boz conceived and described, Phiz represented with 
truth, spirit, and individuality. The intimate acquaintance evinced 
in ‘ Pickwick’ with the middle and low life of London, and of the 
tricks and knavery of legal and medical pretenders, the arts of 
bookmakers, and generally of particular classes and usages common 
to large cities, was a novelty in our literature. Jt was a restoration © 
of the spirit of Hogarth adapted to the times in which the story 
appeared, ‘So much cant,’ as one of Dickens’s critics remarks, ‘had - 
been in fashion about the wisdom of our ancestors, the clorious 
constitution, the wise balance of King, Lords, and_ Commons, and 
- other such topics, which are embalmed in the ‘ Noodle’s Oration, 
that a large class of people were ready to hail with intense satisfaction 
the advent of a writer who naturally, and without an effort, bantered ~ 
everything in the world, from elections and law-courts, down to 
Cockney sportsmen, the boots at an inn, cooks and chambermaids.’ 

In the midst of the brilliant success of ‘Pickwick’ a personal 
sorrow occurred, which illustrates the keen sensibility of the novelist. 
His wife’s younger sister, Mary, who lived with them, and had made 
herself ‘the ideal of his ‘life,’ died with a terrible suddenness that 
completely bore him down. The publication of * Pickwick’ was 
interrupted for two months, the effort of writing it not being possible ~ 
to him.* This Mary appears to have been the original of his Agnes _ 
in ‘ David Copperfield,’ in which novel he embodied much of his — 
own early carecr and experiences. 

While ‘ Pickwick’ was in progress, ‘Oliver Twist’ was in course- 
of publication in ‘Bentley’s Miscellany.” It is a story of outlaw 
English life—of vice, wretchedness, and misery. The hero is an 
or ph an brought up by the parish, and thrown among scenes and — 
characters of the lowest and worst description. That he should not, 
under such training. have become utterly callous and debased, is ‘an: 
improbability which the author does not well get over; but the Inter- ~ 
est of the story is admirably sustained. The ch aracter of the ruffian — 
Sikes, and the detail of his: atrocities, particularly his murder of the 
e'rl Nancy, are brought out with extraordinary effect. The deserip-— 
tive passages evince that close obseby alton and skilful management, 
ot detail in which Di ckens never fails, except when. he attempts — 


” Pot: afer’ Life of Di ftir’ The Spits yn ofthis. young lady written by Dick-. 
ens, cana upon agravestone in the c: emetery at Kensal Green: * Young, beauti-— 
ful, and good, God in His mercy numbered her among His angels at the en age of c 
seventeen.’ ee: 


“abe 


i 


*’ 
s 
7 


- 
L <5 
= a 


Boas S Pa ee 


Ss 


KENS. ] 


- ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 945 


_ scenes in high life, or is led to carry his humour or pathos into the 
_ regionof caricature. Take, for example, the following account of a 
_ Scene of death witnessed by Oliver while acting in the capacity of. 
attendant to an undertaker: 


Sa Death and Funeral of a Pauper. 


~ __ There was neither knocker nor bell-handle at the open door where Oliver and his 
~ master stopped ; so. groping his way cantiously throngh the dark passage, and Dbid- 
~ ding Oliver keep close to him. and not be ufraid. the undertaker mounted to the top 
_ of the first flight of stairs,.and, stumbling against a door on the landing, rapped at it 
with his knuckles. 
- _ It was opened by a young girl of thirteen or fourteen. The undertaker at once 
— gaw guns) of what the room contained to know it was the apartment to which he 
_ had been directed. He stepped in. and Oliver fol:owed him. 
_ _- There was no fire in the room; but a man was crouching mechanically over the 
- empty stove. An old woman. too, had drawn a low stool to the cold hearth, and 
_ Was sitting beside him. ‘There were some ragged children in another corner; and 
_ inn smail recess opposit» the door. there Jay upon the ground something covered 
_ with an old blanket. — Oliver shuddered as he cast his eyes towards the place, and 
» Crept involuntarily closer to.his master ; for, though-it was covered up, the boy felt 
that it was a corpse.’ 
The man’s f:ce was thin and very pale; his hair- and beard were grizz!y, end his 
_ eyes were bloodshot. ‘Ibe old woman’s face was wrinkled, her two remaining teeth 
_ protruded over her upper lip. and her eyes were bright and piercing. Oliver was 
_ afraid to look at cither her or the man; they seemeu so like the rats he had scen 
Outside, — é é 
-* ‘Nobody shall go near her.’ said the mam, starting fiercely up as the undertaker 
approached the recess. * Keep back !—keep back, if yon ’ve a life to lose!’ 
_ — ‘Nonsense, my good men.’ said. the undertaker, who was pretty well used to 
__ misery in all its shapes— nonsense!’ a ; 
~~ §T tell yon,’ said the man, clenching his hands and stamping furiously on the floor 
~ —T tell you I won’t have her put into the ground. ‘She cou:dn’t rest there. The 
~ worms would worry—not eat her—she is so worn away.’ 
~ ‘rhe undertaker offered no reply to this raving, but producing a tape from his 
__ pocket, kne!t down for a moment by the side of the body. —_ 
~ ©Ah!’ said the man, bursting into tears, and sinking on his knees at the feet of 
_ the dead woman ;.‘ kneel down, kneel down ; knee! round her, every one of you, and 
mark my words. I say she starved to death. I never knew how bad she was till the 
_ fever came upon her. and then her bones were starting through the skin. There was 


ey 


% 


- faces, though we heard her gasping out their names. I begged for her in the streets, 
* and they sent me to prison. When I came hack she was dying ; and all the blood in 
és my heart has dried up, fer they starved her to death.. I swear it before the God that 
saw jit—thcy starved her!’ He twined his hands in his hair, and with aloud scream 
_ roll-d grovelling upon the floor, his eves fixed, and the foam gushing from his lips. 
“The terrified children cried bitterly ;°but the old woman, who had hitherto re- 
Mained as quiet as if she had been wholly deaf to all that passed, menaced them into 
silence; and hay ng unloosened the man’s cravat, who still remained extended on the 
3 ground, totiered towards the undertaker. ~ j ; 
—  *She was my danehter,’ said the old woman, nodding her head in the direction_of 
the corpse, and speaking with an idictic leer more ghastly than even the presence of 
© ‘deathitself. ‘Lord, Lord! well, it 7s strange that I who gave birth to her, and was a 
» woman then, should be alive and merry now, and she lying there so cold and stiff! 
— Lord, Lord !—to think of it; it’s as good as a pay, ag good asa play ! ' 
= As the wretched creature mumbled and chuck!ed in her hidests merriment, the 
 undertiktr tunel to go away. ; = ‘ 
a - *Stop. stop!’ ssid the old woman ina loud whisper. ‘ Will she be buried to- 
morrow. or next day, or to-ni¢ght? I laid her out, and IT mu-t walk, you know. 
Send me a larve cloak; a good warm one. for it it is-bitter cold. . We should have 
_ cake and wine, too, before we go! Never mind: send some bread; only a loaf of 
” 


- neither fire nor candle; she died in the dark! She conldn’t even see her children’s 


— 


+ Sp te ES Sy eee Seer Sar See one 
3 . 3 a ‘ eae see ies See's . cake 4 
3AG ~ CYCLOPADIA OF ca to 3676. 


bread and’a cup of water. Shall we have some bread, dear 2?’ she said eagerly, catch- 

_ ing at the undertaker’s coat as he ouce more moved towards the door. 34 32 
‘Yes, yes,’ said the undertaker ; ‘of course; anything, everything.’ _ He diser- 

gaged himself from the old woman's grasp, and dragging Oliver after him, hurrieds 


away. 

ee he next day—the family having been meanwhile relieved*with a half-quartern | 
loaf and a piece of cheese, left with them by Mr. Bumble himself—Oliver and his 
master returned to the miserable abode, where Mr. Bunible had already arrived, ac- 
companied by four men from the workhouse who were to act as bearers. An old. 
black cloak had been thrown over the rags of the old woman and the man; the bare 
coffin having been screwed down, was then hoisted on the shoulders of the bearers, 
and carried down-stairs into the street. ; 

‘Now, you must put your best leg foremost, old lady,’ whis ered Sowerberry in 
the old woman’s ear; ‘we are rather late, and it won’t do to keep the clergyman 
waiting.—Move on, my men—as quick as-you like.’ 

Thus directed. the bearers trotted -on under their light burden, and the two mourn- 
ers kept as near them as they could. Mr. Bumble and Sowerberry walked at a good 
~ smart pace in front: and Oliver, whose legs were not so long as his master’s, ran by 
the side. ¥ 

There was not so great a necessity for hurrying as Mr. Sowerberry had antici- 
pated, however; for when they reached the obscure corner of the churchyard in 
which the nettles grew and the parish graves were made, the clergyman had not ar- 
rived, and the ae who was sitting by the vestry-room fire, seemed to think it by 
no means improbable that it might be an hour or so before he came. So they set the 
bier down on the brink of the grave; and the two mourners waited patiently in the 
damp clay, with a cold rain drizzling down, while the ragged boys whom the specta- 
cle had attracted into the churchyard played a noisy game at hide-and-seek among - 
the tombstones, or varied their amusements by jumping backwards and forwards — 
over the coffin. Mr. Sowerberry and Bumble, being personal friends of the clerk, sat 
by the fire with him and read the paper. = 

At length. after the lapse of something more than an hour, Mr. Bumble and Sow- 
erberry, and the clerk were seen running towards the grave; -and immediately after- 
wards the clergyman appedred, putting on his surplice as he came along. Mr. Bum- 
ble then thrashed a boy or two, to keep up appearances; and the reyerend gentleman, 
having read as much of the burial-service as could be compressed into four minutes, — 
gave his surplice to the clerk,:and ran away again. 

‘ Now, Bill,’ said Sowerberry to the grave-digger, ‘fill up.’ 

It was no very difficult task, for the grave was so full that the uppermost coffin 
was within a few feet of the surface. The grave-digger shovelled in the earth, 
stamped it loosely down with his feet, shouldered his spade, and walked off, fol- 
lowed by the boys, who murmured very loud complaints at the fun being over so 
soon. 

‘Come, my good fellow,’ said Bumble, tapping the man on the back; ‘they want © 
to shut up the yard.’ . ; : ce 

‘he man, who had never once moved since he had taken his station by the grave-~ 
side, started, raised his head, stared at the person who had addressed him, walked 
forward for a few paces, and then fell down in a fit. The crazy old woman was too 
much occupied in bewailing the loss of her cloak—which the undertaker had taken ~ 
off—to pay him any attention; so they threw a can of cold water over him, and 
when he came to, saw him safely out of the churchyard, locked the gate, and departed 
on their different ways. 

‘Well, Oliver,’ said Sowerberry, as they walked home, ‘how do you like it??” 

‘ Pretty well, thank you, sir,’ replied Oliver with considerable hesitation. ‘ Not 
very much, sir.’ 

‘Ah! you'll get used to it in time, Oliver,’ said Sowerberry. ‘Nothing, when you 
are used to it, my boy.’ ‘ 

Oliver wondered in his own mind whether it had taken a very long time to get 
Mr. Sowerberry used to it; but he thought it better not to ask the question, and — 
walked back to the shop, thinking over ail he had seen and heard. he 


Dickeng’s next work, ‘Nicholas Nickleby,’ was also published in 
monthly numbers, 1838-39, and was no less extensively read. The 


f 


- 


_ plan of this work is more regular and connected than that 
_ of ‘Pickwick,’ and the interest of the narrative is well sus- 
_ tained. The pedagogue Squeers, and his seminary of Dotheboys 
_ Hall, is one of the most amusing and graphic of English satirical 
_ delineations; and the picture it presents of imposture, ignorance, 


- €atured. The exposure was a public benefit. The ludicrous account 
_ of Mr. Crummies and his theatrical company will occur to tae reader 
- as another of Dickens’s happiest conceptions, though it is pushed 
_ into the region of farce. In several of our author’s works there 
appears a minute knowledge of dramatic rules and stage affairs. 
_ He took great interest and pleasure in the business of the drama, 
_ As an amateur comedian—in which he occasionally appeared for 


' tasters of the stage, such as Charles Lamb loved to see and write 


_ hoyelist may be traced to this predilection. To paint strongly to the 
eye, and produce striking contrasts of a pathetic or grotesque de- 
_ &eription—to exaggerate individual oddities and traits of character, 
_ as marking individuals or classes—are almost inseparable from dra- 
- Matic representation. Dickens was soon independent of all criticism. 
_ Hewas arecognized master of English fiction, and critics and readers 
_ alike looked forward with anxiety to each successive appearance of 
__ the popular novelist. In 1840, he commenced a new literary project, 
_ entitled ‘Master Humphrey’s Clock,’ designed, like the ‘Tales of My 
_ Landlord,’ to comprise different tales under one general title, and 
- joined by one connecting narrative. The outline was by no means 
_ prepossessing; but as soon as the reader had got through this exterior 
- scaffolding, and entered on the first story, ‘The Old Curiosity Shop,’ 
_ there was no lack of interest. The effects of gambling are depicted 
with great force. 
_ _ There is something very striking in the conception of the helpless 
_ old gamester, tottering upon the verge of the grave, and at that period 


which sustains them, still- maddened with that terrible infatuation, 
_ which seems to shoot up stronger and stronger as every other desire 
and energy dies away. Little Nell, the grandchild, is a beautiful 
creation of pure-mindedness and innocence, yet with those habits of 
- pensive reflection, and that firmness and energy of mind, which misfor- 
_ tune will often ingraft on the otherwise buoyant and unthinking spirit 
. of childhood; and the contrast between her and her grandfather, now 
* dwindled in every respect but the one into a second childhood, and 
- comforted, directed, and sustained by her. unshrinking firmness and 
love, is very finely managed. The death of Nell isthe most pathetic 
and touching of the author’s serious passages—it is also instructive in 
its pathos, for we feel with the author, that.‘ when Death strikes 
_ down the innocent and young, for cyery fragile form from which he 
- a 


and brutal cupidity, is known to have been little, if at all, cari-~ 


benevolent objects—he is described as having been equal to the old ~ 


_ about; and doubtless some of his defects as well as excellencies as a 


- when most of our-other passions are as much worn out as the frame - 


‘ pe: be é a ~~ 


248 CYCLOPEDIAOF — ~—_— [ro 1876 


lets the panting spirit free, a hundred virtues rise, in shapes of mercy, 
charity, aud love, to waik the world and blessit. Of every tear that 
sorrowing mertals shed on such green graves, some good is born, 
some gentier nature comes. In the destroyer’s steps there spring up | 
bright creatio.s that defy his power, and his dark path becomes a 
way of light to heaven.’ ‘Lhe horrors of the almost. hopeless want - 
which tco often prevails in the great manutacturing towns, and the 
wild and reckless despair which.it engenders, are descr.bed with equal 
mastery of colouring and effect. ‘ihe account of the wretch whese 
whoie life had been spent in watching day and night a furnace, until he 
imagined it to be a living being, and its roaring the voice of the only 
friend he had ever known, although grotesque, has something in it 
very terrible: we may smile at the wildness, yet shudder at the horror 
of the fancy. A second story, ‘Barnaby Rudge,’ .is included in 
‘Master Humphrey’s Clock,’ and this also contains some excellent 
minute painting, a variety of broad humour and laughable carica-- 
ture, with some masterly scenes of passion and description. ‘The ac? 
count of the excesses committed during Lord George Gordon’s riots 
in 1780 may vie with Scott’s narrative of the Porteous Mob; and 
poor Barnaby Rudge with his raven may be considered as no un- 
worthy companion to Davie Gellatley. There is also a picture of an 
old English inn, the Maypole, near Epping Forest, and an old inn- 
keeper, John Willet, which is perfect in its kind—such, perhaps, as-— 
only Dickens could have painted, though Washington Irving might. - 
have made the first.etching.. .Of the success of this work and of its 
author, we have a passing glimpse in one of Lord Jefifrey’s letters, 
dated May 4, 1841: ‘I have seen a good deal of Charles Dickens, 
with whom I have struck up what I mean to be an eternal and inti- 
mate friendship. I often sit an hour feze-q-tete or take a long walk in — 
the park with him—the only way really to know or be known by | 
either man or woman. ‘Taken in this way, I think him very amiable 
and agreeable. .In mixed company, where heis now much sought 
after as a lion, he is rather reserved, &c. He has dined here, and 
me with him, at rather too sumptuous a dinner fora man with a — 
family, and only beginning to be rich, though selling 44,000 copies of 
his weekly [monthly] issues.’ * ae . 
In 1841 Dickens was entertained to a great public dinner in Edin- — 
burgh, Professor Wilson in the chair; after which he made a tour in — 
the Highlands, visiting Glencoe and ncighbouring scenery—‘ tre- — 
mendous wilds, really fearful in their grandeur and amazing solitude.’ ~ 
Next year he made a trip to America, of which he published an ~ 
account in 1842, under the somewhat quainttitle of ‘ American Notes. — 


for General Circulation,’ This work disappointed the author’s ad- ~ 


a 


————$___- -— SS eee 


* Life of Lord Jeffrey, vol. ii, p 338. In fact 60.000 copies of Master Humphrey — 


were printed at. first. and many thousands afterwards. Jeffrey’s letters shew the 

affectionate interest which the then aged critic took in the fame and prosperity of the — 

young novelist. i i | 
‘ 


eh... x ed i Ae ee % ; 
— DICKENS.] - ENGLISH LITERATURE 249 
- mirers, who may be considered as forming nearly the whole of the 
- reading public. The field had already been well gleaned, the Ameri- 
ean character and institutions frequently described and generally un- 
derstood, and Dickens could not hope to add to our knowledge on 
) any of the great top cs connected with the condition or future desti- 
» nies of the New World. His descriptive passages (as that on the 
Falls of Niagara) are often overdone. ‘The newspaper press he de- 
> scribes as corrupt and debased beyond any experience or conception 
in this country. He also joins with Captain Basil Hall, Mrs. Trol- 
lope, and Captain Marryat, in representing the social state and mo- 
: rality of the people as low and dangerous, destitute of high principle 
¥ or generosity. So acute and practised an observer as Dickens could 
not travel without noting many oddities of character and viewing 
- familiar objects in a new light. The following is a sketch of an o77- 
i gina) met with by our author on board a Pittsburg canal-boaté 

2 , 


A Man.from the Brown Forests of the. Mississippt. 


A thin-faced, spare-ficured man of middle age and stature, dressed in a dusty 
abbish-coloured suit, such as I never saw betore. He was perfectly quiet during 


i 
i 
a 


; the first part of the journey ; indeed I don’t remember having so much as seen him 


- until he was brought out by circumstances, as great men often are. The canal ex- 
_ conveyed across it by land-carriage, and taken on afterwards by another cane. doat, 
~ the counterpart of the first, which awaits them on the ovner side. There are two 
- canal lines of passage-boat; one is cailed the Express, and one—a cheaper one— 
- the Pioneer. The Pioneer gets first to the mountain, and waits for the Hxpress people 
* tocome up, both sets of passengers being conveyed across it at the same time. We 
were the Hvpress company, but when we had crossed the mountain, and had come to 
_ the second boat. the proprietors took it into their heads to draft all the Pioneers into 
it likewise, so that we were five and forty at least, and the accession of passengers 
was not all of that kind which improved the prospect of sleeping at night. Our 
_ people grumbled at this, as people do in such cases, but suffered the boat tobe towed 
off with the whole freight aboard nevertheless; and away we went down the canal. 
- At home I should have protested lustily, but, being a foreigner here, I held my 
peace. Not so this passenger. He cleft.a path among-the people on deck—we were 
~ nearly all on deck—and without addressing anybody whomsoever, soliloquised as 
- follows: ‘This may suit you, this may. but it don’t suit me. This may be all very 
well with down-easters and man of Boston raising, but it won't suit my figure no- 
_ how; and no two ways about that; and so I tell you. Now, I’m from the brown 
forests of the Mississippi, Z am. and when the sun shines on me, it does shine—a 
little. It don’t glimmer where T live. the sun don’t. No. Iama brown forester, 
Jam. I ain’ta Jonnny Cake. There are no smooth skins where I live. We’re 
- rough men there. Rather. If down-easter3'and men of Boston raising like this, I 
#m olid of it, but ’m none of that raising, nor of that breed. No. This company 
- Wants a little fixiug, 7¢does. Iam the wrong sort of a man for ’em, FT ams They 
won’t like me, they won’t. This is piling of it up, a little too mountainous, this 
is.’ At the end of every one of these. short sentences, he turned upon his heel and 
Be ypiiced the other way: checking himself abruptly when he had finished another 
- Short sentence, and turn‘ne back again, It is impossible for me to say what terrific 
~ Meaning was hidden in the words of this brown forester, but I know that the other 
- passengers looked on in a sort of admiring horror, and that presently the boat was 
ote to the wharf, and as manv ef the Pioneers as could be coaxed or bullied 
a to going away were got rid of. When we started again some of the boldest spirits 
~ 0n board mad2 bold to say to the obvions occasion of this improvement, in Our pros- 
Ky pects, ‘ Much obliged to you, sir :’ whereunto the brown forester—waving his hand, 
_and still walking up and down as before—replied: ‘No, you an’t.? You’re none @ 


Mees. BL. -v..%7—9 


Rae 


Ie: 


# 


/ 


tends to the foot of the mountain, and there of course it stops, the passengers being _ 


250 CYCLOPEDIA OF ‘Fro 1876, 


my raising. You may act for yourselves, you may. I have p’inted out the way. — 
Down-easters and Jonny Cakes can follow if they please. I an’t aJohnny Cake, I 
an’t. Iam from the brown forests of the Mississippi, J am ;? and s9 on as before. 
He was unanimously voted one of the tables for his bed at night—there is a great — 
contest for the tables—in consideration of his public services, and he had the | 
warmest corner by the stove throughout the rest of the journey. But I never 
could find out that he did anything except sit there; nor did I hear him speak | 
again until, in the midst of the bustle and turmoil of getting the luggage ashore in_ 
the dark at Pittsburg, I stumbled over him as he sat smoking a cigar on the cabin _ 
steps, and heard him muttering to himself, with a short laugh of defiance: ‘ 7 an’t a 
Johnny Cake, J an’t. I’m from the brown forests of the Mississippi, Jam!’ I 
am inclined to argue from this that he had never left off saymg so. 


Another American sketch is full of heart: 


The Bustling, Affectionate, little American Woman;  ~ 


There was a little woman on board with a little baby; and both little woman and. 
fittle child were cheerful, good-looking, bright-eyed, and fair to see. The little 
woman had been passing a long time with her sick mother in New York, and had 
left her home in St. Louis in that condition in which ladies who truly love their lords 
desire to be. The baby was born in her mother’s house, and she had not seen her. — 
husband (to whom she was now returning) for twelve months, having left him a 
month or two after their marriage. Well, tobe sure, there never was a Tittle woman 
so full of hope, and tenderness, and love, and anxiety, as this little woman was; 
and all day long she wondered whether ‘he’ would be at the wharf; and whether 
‘he’ had got her letter; and whether, if she sent the baby ashore by somebody else, © 
‘he’ would know it, meeting it in the street; which, seeing that he had never set_ 
eyes upon it in his life, was not very likely in the abstract, but was probable enough 
to the young mother. She was such an artless little creature, and was in such a 
sunny, beaming, hopeful state, and let out all this matter clinging close about her. 
heart so freely, that all the other lady passengers entered into the spirit of it as much 
as she; and the captain (who heard all about it from his wife) was wondrous sly, [ 
promise you, inquiring every time we met at table, as in forgetfulness, whether she 
expected anybody to meet her at St, Louis, and whether she would want to go ashore 
the night we reached it (but he supposed she wouldn’t), and cutting many other dry 
jokes of that nature. ‘There was one little weazen-dried, apple-faced old woman, 
who took occasion to doubt the constancy of husbands in such circumstances of be- 
reavement; and there was another lady (with a lapdog), old enough to moralise on 
the lightness of human affections, and yet not so old that she could help nursing the 
baby now and then, or laughing with the rest when the little woman called it 
by its father’s name, and asked it all manner of fantastic questions concerning him, - 
in the joy of her heart. It was something of a blow to the little woman, that when - 
we were within twenty miles of our destination, it- became clearly necessary to put — 
this baby to bed. But she got over it with the same good-humonur, tied a handker- 
chief round her head, and came out into the little gallery with the rest. Then, such 
an_ oracle as she became in reference to the localities! and such facetiousness as was. 
displayed by the married ladies, and such sympathy as was shewn by the single ones, 
and such peals of laughter as the little woman herself (who would just as soon have 
cried) greeted every jest with! At last there were the lights of St. Louis, and here 
was the wharf, and those were the steps; and the little woman, covering her face 
with her hands, and laughing (or seeming to laugh) more than ever, ran into her own 
cabin and shut herself up. Ihave no doubt that in the charming inconsistency of | 
such excitement, she stopped: her ears, lest she should hear ‘him’ asking for her—_ 
out I did not see her do it. Then a great crowd of people rushed on board, though 
the boat was not yet made fast, but was wandering about among the other boats to 
find a landing-place; and everybody looked for the husband, and nobody saw him, 
when, in the midst of us all—Heaven knows how she ever got there !—there was the 
tittle woman clinging with both arms tight round the neck of a fine, good-looking, ~ 
sturdy young fellow; and in a moment afterwards there she was again, actually clap- ~ 
ping her little hands for joy, as she dragged him through the s door of her small. 
cabin to look at the baby as he lay asleep! ¢ XY 


picxens.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 254 


-. Inthe course of the year 1842, Dickens entered upon’a new tale, 
~ * Martin Chuzzlewit,’ in which many of his American reminiscences 


are embodied. The quackeries of architects are admirably ridiculed 
“in the character ci _Pecksniff ; and the nurse, Mrs. Gamp, with her 
- eidolon, Mrs. Harris, is one of the most finished and original of the 
--author’s portraits. About Christmas of the same year the fertile 
author threw off a light production in his happiest manner, ‘A 
- Christmas Carol, in Prose,’ which enjoyed vast popularity, and was 
_ dramatised at the London theatres. A goblin story, ‘The Chimes,’ 
- greeted the Christmas of 1844; and a fairy tale, ‘The Cricket on the 
# Hearth, was ready for the same genial season in 1845. These little 
- annual stories are imbued with excellent feeling, and are rodolent of 
both tenderness and humour. A residence in Italy furnished Dick- 
_ ens with materials for a series of sketches, originally published in a 
+ mew morning paper, ‘ The Daily News,’ which was for a short time 
under the charge of our author; they were afterwards collected and 
_ republished in a volume, bearing the title of ‘Pictures from Italy,’ 
- 1846. . It is perhaps characteristic of Dickens that Rome reminded 
~ him of London! - 
_ — We began in a perfect fever to strain our eyes for Rome; and when, after another 
_ mile or two, the Eternal City appeared, at length, in the distance, it looked like—I am 
- half afraid to write the word—London. There it lay under a thick cloud, with in- 
_ numerable towers, and steeples, and roofs of houses rising up into the sky, and high 
- above them all, one dome. I swear that, keenly as I felt the seeming absurdity of 


_ the comparison, it was so like London, at that distance, that if youcould have shewa 
 -it me in a glass, I should have taken it for nothing else. 


~ Though of the slightest texture, and cenerally short, these Italian 
pictures of Dickens are not unworthy of his graphic pencil. We ex- 
_ tract his concluding sentences: F 


Farewell to Italy. 


+ Beyond the walls fof Florence] the whole sweet valley of the Arno, the convent 
~ at Fiesole, the tower of Galileo, Boccaccio’s house, old villas, and retreats ; innumer- 
able spots of interest all glowing inalandscape of surpassing beauty steeped in the 
_ fichest light. are spread before us. Returning from so much brightness how solemn 
. and grand the streets again, with their great, dark, mournful paiaces, and many 
_ itegends—not of siege, and war, and might, and Iron Hand alone, but of the trium- 
-. phant growth of peaceful arts and sciences. 

3 What light is shed upon the world at this day, from amidst these rugged palaces 
_ of Floren¢e! Here, open to all comers, in their beautiful and calm retreats, the 
ancient sculptors are immortal, side by side with Michael Angelo, Canova, Titian, 
- Rembrandt, Raphael, poets, historians, philosophers—those illustrious men of 
_ history, beside whom its crowned heads and harnessed warriors shew so poor and 
 smail, and are so soon forgotten. Here, the imperishabie part of noble minds sur- 
_ vives, placid and equal, when strongholds of assault and defence are overthrown ; 
_ when the tyranny of the many, or the few, or both, is but a tale; when pride and 
- power are so much cloistered dust. The fire within the stern streets, and among 
_ the massive palaces and towers, kindled by rays from heaven, is stil] burning 
_ brightly, when the flickering of war 1s extinguished, and the household fires of 
¥ generations have decayed; as thousands upon thousands of faces, rigid with the 
_ strife and passion of the hour, have faded out of the old squares and public haunts, 
__ while the nameless Florentine lady, preserved from oblivion by a painter’s hand, yet 

_ lives on in enduring grace and truth., 


‘ 


252 CYCLOP.EDIA OF ee ROOT, 


et us look back on Florence while we may, and when its shIning dome is seen 
no more, go travelling through cheerful Tuscany, with a brighy remembrance of wis 
for Italy will be the fairer for the recollection. The summer time being come; and 
Genoa, and Milan,and the Lake of Como lying far behind us; and we resting at 
Faido, a Swiss village, near the awful rocks and mountains, the everlasting snows 
and roaring cataracts, of ‘he Great St. Gothard, hearing the Italian tongue for the 
last time on this journey; let us part from Italy, with ui its miseries aud wrongs, 
affectionatély, in our admiration of the beauties, natural and artificial, of which itis 
full to overflowing, and in our tenderness towards a people naturally well disposed, 
and patient, and sweet-tempered, Years of neglect, oppression, and misrule, have 
been at work, to change their nature and reduce their spirit; miserable jealousies 
fomented by petty princes to whom union was destraction, and division strength, 


have been a canker at the root of their nationality, and have barbarised their lan- — 


guage; but the good that was in them ever, isin them yet, and a noble people may 
‘be one day raised up from these ashes. Let us entertain that hope! And let us not 
remember Italy the less regardfully, because in every fragment of her fallen temples, 
aud every stone of ber deserted palaces and prisons, she helps to inculcate the lesson 
that the wheel of Time is rolling for an end, and that the world is, in all great essen- 


tials, better, gentler, and more forbearing, more hopeful as it rolls! f 


The novelist afterwards visited Switzerland, and resided several 
summers in France; and his letters written during these residences 
abroad, have all the liveliness, humor and interest of his published 
works. In 1848 appeared his novel of ‘Dombey and Son,’ and in 
1850, ‘ David Copperfield,’ perhaps the most perfect, natural, and 
agreeable of his novels. In this story, Dickens introduced much 
of his own life and experience, his father sitting for the character of 
Micawber, one of the most humorous and finished of his portrait- 
ures. In his next work, ‘ Bleak House,’ he also drew from living 


originals—Savage Landor and Leigh Hunt, The latter, though a ~ 


faithful, was a deprecatory sketch, and led to much remark, which 
its author regretted, In 1850, Dickens commenced a literary periodi- 
cal, ‘Household Words,’ which he carried on with marked success 


until 1859, when, in consequence of a disagreement with his publish- ~ 


ers (in which Dickens was clearly and decidedly in the wrong), he 
discontinued it, and established another journal of the same kind 
under the title of ‘All the Year Round.’ His novels subsequent to 


* Bieak House’ were—‘ Hard Times,’ 1854 ; ‘ Little Dorrit,’ 1855; ‘A 2 
Tale of Two Cities,’ 1859; ‘ Great Expectations,’ 1861; ‘Our Mu-_ 


tual Friend,’ 1865. During part of this time he was engaged in giv- 
ing public readings from his works by which he realized large sums of 
moacy,* and gratified thousands of his admirers in England, Ire- 
land, and Scotland, He also extended his readings to America, hay- 
ing revisited that ¢ountry in 1867, and met with a brilliant reception. 
His health, however, suffered from the excitement and fatigue of 
these readings, into which he threw a great amount of dramatic 
power and physical energy. 


The combined effects of a love of money and a love of applause ~ 


{ 


-s 


& 
< 


“Tt may be worthy of note, as illustrating the popularity of Dickens’s works and. 


vale readings, that, on his death, his real and personal estate amounted to £93,000, 


{ this, upwards of £40,000 was made by the readings in Great Britain and America. _ 


ee | 


\ 


| 


 picKens] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 253 
> 


urged him on incessantly long after he should have ceased. He gave 
. his final reading in London, March 15, 1870, and in the same month 
appeared the first part of anew novel, ‘The Mystery of Edwin Drood,’ 
which promised to be one of the best of his long file of fictions. About 
- halt of this novel was written, when its author one afternoon, whilst 

at dinner, was struck down by an attack of apoplexy. He lingered 
in a state of unconsciousness for about twenty-four hours, and died on 
_ the evening of the 9th of June 1870. He was interred in Westminster 


- Abbey. The sudden death of an author so popular and so thoroughly 
national, was lamented by all classes, from the sovereign downwards, 
- asa personal calamity. lt was not merely as a humorist—though that 
was his great distinguishing characteristic—that Charles Dickens ob- 
tained such unexampled popularity.. He was a public instructor, a 
— reformer,and moralist. ‘Ah!’ said he, speaking of the glories of 
_ - Venice, ‘ when I saw those places, how I thought that to leave one’s 
hand upon the time, with one tender touch for the mass of.-toiling 
- people that nothing could obliterate, would be to lift one’s self above 
~ the dust of all the doges in their graves, and stand upon a giant’s 
_ staircase that Samson couldn’t overthrow!’ Whatever was good and ~ 
~ amiable, bright and joyous in our life and nature, he loved, supported, - 
_ and augmented by his writings; whatever was false, hypocritical, and 


vicious, he held up to ridicule, scorn, or contempt. 

_ The collected works of Dickens have been published in various 
forms, the best being the ‘ Library Edition,’ twenty-six volumes, 
which contains the original illustrations. ‘ A Life of Charles Dickens,’ 
by his friend and counsellor on all occasions, Mr. John Forster, is 
‘published in three volumes. 


Bo le 


a. W. M. THACKERAY. 
_ _While Dickens was in the blaze of his early fame, another master 


. 


_ . of English fiction, dealing with the realities of life and the various 
aspects of English society, was gradually making way in public fa- 
Be - your, and. attaining the full measure of his intellectual strength. 
“WitiiamM MAxkEPEACE THACKERAY—the legitimate successor of 

Henry Fielding—was a native of Calcutta, born in the year 1811. Hie 
~~ family was originally from Yorkshire, but his great-grandfather, Dr. 
' Thomas Thackeray, became Master of Harrow School. The youngest 


~ 
* 


_ son of this Dr. Thackeray, William Makepeace, obtained an appoint- 
~ ment in the East India Company’s service; and his son Richmond 
‘Thackeray, father of the novelist, followed the same career, filling, at 
the time of his death in 1816 (at the early age of thirty), the office of 
_ Secretary to the Board of Revenue at Calcutta. The son, with his 
__ widowed mother, left India, and arrived in England in 1817. * When 
I first saw England,’ he said in one of his lectures, ‘she was in 
_ mourning for the young Princess Charlotte, the hope of the empire. 
a J came from India as a child, and our ship touched at an island on 


- 


the way home. where my black servant took me a walk over rocks 


z 
iq) 
“—s 

.* ‘ Zz 


Jae 


Pa eh 5 { 
ae Se at 


en) 
Aeeet. 


254 - CYCLOPADIA OF - [ro 1876. 


and hills, till we passed a garden where we saw a man walking. 
«<That is he,” said the black man; ‘‘ that is Bonaparte; he eats three 
sheep every day, and all the children he can lay hands on!” There 
were people in the British dominions besides that poor black who 
had an equal terror and horror of the Corsican ogre.’ Young Thack- 
eray was placed in the Charterhouse School of London, which had 
formerly received as gown-boys or scholars the melodious poet Cra- 
shaw, Addison, Steele, and John Wesley. Thackeray has affection. 
ately commemorated the old Carthusian establishment in several cf 
his writings, and has invested it with a strong pathetic interest b 

making it the last refuge and death-scene of one of the finest. of his 


Py eee Tt Se ee 
Sn eae 


se Sot 
_ ’ 


~ 


characters, Colonel Newcome. From the Charterhouse, Thackeray . 


went to Trinity College, Cambridge, and whilst resident there in 1829, 


he made his first appearance as an author. In conjunction with a ~ 


college friend (Mr: Lettsom), he carried on for a short time a light 
humorous weekly miscellany entitled ‘The Snob.’ 


In 1830-31, he was one of ‘at least a score of young English lads : 


who used.to live at Weimar for study, or sport, or society ; all of 
which were to be had in the friendly little Saxon -capital,’ and who 


were received with the kindliest hospitality by the Grand Duke and . 


Duchess.* He did not remain at college to take his degree. His 
reat ambition was to be an artist, and for this purpose he studied at 


ome and Paris.+ On attaining his majority, he became possessed _ 


of a considerable fortune, but seme losses and speculations reduced 
his patrimony. At one time he lent, or rather gave, £500 to Dr. 
Maginn, and many other instances of his liberality might be recorded. 
Thackeray first became known through ‘Frazer's Magazine,’ to 
which he was for several years a regular contributor, under the 
names of ‘Michael Angelo Titmarsh,’ ‘George Fitz-Boodle, Esquire,’ 
‘Charles Yellowplush,’ &c.—names typical of his artistic and satirical 


predilections. Tales, criticism, descriptive sketches, and poetry 


were all dashed off by his ready pen. They were of unequal merit, 
and for some time attracted little attention; but John Sterling, 
among. others, recognised the genius of Thackeray in his tale of 
‘The Hoggarty Diamond,’ and ranked its author with Fielding and 
Goldsmith. His style was that of the scholar combined with the 
shrewdness and knowledge of a man of the world. ‘Titmarsh’ had 
both seen and read much. His school and college life, his foreign 


* Lewes’s Life of Goethe. At this time Mr. Thackeray saw Goethe, and had the 
good-luck, he says, to purchase Schiller’s sword, which formed a part of his*costume 
at the court entertainments. ‘ My delight in those days,’ he nd, 
caricatures for children. I was touched to find [on revisiting Weimar in 1853) that 


they were remembered, and some even kept until the present time}; and very proud_ 


to be told, as a Jad, that the great Goethe had looked at some of them.’ 


+ A volume of his sketches, fragments, and drawings was published in 1875, copied 
by a process that gives a faithful reproduction of the original. The yolume was en- 
titled The Orphan of Pimlico, and was enriched with a preface and editorial notes by. 
Miss Thackeray. The drawings display the artist’s keen sense of humour and per= 
-ception.of character, and are more quaint and amusing than sarcastic. _ 


= es 


ds, ‘was to make | 


= 


=> 


> # 
¥ 4 ~~ 7 
oe 


aa : | 
| THACKERAY. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 255 


_ travels and residence abroad, his artistic and literary experiences, 
_ even his ‘losses,’ supplied a wide field for observation, reflection, 
- and satire. He was thirty years of age or more ere he made any 
_ -bold push for fame. By this time the mind was fully stored and 
~ Inatured. 
_~ Thackeray never, we suspect, paid much attention to what Burke 
called the ‘mechanical part of literature ’—the mere collocation of 
_ words and construction of sentences; but, of course, greater facility 
as well as more perfect art would be acquired by repeated efforts. 
The great regulators—taste; knowledge of the world, and gentle- 
manly feeling—he possessed ere he began to write. In 1886, as he 
has himself-related, he offered Dickens to undertake the task of illus- 
trating one of his works—‘ Pickwick ’—but his drawings were con- 
’ sidered unsuitable. . In the same year he joined with his step-father, 
_ Major Carmichael Smyth, and others in starting a daily newspaper, 
~~ *The Constitutional,’ which was continued for about a twelvemonth, 
but proved a loss to all concerned. Thackeray entered himself of 
_ the Middle Temple, and was called to the bar (May 1848), but appar- 
_ ently without any intention of following the profession of the law. 
_ Under his pseudonym of Titmarsh, literary. Cockney and sketcher, 
- he had published several works—‘ The Paris Sketch-book,’ two vol- 
~ umes, 1840; ‘The Second Funeral of Napoleon,’ ‘The Chronicle of 
' the Drum,’ 1841; and the ‘ Irish Sketch-book,’ 1848. None of these 
~ became popular, though the Irish sketches are highly amusing, and 
_ contain some of Thackeray’s happiest touches. ‘Ihe following inci- 
- dent, for example, is admirably told. The tourist meets with a set of 
_ jovial Irish yachtsmen, bound, like himself, for Killarney: 


€ Ay? 


are - Car-travelling in Ireland. 


__.. The Irish car seems accommodated for any number of persons. It appeared to 
be full when we left Glengariff, for a traveller from Beerhaven and five gentlemen 
_ from the yacht took seats upon it-with myself; and we fancied it was impossible 
* more than seven should travel by such a conveyance, but the driver shewed the capa- 
__ bilities of his vehicle presently. The journey from Glengariff to Kenmare is one of 
__ astonishing beauty; and I have seen Killarney since, and am sure that Glengariff 
loses nothing by comparison with this most beautiful of lakes. Rock, wood, and 
sea, stretch around the traveller a thousand delightful pictures; the landscape is at 
first wild, without being fierce, immense woods and plantations enriching the val- 
__ leys, beautiful streams to be seen everywhere. Here, again, I was surprised at the 
: ee population along the road; for one saw but few cabins, and there is no village 
- between Glengariff and Kenmare. But men and women were on the banks and in 
the fields; children, as usual, came trooping up to the car; and the jovial men of 
___ the yacht had great conversation with most of the persons whom we met on the road. 
_ A merrier set of fellows it were hard to meet. ‘Should you like anything to drink, 
~ sir?’ says one, commencing the acquaintance; ‘we have the best whisky in the 
- world, and plenty of porter in the basket.’ Therewith, the jolly seaman produced 

- along bottle of grog, which was passed round from one to another; and then began 
_ singing, shouting, laughing, roaring for the whole journey— British sailors have a 
knack, pull away, yeho, boys! Hurroo! my fine fellow, does your mother 
_ know you’re ont? ~-Hurroo! Tim Hurlihy? you’re a fluke, Tim Hurlihy?’ 
_ Oxe man sang on the roof, one hurrooed to the echo, another apostrophised 
_ the aforesaid Hurlihy, as he passed grinning on a car; a fourth had a pocket-hand- 
Ge eee 


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kerchief flaunting from a pole, with which he performed exercises in the face of 


any horseman whom he met; and great were their yells as the ponies shied off ~ 


at the salutation, and the riders swerved in their saddles. In the midst of this rat- 
tling chorus we went along; gradually the country grew wilder and more desolate, 
and we passed through a grim mountain region, bleak and bare; the road winding 
round some of the innumerable hills, and ence or twice, by means of a tunnel, rush- 
ing boldly through them. Ove of these tunnels, they say, is a couple of hundred 


yards long; and a pretty howling, I need not say, was made through that pipe of 


rock by the jolly yacht’s crew. ‘We saw-you sketching in the blacksmith’s shed at 
Glengariff,’ says one, ‘and we wished we had you on board. Such a jolly life as we 
had ot it!’ They roved about the coast, they sailed in their vessel, they feasted off 


the best of fish, mutton, and whisky; they had Gamble’s turtle-soup on board, azid- 


fun from morning till night, and vice versa. Gradually it came out that there was 
not, owing to the tremendous rains, a dry corner in their ship—that they slung two 
in a huge hammock in the cabin, and that one of their crew had been ill, and shirked 
off. What a wonderful thing pleasure is! to be wet all day and night; to be 
scorched and blistered by the sun and rain; to beat in and out of little harbours, 
and to exceed dinurnally upon whisky punch. Faith, Londen and an arm-chair at 
the club are more to the tastes of some men! , 


The pencil of Titmarsh, in this and some other of his works, © : 


comes admirably in aid of his pen; and the Irish themselves confessed 


that their people, cabins and costume had never been more faith- 
fully depicted. About the time that these Irish sketches appeared, 
their author was contributing under his alter ego of Fitz-Boodle, to 
‘Fraser’s Magazine’ his tale of ‘Barry Lyndon,’ which appears‘to 
us the best of his short stories. It is a relation of the adventures of 
an Irish picaroon, or gambler and fortune-hunter, and abounds in 
racy humor and striking incidents. _The commencement of ‘Punch’ 
- —the wittiest of periodicals—in 1841 ‘opened up-a new field for 
Thackeray, and his papers signed ‘ The Fat Contributor,’ soon be- 
came ramous. These were followed by ‘Jeames’s Diary’ and the 
‘Snob Papers,’ distinguished by their inimitable vein of irony and 


wit; and he also made various contributions in verse. A journey to- 


the East next led to ‘Notes of a Journey from Cornhill to Grand 
Cairo, by way of Lisbon, Athens, Constantinople and Jerusalem, by M. 
A. Titmarsh.’ This volume appeared in 1846; and in the following 
year he issued a small Christmas book, ‘Mrs. Perkins’s Ball.’ But 


before this time Thackeray had commenced, in monthly parts, his — 


story of ‘Vanity Fair, a Novel without a Hero,’ illustrated by him- 
self, or, to use his own expression, ‘illuminated with the author’s 


own candles.’ The first number appeared in February, 1847, Evy-— 


ery month added to the popularity of this work; and ere it was con- 


cluded it was obvious that Thackeray’s probationary period was past — 


—that Michael Angelo Titmarsh and George Fitz-Boodle would dis- 
appear from ‘Fraser,’ and their author take his place in his own 


proper name and person as one of the first of English novelists, and — 


the greatest social satirist of his age. 
In regularity of story and consistency of detail—though these by 


) 


=i 
x 


no means constitute Thackeray’s strength—‘ Vanity Fair’ greatly ex- — 
cels any of his previous works, while in delineation of character it — 


stands pre-eminent. Becky Sharp and Amelia Sedley—one recog: 


} 


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_ THACKERAY. | ENGLISH LITERATURE, 257 


~ nized as the ‘ impersonation of intellect without virtue, and the other 


as that of virtue without intellect ’—are not only perfectly original 
characters, but are drawn with so much dramatic power, knowledge 
of life, and shrewd observation, as to render them studies in human 


nature and moral anatomy. Amidst all her selfishness, Becky pre- 


__ serves a portion of the reader’s sympathy, and we follow her with 


unabated interest through her vicissitudes as French teacher, govern- 


| -ess, the wife of the heavy dragoon, the lady of fashion, and even 


s 


the desperate and degraded swindler. From part of this demoralisa- 
tion we could have.wished that Becky had been spared by her 


- historian, and the story would have been complete, morally and 


artistically, without it. But there are few scenes, even the most cyn- 


' ical and humiliating, that the reader desires to strike out: all have 


such an air of truth, and are lively, biting, and humorous. The 
novelist had soared far beyond the region of mere town-life and 
snobbism. He had also greatly heightened the interest felt in his 


characters by connecting them with historical events and places. 
We have a picture of Brussels in 1815; and as Fielding ia ‘Tom 


Jones’ glanced at some of the incidents of the Jacobite rising in ’45, 
Thackeray reproduced, as it were, the terrors and anxieties felt by 
thousands as to the issue of the great struggles at Quatre Bras and 
Waterloo. 

_ Having completed ‘Vanity Fair,’ Thackeray published another 
Christmas volume, ‘ Our Street,’ 1848, to which acompanion-volume, 
* Dr. Birch and his Young Friends,’ was added next year. He had 
also entered upon another monthly serial—his second great work— 
“The History of Pendennis (1849-1850). This was an attempt to 
describe the gentlemen of the present age—‘no better nor worse than 
most educated men.’ . And even these educated men, according to 
the satirist, cannot be painted as they are, with the notorious foibles 


--and selfishness of their education: ‘Since the author of ‘‘Tom 


Jones” was buried, no writer of fiction among us has been permitted ~~ 


to depict to his utmost powers @ man. We must drape him, and 


give him acertain conventional simper. Society will not tolerate 


the naturalin our art.’ This is rather too broadly stated, but society, © 
no doubt, considers that it would not be benefited by such toleration, 


Thackeray, however, has done more than most men to strip off con- 


ventional disguises and hypocrisies, and he affords glimpses of the 


interdicted region—too near at times, but without seeking to render 
evil attractive. His hero, Pendennis, is scarcely a higher model of 
humanity than Tom Jones, though the difference in national man- 


_ ners and feelings, brought about during a hundred years, has saved 


- 


him from some of the descents into which Jones was almost perforce 
drawn. Thackeray’s hero falls in love at sixteen,. his juvenile flame 


_ being a young actress, who jilts him on finding that his fortune is 


‘ 


7 


not what she believed it to be. This boyish passion, contrasted with 
the character of the actress and that of her-father—a drunken Irish 


~ a. ° : 
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258 CYCLOP-EDIA OF . [To 1876, 
captain—is forcibly delineated. Pendennis is sent to the university, 
gets into debt, is plucked, and returns home to his widowed mother, 
who is ever kind, gentle, and forgiving, but without an 
or firmness—another favourite type of character with ‘Thackeray. 
The youth then becomes a law student, but tires of the profession, 
and adopts that of literature. In this he is ultimately successful, 
and by means of his novels and poetry, aided by the services of his 
uncle, Major Pendennis, he obtains an introduction into fashionable 
society. A varied career of this kind affords scope for the author's 
powers of description, and for the introduction of characters of all 


y strong sense — 


grades and pretensions. Major Pendennis—an antiquated beau, a — 


military Will Honeycomb, and a determined tuft-hunter—is a fin- 
- ished portrait. The sketches of literary life—professional writers— 


may be compared with a similar description in ‘ Humphry Clinker,’ 


and the domestic scenes in the novel are true to nature, both in their 
satirical views of life and in incidents of a tender and pathetic na- 
ture. ‘* Pendennis ’ was.concluded in 1850. Inthe Christmas of that 
year Thackeray republished one of his Titmarsh contributions to 
‘Fraser,’ 1846, a mock continuation of Scott’s ‘Ivanhoe,’ entitled 
“Rebecca and Rowena.’ This piece was certainly not worthy of re- 
suscitation. An original Christmas tale was ready next winter— 
“The Kickleburys on the Rhine,’ in which Mr. M. A. Titmarsh was 
revived, in order to conduct and satirise the Kicklebury family— 
mother, daughter, courier, and footman, in all their worldly pride, vul- 
garity, and grandeur, as they cross the Channel, and proceed to. their 
destination at ‘ Rougetnoirburg.’ This a clever little satire—faithful 
though bitter, as all continental travellers admit; but it was seized 
upon by the ‘Times’ newspaper as illustrating that propensity 
charged upon the novelist of representing only the dark side of hu- 
man nature—its failings and vices—as if no real goodness or virtue 


\ 


existed in the world. The accusation thus brought against Thack- 


eray he repelled, or rather ridiculed, in a reply entitled ‘An Essay 


on Thunder and Small Beer,’ prefixed to a second edition of the 


Christmas volume. One passage on verbal criticism may be quoted — 


as characteristic. - 


‘It has been customary,’ says the critic, ‘of late years for the purveyors of amus- 


ing literature to put forth certain opuscules, denominated Christmas books, with the 
ostensible intention of swelling the tide of exhilaration, or other expansive emotions, 
incident upon the exodus of the old of the inauguration of the new year.’ ts 

That is something like a sentence (rejoins Titmarsh) not a word scarcely but ’s 
in Latin, and the longest and handsomest out of the whole dictionary. That is proper 
~ economy—as you see a buck from Holywell Street put every pinchbeck pin, ring, and 


chain which he possesses about his shirt, hands, and waistcoat, and then go and cut — 


a dash in the park, or swagger with his order to the theatre. It costs him no more ~ 


to wear all his ornaments about his distinguished person than to leave them at home. 
If you can be a swell at a cheap rate, why not? And I protest, for my part, I had no 


idea what I was really about in writing and submitting my little book for sale, until 


eny friend the critic, looking at the article, and examining it with the eyes of .a con- 
noisseur, pronounced that what I had fancied simply to be a book was in fact ‘an 
opuscule denominated so-and-so, and ostensibly intended to swell the tide of expan- 


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_ THACKERAY.} | ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 259 


_Sive emotion incident upon the inanguration of the new year.’ I can hardly believe 
_ a8 much even now—so little do we know what we really are after, until men of genius 
come and interpret. 


~ Inthe summer of 1851 Thackeray appeared as a lecturer. His 


_ subject was ‘The English Humorists of the Eighteenth Century;’ 


and all the rank and fashion, with no small portion of the men of 
letters of London, flocked to Willis’ss Rooms to hear the popular 
novelist descant on the lives and works of his great predecessors in 
fiction from Swift to Goldsmith. The lectures were afterwards re- 
eated in Scotland and in America; and they. are now published, 
“forming one of the most delightful little books in the language. Ten 
‘thousand copies of the cheap edition of this volume were sold in one 
week. To Swift, Thackeray was perhaps too severe—to Fielding, 
too indulgent; Steele is painted en beau in cordial love, and with lit- 


tle shadow; yet we know not where the reader will find in the same 


‘limited compass so much just and discriminating criticism, or so 


many fine thoughts and amusing anecdotes, as those which this lov- 


ing brother of the craft has treasured up regarding his ‘fellows’ of 
the last century. The Queen Anne period touched upon in these 
lectures formed the subject of Thackeray’s next novel, ‘Esmond,’ 


published in three volumes, 1852. The work is in the form of an 
autobiography. ‘The hero, Colonel Henry Esmond, is a Cavalier and 
- Jacobite, who, after serving his country abroad, mingles with its 


wits and courtiers at home; plots for the restoration of the Cheva- 


‘lier St. George; and finally retires to Virginia, where, in his old age, 
~he writes this memoir of himself and of the noble family of Castle- 


wood, of which he is a member. 
‘Historical events and characters are freely introduced. Esmond 
serves under Marlborough at Blenheim and Ramilies, and we have a 


. ‘at of the great general as darkly coloured as the portrait of 


im by Macaulay. The Chevalier is also brought upon the stage; 


- and Swift, Congréve, Addison, and Steele areamong the interlocutors. 


But the chief interest of the work centres in a few characters—in 
Esmond himself, the pure, disinterested, and high-minded Cava- 
lier; in Lady Castlewood; and in Lady Castlewood’s daughter, 
Beatrix, a haughty and spoiled, yet fascinating beauty. Esmond 
woos Beatrix—a hopeless pursuit of many years; but he is finally 


_ rejected; and in the end he is united to Lady Castlewood—to the 


mother instead of the daughter—for whom he had secretly cherished 
from his boyhood an affection amounting to veneration. It required 
all Thackeray’s art and genius to keep such a plot from revolting 


the reader, and we cannot say that he has wholly triumphed over the 


difficulty. The boyish passion is true to nature. At that period of 
life the mature beauty is more overpowering to the youthful imagi- 


~ nation than any charmer of sixteen. But when Esmond marries he 


is forty, and the lady is ten years his senior. The romance of life 
is over. The style of the Queen Anne period is admirably copied in 


260 - CYCLOPEDIA OF 


% 


thought, sentiment, and diction, and many striking and eloquent 


passages occur throughout the work. It is a grand and melancholy 


story, standing in tie same relation to Thackeray’s other works that 


Scott’s ‘ Bride of Lammermoor’ does to the Waverly group. 
We give one extract—sardonic and sad—from ‘Esmond?’ . 


Decay of Matrimonial Love. : 

*Twas easy for Harry to see, however much his lady persisted in obedience and 
admiration for her husband, that my lord tired of his quiet life, and grew weary, and 
then testy, at those gentle bonds with which his wife would have held him. As they 
say the Grand Lama of ‘l hibet is very much fatigued by his character of divinity, and 
yawns On his altar as his bonzes kneel and worship him, many a home-god grows 
heartily sick of the reverence with which his family devotees pursue him, and sighs 
for freedom and for his old life, and to be off the pedestal on which his dependants 
would bave him sit for ever, whilst they adore bim, and ply him with flowers, 
and hymns. and incense, and flattery: so, after a few years of his marriage, my 
honest Lord Castlewood began to tire; all the high flown raptures and devotional 
ceremonies with which his wife. his chief priestess, treated him, first sent him to 
sleep, and then drove him out of doors; for the truth must be told, my lord was a 
_ jolly gentleman, with very little of the august or divine in his nature, though his fond 
wife persisted in revering it—and besides, he had to pay a penalty for this love, which 
persons of his disposition seldom liked to defray ; and, in a word. if he had a loving 
wife, he had a very jealous and exacting one. ‘Lhen he wearied of this jealousy ; then 
he broke away from it; then came, no doubt, complaints and recriminations; then, 
perhaps, promises of amendment not fulfilled; then upbraidings, not the more pleas- 
ant because they were silent, and only sad looks and tearful eyes conveyed them, 
Then, perhaps, the pair reached that other stage which is not uncommon in married 
life, when the woman perceives that the god of the honeymoon is a god no more; 
only a mortal like the rest of us—and so she looks into her heart, and,lo! vacuece 
sedes et inania arcana. And now, supposing our lady to have a fine genius and a 
brilliant wit of her own, and the magic spell and infatuation removed from her which 
had led to her to worship as a god avery ordinary mortal—and what follows? They live 
together, and they dine together, and they say ‘My dear’ and ‘ My love’ as heretofore; 
but the man is himself, and the woman herself: that dream of love is over, as every- 
thing else is over in life; as flowers and fury, and griefs and pleasures are over, | 


The next work of Thackeray is considered his masterpiece. ~ It isin 
the old vein—a transcript of real life in the present day, with all its 
faults and follies, hypocrisy and injustice. The work came recom- 
mended by the familiar and inviting title of ‘The Newcomes: 
Memoirs of a Most Respectable Family. Edited by Authur Pen- 
dennis, Esq.’ It was issued in the monthly form, and was completed 
in 1855. The leading theme or moral of the story is the misery occa- 
-sioned by forced and ill-assorted marriages. That unhallowed trafic 
of the great and worldly is denounced with all the author’s moral in- 
dignation and caustic severity, and its results are developed in inci- 
dents of the most striking and affecting description. ‘Thus of one 
fair victim we read: fe 

Lady Clara Newcome. 

Poor Lady Clara! I fancy a better lot for you than that to which fate handed you 
over. I fancy there need have been no deceit in your fond. simple, little heart, could 
it but have been given into other keeping. But you were consigned to a master 


whose scorn and cruelty terrified you; under whose sardonic glances your scared 
eyes were afraid to look up, and before whose gloomy coldness you dared not be 


f 


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- happy. Suppose a little plant; very frail and delicate from the first, but that might 
have bloomed sweetly and borne fair flowers, had it received warm shelter and 
_kindly nurture; suppose a young creature taken out of her home, and given over to 
-ahard master whose caresses are as insulting as his neglect; consigned to cruel 
usage, to weary loneliness, to bitter insultiug recollections of the past; suppose her 
a schooled into hypocrisy by ty anny—and then, quick let us hire an advocute to roer 

- out to a British jury the wrongs of herinjured husband, to paint the agonies of his 
_ + bleeding heart (if Mr. Advocate gets plaintiffs brief in time, and before defendant's 
ie attorney has retained him), and to shew society injured through him! Let us con- 

. solethat martyr, I say, with thumping damages; and_as for the woman—the guilty 
wretch !—let us lead her out and stone her. . .-. So Lady Clara flies from the cus- 
’ © tody of her tyrant, bnt to'what a rescue! The very man who loves her, and gives 
_. her asylum, pities and deplores her. She scarce dares to look out of the windows of 
her new home upon the world, lest it should know and reproach her. All the sister- 
- hood of friendship is cut off from her. If she dares to go abroad, she feels the sneer 

of the world as she goes through it, and knows that malice and scorn whisper be- 
~ hind her. People as criminal. but undiscovered. make room for her, as if her. touch 
"~~ were pollution. She knows she has darkened the lot and made wretched the home 
-— of the man she loves best, that his friends who see her treat her with but a doubtful 
- respect, and the domestics who attend her, with a suspicious obedience. In the 
_ country lanes, or the streets of the country town, neighbors look aside as the car- 
riage passes in which she is splendid and lonely. Rough hunting companions of 
her husband’s come to the table: he isdriven perforce to the company of flatterers 
_- and men of inferior sort; his equals, at least’in his own home, will not live with 
: him. She would be kind, perhaps, and charitable to the cottagers. around her, but 


_ she fears to visit them, lest they too should scorn her. The clergyman who distri- 
~ bites her charities, blushes and looks awkward on passing her in the village, if he 
j should be walking with his wife or one of his children. 

Could anything more sternly or touchingly true be written? The 
- summation of Clara’s miseries, item by item, might have been made 
- by Swift, but there is a pathos and moral beauty in the passage that 
- the Dean-never reached. The real hero of the novel is Colonel New- 
_ come—a counterpart to Fielding’s Allworthy. The old officer’s 
_ high sense of honour, his simplicity, his never-failing kindness of 
heart, his antique courtesy—as engaging as that of Sir Roger de 


e- gag 

- Coyerley—his misfortunes and ruin through the knavery of others— 
and his death as a ‘poor brother’ in the Charterhouse, form alto- 
- gether so noble, so aifecting a picture, and one so perfectly natural 


_ and life-like, that it can scarcely be even recalled without tears. The 
_ author, it was said, might have given a less painful end to the good 
~ Colonel, to soothe him after the buifetings of the world. The same 
- remark was made on Scott’s treatment of his Jewess Rebecca, and we 
= 


have no doubt Thackeray’s answer would be that of Scott—‘A char- 
_ acter of a highly virtuous and lofty stamp is degraded rather than 
- exalted by an attempt to reward virtue with worldly prosperity. 
_ Such is not the recompense which Providence has deemed worthy of 
_ suffering merit.’ ‘Jhe best of Thackeray’s female portraits—his 


highest compliment to the sex—isin this novel. Ethel Newcome, 
in her pride and sensibility—the former balancing, and at last over- 
‘coming, the weaknesses induced by the latter—is drawn with great 
_ delicacy and truth; while in the French characters, the family of De 
 Florac and others, we have an entirely new creation—a cluster of 
originals. The gay 7oué, Paul de Florac—who plays the English- 


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7 

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; oe aye eae ete: ee rE 
262 -CYCLOPADIA OF 253 [ro 1876, 


- Inan in top-boots and buckskins—could only be bit off by one 
equally at, home in French and in English society. Of “course there 
are in ‘The Newcomes’ many other personages and classes—as the 
sanctimonious fop, the coarse and covetous trader, the parasite, the 
schemer, &c.—who are drawn with the novelist’s usual keen insight 
and minute detail, though possessing fewer features of novelty or 
interest. 


Recurring to the pléasant and profitable occupation of lecturing, . 


Thackeray ‘crossed the Atlantic, taking with him four more lectures 
—‘The Four Georges’—which, after being delivered in the United 


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States in 1855-56, were, on his return, repeated in London, and in — 


most of the large towns in England and Scotland. The Hanoverian 
monarchs afforded but little room for eulogistic writing or finé moral 
painting; and the dark shades—the coarseness, immorality, and 
heartlessness that pervaded the courts of at least the First, Second; 
and Fourth of the Georges—were exhibited without any relief or 
softening. George IIL, as the better man, fared better with the lec- 
turer; and the closing scene, when, old, blind, and bereft of reason, 
the monarch sank to rest, was described with great pathos and pic- 
turesque effect. The society, literature, manners, and fashion of the 
different periods were briefly touched upon—somewhat in the style 
of Horace Walpole; and we believe Thackeray contemplated, among 
his future tasks, expanding these lectures into memoirs of the differ- 
ent reigns. The novelist now aimed at a different sort of public dis- 
tinction. 'The representation of the city of Oxford becoming vacant, 
he offered himself as a candidate—the advocate of all liberal measures 
_—but was defeated by Mr. Cardwell (July 1857), the numbers being 
1085 to 1018. Before the close of the year Thackeray was at the 
more appropriate occupation of another serial. The Castlewood 
family was revived, and in ‘The Virginians’ we had a tale of the days 
of George II.—of Chesterfield, Queensberry, Garrick, and Johnson— 
the gaming-table, coffee- house, and theatre, but with Washington, 
‘Wolfe, and the American war in the background. As a story, ‘The 


Virginians’ is defective. The incidents hang loosely together, and — : 


want progressive interest, but the work abounds in passages of fine 
philosophic humour and satire. The author frequently stops to mo- 
ralise and preach sotto voce to his readers, and in these digressions we 
have some of his choicest and most racy sentences. Youth and love 
are his favourite themes. There is a healthy natural world both 
within and without the world of fashion—particularly wéthout. Mere 
_ wealth and ¢on go for nothing in the composition of happiness, and 
genuine, manly love is independent of the sunshine of prosperity. 
We quote a few of his ‘ mottoes of the heart’ and satirical touches. 


Recollection of Youthful Beauty. 


When cheeks are faded and eyes are dim, is it sad or pleasant, I wonder, for the 
woman who is a beauty no more, to recall the period of her bloom? When the heart 


is withered, do the old love to remember how it once was fresh, and beat with warm — 


Bye 


Pe ae ts ag OS ~{e 


Wee 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. | py. 


- 


“ 


emotions? When the spirits are languid and weary, do we like to think how bright 
_they were in other days; the hope how buoyant, the sympathies how ready, the en- 
a of life how keen and eager? So they fall—the buds of prime, the roses of 
: I eeuity, ou florid harvests of summer—fall and wither, and the naked branches shiver 
- in the winter. 


es Indifference of the World. 


~ The world can pry out everything about us which it hasa mind to know. But 
“there is this consolation, which men will never accept in their own cases, that the 
world doesn’t care. Consider the amount of scandal it has been-forced to hear in its 
_ time, and how weary and blasé it must be of that kind of intelligence. You are taken 
_ to prison, and fancy yourself indelibly disgraced? You are bankrupt under odd cir- 
cumstances? You drive a queer bargain with your friends, and are found out, and 
imagine the world will punish you? Pshaw! Your shame is only vanity. Go and 

_ talk to the world as if nothing had happened, and nothing has happened. Tumble 
- down; brush the mud off your clothes ; appear with a smiling countenance, and no- 


nil 


MOR ES ge ur 


_ body cares. Do you suppose society is going to take out its pocket-handkerchief and 
be inconsolable when you die? hy should it care very much, then, whether your 
_ ‘worship graces yourself or disgraces yourself? Whatever happens, it talks, meets, 
_ jokes, yawns, has its dinner pretty much as before. 
23 Lackeys and Footmen in the Last Century. 
g Lackeys, liveries, footmen—the old society was encumbered with a prodigious 
% quantity of these. Gentle meu or women could scarce move without one, some- 
- times two or three. vassals in attendance. Every theatre had its footmen’s gallery; 
3 an army of the liveried race hustled round every chapel-door. They swarmed in an- 
_terooms, they sprawled in halls and on landings, they guzzled, devoured, debauched, 
' cheated, played cards, bullied visitors for vails [or gratuities]. _That noble old race of 
s footmen is well-nigh gone. A few vhousand of them may still be left among us. 
_ Grand, tall, beautiful, melancholy, we still behold them on levee days, with their 


nosegays and their buckles, their plush and their powder. So have I seen in Ameri- 
_ca specimens, nay, Camps and milages, of Red Indians. But the race is doomed. 

_ ‘The fatal decree has gone forth, and Uncas with his tomahawk and eagle’s plume,” 
and Jeames with his cocked-hat and long cane, are passing out of the world where 


as 


"they once walked in glory. 

Se j 3 

Bs : The English Country Gentleman. 

Be ETO be a good old country gentleman, is to hold a position nearest the gods, and at ~ 
" the summit of earthly felicity. To have a large unencumbered rent-roll, and, the 
- rents paid St heaped by adoring farmers, who bless their stars at having such a land- 
_ Jord as His Honour; to have no tenant holding back with his money, excepting just. 
_— one, perhaps, who does so just in order to give occasion to Good Old Country Gentle-. 
“4 -man to shew his sublime charity and universal benevolence of soul; to hunt three 
~~ days a week, love the sport of all things. and have perfect good health and good ap- 


petite in consequence; to have not only a good appetite, but a good dinner; to sit 

down at church in the midst of a chorus of blessings from the villagers, the first 
~ man in the parish, the benefactor of the parish, with a consciousness of consum- 
-~ mate desert, saying, ‘Have mercy upon us miserable sinners,’ to be sure, but only 
for form’s sake and to give other folks an example :—a G. O. C.G, a miserable sin- 
- ner! So healthy, so wealthy, so jolly, so much respected by the vicar, so much hon- 
> oured by the tenants, so much beloved and admired by his family, amongst whom 
his story.of Grouse in the gun-room causes laughter from generation to generation; 
_ this perfect being a miserable sinner! Allons donc! Give any man good health and 
temper, five thousand g year, the adoration of his parish, and the love and worship of 
__ his family, and I'll defy you to make him so heartily dissatisfied with his spiritual 
> condition as to set himself down a miserable anything. Ifyou were a Royal High- 
~ ness, and went to church in the most perfect health and comfort, the parson waiting 

to begin the service until your R. H. came in, would you believe yourself to be @ mi- 
EP serable, &c.2 You might, whenracked with gout, in solitude, the fear of death be- 
~ fore your eyes, the doctor having cut off your bottle of claret, and ordered arrowroot 


.. and a little sherry—you might then be humiliated, and acknowledge your shortcom- 
S . : c 


ei nant 6 


- 
7 


geen te es ae Pee 
264. ; CYCLOPADIA OF |? 9 > ¥ [rerr876-- 


ing’ itv of things in general; but in high health, sunshine, spirits, that | 
pn tataeanle 4 only a Fok: You can’t think in your heart that you are to be 
pitied much for the present. If you are to be miserable, what is Colin Ploughman 
with the ague, seven children, two pounds a year rent to pay for his cottage, and 
eight shillings a week? No, a healthy, rich, jolly country gentleman, if miserable, - 
has a very supportable misery ; if a sinner, has very few people to tell him so. | : 


The following passage in ‘The Four Georges’ is one of the most. 
striking and affecting in our literature: ae 


Death of George the Third. 


All history presents no sadder figure than that of the old man, blind and deprived ~ 
of reason, wandering through the rooms of his palace, addressing imaginary parlia- 
ments, reviewing rancied troops, holding ghostly courts. Thave seen his picture as 
it was taken at this time. hanging in the apartment of his daughter, the Landgravine 
of Hease-Homburg—amidst books and Windsor furniture, and a hundred fond re- 
miniscences of her English home. The poor old father is represented in a purple 
gown. his snowy beard falling over his breast—the star of his famons Order still idly 
shining on it. He was not only sightless: he became utterly deaf, All light, all 
reason, all sound of human voices, all the pleasures of this world of God were taken 
from him. Some slight lucid moments he had; in one of which the queen, desiring 

-to see him, entered the room, and found him singing a hymn, and accompanying 
himself at the harpsichord. When he had finished, he knelt down and prayed alou 
for her. and then for his family, and then for the. nation, concluding with a prayer 
for himself, that it might please God to avert his: heavy calamity from him, but if 
not, to give him resignation to submit. He then burst into tears, and reason again 
fled. : . 

What preacher need moralise on this story; what words, Save the simplest are re- ° 
quisite to tell it? It is too terrible for tears. The thought of such a misery smites 

, me down, in submission before the Ruler of kings and men, the Monarch supreme 

over empires and republics, the inscrutable Dispenser of life, death, happiness, vic- — 
tory. *O brothers! Isaid to those who heard me -first in America— O brothers! 
speaking the same dear mother-tongue—O comrades! enemies no more, let us take 

a mournful hand together as we stand by this royal corpse, and call a truce 

to battle! Low he lies to whom the proudest used to kneel once, and- 
who was cast lower than the poorest; dead, whom millions prayed for in vain. 

Driven off his throne: buffeted by rude hands; with his children in revolt; the 

darling of his old age killed before him untimely: our Lear hangs over her breath- 
less lips and cries: *‘ Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little!” 


Vex not his ghost—Oh, let him pass !—he hates him 
That would upon the rack of this tough world 

Stretch him out longer.’ : 
Hush! strife and quarrel, over the solemn grave; sound, trumpets. a mournful 
march. Fall, dark curtain, upon his pageant, his pride, his grief, his awful 
tragedy. : 


We add one specimen of Thackeray’s verse, which differs very 
little from his prose: the colour and flavour are the same. 


The Ballad of Bowillabaisse. * 


A street there is in Paris famous, The New Street of the Little Fields; 
For which no rhyme our language And here’s an inn, not rich and splendid, 
yields, But still in comfortabie case ; 
Rue Neuvedes Petits Champs its name ‘The which in youth I oft attended, 
is— » To eat a bow! of Bouillahaisse. 


THACKERAY.] ~ 


(ee 


a SG Vs Al le waa 


This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is— 


A sort of soup or broth, or brew, 


_ Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, 


_ 


That Greenwich never could outdo; 
Green herbs, red peppers; mussels, saf- 


Bez fern, 


Soles, onions, garlic, roach and dace; 
All these you eat at Terrés tavern, 
Ia that one dish of Bouillabaisse. 


Indeed, a rich and savoury stew ’tis; 
And true philosophers, methinks, 
Who love all sorts of natural beauties, 
Should love good victuals and good 
drinks. _ 
_And Cordelier or Benedictine 
_- Might gladly, sure, his lot embrace, 
Nor find a fast day too afilicting, 
_ Which served him up a Bouiliabaisse. 


T wonder if the house still there is? 
_ Yes, here the lamp is, as before; 


- The smiling red-cheeked écaillére is 


_. Stillopening oysters at the door. 
{s Verré still alive and able? 
~ Lrecolleet his droll griniace ; 


-_.He’d come and smile before your table, 


gre 


3 


Fete Se 


a 


is 


. 
4 
a 
, 
\¥ 
a 
te 
ws 
| 


¥ 


2a SD 
=y 


sn a al wie TEE * hos ea 


_ And hoped you liked your Bouillabaisse. 


_ We enter—nothing’s changed or older. 


‘How’s Monsieur Terré, waiter, pray ?’ 
“The waiter stares and shrugs his shoul- 
‘ ders? : 
___‘ Monsieur is dead this many a day.’— 
*It is the Tot of saint and sinzer, 
So honest ‘Perré’s run his race.’— 
‘What wiil Monsieur require for din- 
er? ’— 
f . . 4 
* Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse ??— 


*Oh oui, Monsieur,’ ’s the waiters an- 
‘ swer ; 
‘Quel vin Monsieur désire-t-il 2?’ 
“Tell me a good one.’—‘ That I can sir: 
The Chambertin with yellow seal.’— 
‘So Terré’s gone,’ I say, and sini in 
My old accustomed corner place ; 
“He’s done with feasting and with drink- 


ing, 
With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse. 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


4 


My old accustomed corner, here is, 
The table still is in the nook; 
Ah! vanished many a busy year is, 
This well-kncwn chair since last I took 
When first I saw ye, cari lioghi, 
I’d scarce a beard upon-my face, 
And now a grizzled, grim old fogy, 
I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse. 


Where are you, old companions trusty, 
Of early days here met to dine? 
Come, waiter! quick, a fiagon crusty— 
Vl pledge them in the good old wine. 
The kind old voices and old faces 
My memory can quick retrace ; 
Around the board, they take their places, 
And share the wine and Bouillabaisse. 


There’s Jack has made a wondrous mars 
riage ; 

There’s laughing Tom is laughing yet; 

There’s brave Augustus drives his car- 


riage ; 

There’s poor old Fred in the Gazette; 
On James’s head the grass is growing: 

Good Lord! the world has wagged apace 
Since here we set the claret flowing, 

And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse.. 


Ah me! how quick the days are flitting! 
I mind me of a time that’s gone, 
When here I’d sit, as now I’m sitting, 
In this same: place—but not alone. 
A fair young form was. nestled near me, - 
A dear, dear face looked fondly up, 
And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer 
me— 
There’s no one now to share my cup. 


I drink it as the fates ordain it. 
Come, fill it, and have done with 
rhymes}; 


_ Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it 


In memory of dear old times. 

Welcome the wine, whate’er the seal is; 
And sit you down and say your grace 
With thankful heart, whate’er the mealis. 
—Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse, 


For two years (1860-62) Thackeray conducted the ‘ Cornhill Maga- 
Zine, and in the pages of this popular miscellany appeared his 
“Roundabout Papers’—a series of light graceful essays and sketches; 
also two novels, ‘Lovel the Widower,’ and ‘Philip on his Way 
through the World,’ which were scarcely worthy of his reputation. 
He had commenced another story, ‘Dennis Duval,’ of which four 


monthly portions-were published; 
the Reign-of Queen Anne, as a continuation of Macaulay’s History. 
_ All his schemes, however, were frustrated. by his sudden and lament 


’ 


XN 


and he contemplated Memoirs of 


.. : 


266 CYCLOPEDIA OF —___ [10 1876, 


able death. His health had long been precarious, and on the day pre- 
ceding his death he had been in great suffering. Still he moved 
about; ‘he was out several times,’ says Shirley Brooks, ‘and was seen 
in Palace Gardens, Kensington, reading a book. Before the dawn 


on Thursday (December 24, 1863) he was where there is no night.’ 


‘Never more,’ said the ‘Times,’ ‘shall the fine head of Mr. Thack- 
eray, with its mass of silvery hair, be seen towering among us.’ He 
had died in bed alone and unseen, struggling, as it appeared, with a 
violent spasmodic attack, which had caused the effusion on the brain 
of which he died. The medical attendants who conducted the post- 
mortem examination stated that the brain was of great size, weighing 
584 ounces. Non omnis mortuus est. ‘He will be remembered,’ says 
James Hannay, ‘ for ages to come, as long as the hymn of praise rises 
in the old Abbey of. Westminster, and wherever the English tongue 
is native to men, from the banks of the Ganges to those of the Mis- 
sissippi.’ 
REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY. : 
As a novelist, poet, theologian, and active philanthropist, Mr. 
Kingsley, Rector of Eversley, Hampshire, and Canon of Westmin-. 
ster, was one of the most remarkable and meritorious men of his age. 
His views of social reform verge upon Chartism, and, in some in- 
stance, are crude and impracticable in-the present state of society; 
but his zeal, disinterestedness, and unceasing perseverance in seeking 
to remedy evils which press upon the working classes, no one doubts 
or questions, while the genius he brought to bear on his various du- 
ties and tasks reflects honour on our literature. Mr. Kingsley was a_ 


native of Devonshire, born at Holne Vicarage, near Dartmoor, in . 


1819. He studied at King’s College, London, and Magdalene College, | 
Cambridge, and intended to follow the profession of the law. He 
soon, however, abandoned this intention, and entered the church, 
obtaining first the curacy, and then the rectory of Eversley, which he 
has invested with affectionate interest and celebrity. Mr. Kingsley’s 
first appearance as an author was in 1844, when he published a col- 
lection of ‘ Village Sermons ’—plain, earnest, useful discourses. He 
has published several other volumes of sermons and lectures; but it 
is from his imaginative works that Mr. Kingsley derives his chief 


fame. In 1848 he appeared as a dramatic poet, author of ‘The - 


Saint’s Tragedy,’ or the story of Elizabeth of Hungary, Landgravine of 
Thuringia, and a saint of the Romish calendar. This poem is a sort 
of protest against superstitious homage and false miracles, but it 
gives also a vivid picture of live in the middle ages, and is animated 
by a poetical imagination. ) 
His next work was one of fiction—‘ Alton Locke, Tailor and Poet : 
an Autobiography,’ two volumes, 1849. The design of this tale is to 


shew the evils of competition and the grievances of the artisan class, ~ 


The hardships which drove Alton to become a Chartist, and his men- 


‘ 
7 


tal struggles as he oscillated between infidelity and religion are pow- — 


tle 


ety SS SSS ae ns an Res ae >  « < ~ 
Scam woe Sato Sp. a be ee “ a Pg ~ 
m2 a a an Ta 7 rg bw 


xrncstry.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 267 


4 
pcs 
i 


_ erfully depicted, though the story isin some respects a painful one, 
_ and in parts greatly exaggerated. Mr. Kingsley’s remedy for the ~ 
- evils of competition and the tyranny of masters in large towns is 
the adoption of the associative principle among the workmen—combin- 
ing capital and labour—and in the case of the tailors and a few other 
trades, the scheme was tried. The same social topics are discussed 
~ in Mr. Kingsley’s ‘ Yeast, a Problem,’ 1851, which is devoted more 
particularly to the condition of the agricultural labourers, and is 
written with a plainness and vehemence that deterred fastidious read- 
ers. Mr. Kingsley put his views into a more definite shape in a lec- 
- ture on the ‘ Application of Associative Principles and Methods to 
Agriculture,’ published also in 1851. But in this tract the author’s 
_ denunciation of large towns and mill-owners, and his proposal to re- 
store the population to the land, are erroneous both in theory and 
sentiment. ‘The earth,’ he says, ‘hath bubbles, and such cities as 
_ Manchester are of them. A short-sighted and hasty greed created 
them, and-when they have lasted their little time, and had their day, 
_ they will vanish like bubbles.’ Such ‘ Christian Socialism’ as this 
would throw back society into ignorance and poverty, instead of 
_ solving the problem as to the rich and the poor. ‘Phaethon, or 
_ Loose Thoughts for Loose Thinkers,’ 1852, and ‘ Hypatia, or New 
_ Friends with an Old Face,’ 1853, were Mr. Kingsley’s next works. 
‘These were followed by a series of lectures, delivered at the Philo- 
sophical Institution, Edinburgh, on ‘ Alexandria and her Schools,’ 
1854; and in the following year.our author took a higher and more 
_ genial position as a man of letters by his novel of ‘ Westward Ho!’ 
_ and his delightful little treatise of ‘Glaucus, or the Wonders of the 
_ Shore.’ In his ‘Westward Ho!’ Mr. Kingsley threw himself into 
_ the exciting and brilliant Elizabethan period, professing to relate the 
- *Voyages and Adventures of Sir Amyas Leigh, Knight, of Burrough, 
in the county of Devon, in the reign of Her Most Glorious Majesty 
_ Queen Elizabeth; rendered into modern English by Charles Kingsley.’ 
_ Here we have Raleigh, Drake, Hawkins, and the other great names 
_ of Devonshire once more in action; we have adventures in the Span- 
_ ish Main and South American continent, the memorable chase and 
defeat of the Spanish Armada, the plots of Jesuits, the pride of 
_ Spaniards, English burghers, Puritans, seamen, and soldiers—an end- 
_ less variety of incidents and characters, with descriptions of scenery 
~ which for rich colouring and picturesqueness have rarely been sur- 
_ passed. Believing that the Protestantism of the Elizabethan age was, . 
_ all-important to the cause of freedom as well as true religion, Mr. 
_ Kingsley gives no quarter to its opponents, and has marred the effect 
_ of parts of his narrative by frequent and bitter assaults on the Romish 
Church. In the delineation of passion—especially the passion of 
love, as operating on grave and lofty minds like that of Amyas 
_ Leigh—Mr. Kingsley is eminently successful. He is more intent on 
_ guch moral painting and on the development of character, than on 


e 
Wh we 


SS - 
iz * 


oe bie 9; 


me 7 My i 


- 


268 CYCLOPEDIA OF .—s—>_— [ro 1876, 


~ 


the construction of a regular story. But the most popular passages 
in his tale—the most highly wrought and easily remembered—are his . 
pictures of wild Indian life and scenery. In these we have primeyal 
lanocence and intense enjoyment, in connection with the gorgeous, un- 
checked luxuriance of nature—as if the pictorial splendour of the 
‘Fairy Queen’ had been transported to this wild Arcadia of the 
west. Passing over some sermons and occasional tracts, we come 
to Mr. Kingsley’s next novel, ‘Two Years Ago,’ published in 
1857. This work is of the school or class of ‘Alton Locke,’ ex- 
hibiting- contrasts of social life and character, with references 
to modern events, as the gold-digging in Australia, the Crimean 
war, and the political institutions of the United States. The story 
is deficient in clearness and interest, but contains scenes of do- 
mestic pathos and descriptions of. external nature worthy the 
graphic pencil and vivid imagination of its author. Reverting 
again to poetry—though few of his prose pages are without some 
tincture of the poetical element—Mr. Kingsley, in 1858, published 
‘ Andromeda, and other Poems,’ a classic theme adopted from a Greek 
legend, and expressed in hexameter verse, carrying the reader 


Over the sea, past Crete, on the Syrian shore to the southward: 
The poetry of Mr. Kingsley, like that of Lord Lytton, is rather a 


graceful foil to his other works, than the basis of a reputation; but 


we quote a pathetic lyric of the sea, which, set to music by Hullah, 
has drawn tears from many bright eyes, and perhaps—what the 
author would have valued more—prompted to acts of charity and 
kindness: : 


Three Fishers went Sailing. 


Three fishers went sailing out into the west, 
Out into the west, as the sun went down; 
Each thought on the woman who loved him best, 
And the children stood watching them out of the town. 
For men must work and women must weep, 
And there’s little to earn and many to keep, 
Though the harbour bar be moaning. 


Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower. 
And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; 
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shoyer, 
And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown 
But men must work and women must weep, 
Though storms be sudden and waters deep, 
And the harbour bar be moaning. a+ 


Three corpses lay out on the shining sands 
In the morning gleam as the tide went down, 
And the womer are weeping and wringing their hands 
For those who will never come back to the town. 
For men must work and women must weep, y 
And the sooner it’s over the sooner to sleep, ‘vt 
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. A 


R a = Hf) . ©. 
Peli - a : S 
. > Ps - RS , 
ae a nem ~ 


KINGsLEY.| ENGLISH LITERATURE. 269 


Scene in the Indian Forest—Sir Amyas Paulet pursues Two of his miss- 
. ing Seamen. 


Forth Amyas went, with Ayacanora as a guide, some five miles upward along the 
forest slopes, till the girl whispered, There they are ;’? and: Amyas pushing himself 
gently through a thicket of bamboo, beheld a scene which, in spite of his wrath, kept 

iin silent. and perhaps softened, for a minute. 4 

- On the further side of a little lawn, the stream leaped through a chasm beneath 
overarching vines, sprinkling eternal freshness upon all around. and then sank foam- 
ing into a clear rock-basin, abath for Dian’s self. On its further side the crag rose 
some twenty feet in height, bank upon bank of feathered ferns and cushioned moss, 
over the rich green beds of which drooped a thousand orchids, scarlet, white, and 
orange, and made the still pool gorgeous with the reflection of their gorgeousness. 

_ At its more quiet outfall it was half-hidden in huge fantastic leaves and tall flower- 
ing stems; but near the water-fai] the grassy bank sloped down toward the stream, 
and there, on palm leaves strewed-upon the turf, beneath the shadow of the crags, 
lay the two men whom Amyas sought, and whom, now he had. found them, he had 

hardly heart to wake trom their delicious dream. : ; 

__ For what anest it was which they had found! The air was heavy with the scent 
of flowers. and quivering with the murmur of the stream, the humming of the coli- 

' pris and insects, the cheerful song of birds, the gentle cooing. of a hundred dover; 
while now and then, from far away, the musical wail of the sloth, or the deep toll of 

the bell-bird, came softly to the ear. What was not there which eye or car could 
need? And what which palate could need either? For on the rock above, some 
‘strange tree, leaning forward, dropped every now and then a luscious apple upon the 
grass below, and huge wild plantains bent beneath their load of fruit. 

_. There, on the stream bank, lay the two renegades from civilised life. They had 
cast away their clothes. and painted themselves, like the Indians, with arnotta and 
indigo. One lay lazily picking up the fruit which fell close to his side; the other saf, 

his back against a cushion of soft moss, his hands folded languidly upon his lap, 

giving himself up to the soft influence of the narcotic cocoa-juice, with half-shut 
dreamy eyes fixed on the everlasting sparkle of the water-fall— 


While beauty. born of murmuring sound, 
Did pass iuto his face. 

, ‘Somewhat apart crouched their two dusky brides, crowned with fragrant flowers, 
- but working busily, like true women, for the lords whom they delighted to honour. 
_ One sat plaiting palm-fibres into a basket; the other was boring the stem of a huge 
- wilk-tree, which rose like some mighty column on the right hand of the lawn, its 
_ broad canopy of leayes unseen through the dense underwood of laurel and bamboo, 
and betokened only by the rustle far aloft, and by the mellow shade in which if 
_ bathed the whole delicious scene. : By: 

y Amyas stood silent for a while, partly from noble shame at seeing two Christian 
~ men thus fallen of their own self-will ; partly because—and he could not but confess 
; that—a solemn ‘calm brooded above that glorious place, to break through which 
' seemed sacrilege eyen while he felt it duty. Such, he thought, was Paradise of old 5 
such our first parents’ bridal bower! Ah! if man had not fallen, he too might have 
_ dwelt for ever in such a home—with whom? He started, and shaking off the spell, 
&, advanced sword in hand. ; 

~The women saw him, and sprang to their feet. caught up their long pocunas, and 
4 yeaped like deer each in front of her beloved. There they stood, the deadly tubes 
pressed to their lips, eyeing him like tigresses who protect their young, while every 
- slender limb quivered, not with terror, but with rage. Amyas paused, half in ad- 
- MIniration, half in prudence ; for one rash step was death. But rushing through the 
anes, Ayacanora sprang. to the front. and shrieked to them in Indian. _At the sight 
_ of the prophetess the women wavered, and Amyas, putting on as gentle a face as he 
could. stepped forward, assuring them in his best Indian that he would harm no one. 
_.. ‘Ebsworthy! Parracombe! Are you grown such savages already, that you have 
_ forgotten yourcaptain? Stand up, men, and salute!’ Ebsworthy sprang to his feet, 
~ obeyed mechanically, and then slipped behind his bride again, as if in shame, The 
dreamer turned his head Janguidly, raised his hand to hisforehead, and then returned 


f 


_ to his contemplation. Amyas rested the point of his sword on the ground, and his . 


aan 
i 


e 


7 a 


270 ~s CYCLOPEDIA OF ~—_ [ro 1846. 


hands upon the hilt, and looked sadly and solemnly upon the pair. Ebsworthy broke © 
the silence, half reproachfully, half trying to bluster away the coming storm. M33 

‘Well, noble captain, so you’ve hunted out us poor fellows; and want to drag us — 
back again in a halter, I suppose?’ : 

‘I came to look for Christians, and I find heathens; for men, and I find swine. [I 
shall leave the heathens to their wilderness, and the swine to their trough. Parrae 
combe! 

‘He’s too happy to answer you, sir. And why not? What do you want of us? — 
Our two years’ vow is out, and we are free men now.’ 

‘Free to become like the beasts that perish? You are the Queen’s servants still, 
and in her name J charge you’—— : ; 

‘Free to be happy,’ interrupted the man. ‘ With the best of wives, the best of 
food, a warmer bed than a duke’s, and a finer garden than an emperor's. As for ~ 
clothes, why the plague should a man wear them where he don’t need them? Asfor - 

old, what’s the use of it where Heaven sends everything ready-made to your hands? 

earken, Captain Leigh. You’ve beena good captain to me, and I’l] repay you with 
a bit of sound advice. Give up your gold-hunting, and toiling and moiling after 
hononr and glory, and copy us. Take that fair maid behind you there to wife; 
pitch here with us; and see if you are not happier in one day than ever you were in 
all your life before.’ 

‘You are drunk, sirrah! William Parracombe! Will you speak to me, or shall I 
heave you into the stream to sober you?’ ‘Who calls William Parracombe ?’ 
answered a sleepy voice. ‘I, fool!—your captain!’ ‘I amnot William Parracombe. 
He is dead long ago of hunger, and labour, and heavy sorrow, and will never see - 
Bideford town any more. He is turned into an Indian now; and he is to sleep, 
sleep, sleep for a hundred years, till he gets his strength again, poor fellow’—— 

*‘ Awake, then, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give 
thee light! A christened Englishman, and living thus the life of a beast!’ 

‘Christ shall give thee light?’ answered-the same unnatural, abstracted voice. 
‘Yes; so the parsons say. And they say, too, that he is Lord of heaven and earth, 

I should have thought his light was as near us here as anywhere, and nearer too, by © 
the look of the place. Look round,’ said he, waving a lazy hand, and see the works 
of God, and the pluce of paradise, whither poor weary souls go home and rest, after 
their masters in the wicked world have used them up, with labour and sorrow, and 
made them wade knee-deep in blood—I’m tired of blood, and tired of gold. Ill 
march no more; [’ll fight no more; [’ll hunger no more after vanity and vexation of. 
spirit. What shallI get by it? Maybe I shall leave my bones in the wilderness. I ~ 
can but do that here. Maybe I shall get home with a few pezos, to die an old cripple 
in some stinking hovel, that a monkey would scorn to lodge in here. You may go on; 
it’ll pay you. You may be arich man, and a knight, and live in a fine house, and — 
drink good wine. and go to court, and torment your soul with trying to get more, 
when you ’ve got too much already; plotting and planning to scramble tpon your 
neighbour’s shoulders, as they all did—Sir Richard, and Mr. Raleigh, and Chichester, 
and poor dear old Sir Warham, and all of them that I used to watch when I lived 
before. They were no happier than I was then; I’ll warrant they are no happier 
now. Go your ways, captain; climb to glory upon some other backs than ours, and 
Jeave us here in peace, alone with God and God’s woods, and the good wives that God 
has given us, to play a little like school children. It’s long since I’ve had play-hours; ~ 
and now [11 be a little child once more, with the flowers, and the singing birds, and 
the silver fishes in the stream, that are at peace, and think no harm, and wantneither — 
clothes, nor money, nor knighthood, nor peerage, but just take what comes; and ~ 
their heavenly Father feedeth them, and Solomon in al! his glory was not arrayed 
like one of these—and will he not much more feed us, that are of more value than 
many sparrows?’ a 

‘ And will you live here, shut out from all Christian ordinances ?’ 

. ‘Christian ordinances! Adam and Eve had no parsons in Paradise. The Lord ~ 
was their priest, and the Lord was their shepherd, and he’ll be ours too. But go — 
your ways, sir, and send up Sir John Brimblecombe, and Jet him marry us here 
church fashion—though we have sworn troth to each other before God already—and 
let him give us the Holy Sacrament once and for all, and then read the funeral ser- 
vice over us, and go his ways, and count us for dead, sir—for dead we are to the» 


—— 


A ERY 


“xincstzy.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 271 


wicked worthless world we came out of three years ago. And when the Lord 
chooses to call us, the little birds will cover us with leaves, as they did the babies in 
_ the wood, and fresher flowers will grow out of our graves, sir, than out of yours in 
that bare Northam churchyard there beyond the weary, weary, weary sea.’ 
__~ His voice died away to a murmur, and his head sank on his breast. Amyas stood 
_ spell-bound. © The effect of the narcotic was all but miraculousin hiseyes. Thesus- 
tained eloquence, the novel richness of diction in.one seemingly drowned in sensual 
_ loth, were in his eyes the possession of some evil spirit. Aud yet he could not an- 
_ §swer the EvilOne. His English heart, full of the divine instinct of duty and public 
spirit, told him that it must be-a lie: but how to prove it a lie? And he stood for 

_ full ten minutes searching for an answer, which seemed to fly further and further off 
the more he sought forit.... 

+ Arustle! a roar! a shriek! and Amyas lifted his eyes in time to see a huge dark 

_ bar shoot from the crag above the dreamer’s head, among the group of girls. A dull 
crash, as the group flew asunder; and in the midst, upon the ground, the tawny 
_ limbs of-one were writhing beneath the fangs of a black jaguar, the rarest and most 
- terrible of the forest kings. Of one? But of which? asit Ayacanora? And 
_ «sword in hand, Amyas rushed madly forward: before he reached the spot, those tor- 
tured limbs were still. So 
~ | It was not Ayacanora; for with a shriek which rang through the woods, the 
- wretched dreamer, wakened thus at last, sprang up and felt for his sword. Fool! he 
had left itin his hammock! Screaming the name of his dead bride, he rushed on the 
- jaguar, as it crouched above its prey. and seizing its head with teeth and nails, worried 

_ ityin the ferocity of his madness, like a mastiff dog. 

The brute wrenched its head from his grasp, and raised its dreadful paw. Another 
tMmoment, and the husband’s corpse would have lain by the wife’s. But high in air 
gleamed Amyas’s blade; down, with all the weight of his huge body and strong 
arm, fell that most trusty steel; the head of the jaguar dropped grinning or its vic- 

_ tim’s corpse: 
And all stood still who saw him fall, 
While men might count a score. 


‘O Lord Jesus,’ said Amyas to himself, ‘thou hast answered the devil for me! 
And this is the selfish rest for which I would have bartered the rest which comes by 


orking where thou hast put me!’ BS 

2 They Dore away the lithe corpse into the forest. and buried it under soft moss and 
virgin’ mould: and so the fair clay was transfigured into fairer flowers, and the poor 
gentle untanght spirit returned to God who gave it.. And then Amyas went sadly 
and silently back again, and Parracombe walked after him, like one who walks in 
_ sleep. Ebsworthy, sobered by the shock, entreated to-come {00; but Amyas for- 
- ‘bade him gently. ‘No, lad; you are forgiven.” God forbid that I should judge you 
orany man. Sir John shall come up -and marry you ; and then, if it still be your 
will to stay. the Lord forgive you, if you be wrong ; in the meanwhile, we will leave 
~ with you all that we.can spare. Stay here, and pray to God to make you, and me 


_ too. wiser men.’ 
~~ And so Amyas departed. He had come out stern and proud, but he came- back 


~ again like a little child. . 
~The other works of Canon Kingsley are ‘ Miscellanies’ from ‘ Fra- 
_-ser’s Magazine,’ 1859; ‘The Water Babies,’ 1863; ‘Hereward, the 
- Last of the English,’ 1866; ‘The Hermits,’ 1867; ‘How and Why,’ 
1869; ‘At Last, a Christmas in the West Indies,’ 1871; ‘Health and 
_ Education,’ 1874.. Mr. Kingsley was made Canon of Chester in 1869, 
_ which he resigned in 1873, when made Canon of Westminster. This 
_ popular author and good man died at his parsonage of Eversley, 
3 Birioshite; January 28, 1875, and was interred in Westminster 
psAbbey. 


se 


Z y i “ 
a : a > 


272 CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1846 


/ 


CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 


In the real as distinguished from the ideal school of fiction, CHAR- . 


LOTTE BrontT# (afterwards Nicholls), by her tale of ‘Jane Eyre,’ at- 
tained immediate and remarkable popularity. Its Yorkshire scenes 
and characters were new to readers, and the whole had the stamp of 
truth and close observation. The life of Charlotte Bronté was one of 
deep and painful interest. Her father, the Rev. Patrick Bronté— 
who survived to a great age, outliving all his gifted children—was a 
native of the county Down in Ireland. One of a family of ten, the 
children of a small farmer, Patrick Bronté saw, the necessity for early 


exertion. A%@the age of sixteen he opened a school, then became a— 


tutor in a gentleman’s family, and afterwards, at the age of twenty- 
five, entered himself of St. John’s College, Cambridge. Having 
taken dis degree, he obtained a curacy in Essex, whence he removed 


to Yorkshire—first to Hartshead, near Leeds. At Hartshead he mar- 


ried a gentle, serious young Cornish woman, Maria Branwell, by 


whom in little more than six vears he had six children. In 1820 the 


family moved to another Yorkshire home, Mr. Bronté having ob- 
tained the living of Haworth, four miles from Keighley. The in- 
come of the minister, £170-per annum, might have sufficed for 
humbie comfort, but the parsonage was bleak and uncomfortable—a 
low oblong stone building, standing at the top of the straggling vil- 
lage on a steep hill, without the shelter of a tree, with the churchyard 
pressing down on it on both sides, and behind a long tract of wild 
moors. Charlotte Bronté thus describes the scene: 


Description. of Yorkshire Moors. 


A village parsonage amongst the hills bordering Yorkshire and Lancashire. The 


scenery of these hills is not grand—it is not romantic; it Is scarcely striking. Lone ; 


low moors, dark with heath, shut in little valieys, where a stream waters, here an 

there, a fringe of stunted copse. Milis and scattered cottages chase romance from 
these valleys: it is only higher up, deep in amongst the ridges of the moors, that Im- 
agination can find rest for the sole of her foot; and even if she finds it there, she 


must bea solitude-loving raven—no gentledove. Ifshedemand beauty toinspire her, — 


she must bring it inborn: these moors are too stern to yield any product so delicate, 


The eye of the grazer must 7tse/f brim with a ‘purple light,’ intense enough to per- 
petuate the brief flower-flush of Angust on the heater, or the rare sunset-smile of 
June; out of bis heart must well the freshness that in later spring and early summer 
brightens the bracken, nurtures the moss, and cherishes the starry flowers that span- 


gle for a few weeks the pasture of the moor-sheep. Unless that light and freshness _ 


are innate and self-sustained, the drear prospect of a Yorkshire moor will be found 
as barren of poetic as of agricultural interest: where the love of wild nature is strong, 
the locality will perhaps be clung to with the more passionate constancy, because 
from the hill-lover’s self comes half its charm. 


The population of Haworth and its neighbourhood was chiefly en- 


gaged in the worsted manufacture. They were noted fora wild law- 


less energy, and were divided by sectarian differences: The Bronté 
family kept aloof unless when direct service was required, and the 


minister always carried a pistol with him on his walks. He was an 
eccentric, half-misanthropical man, with absurd notions on the sub- 


Cae 


oe 


af Bribie Cee oy 


ee Be Se CS 


pile 


 Browri.] - = ENGLISH LITERATURE. — - 273 


e 


x ject of education. He kept his children on-a vegetable diet, and 


" 


clothed them in the humblest garments, that they might grow up 
~ hardy and indifferent to dress. ie took his meals in his own room. 
His wifegslied the year afier the arrival of the family at Haworth, and 
‘the poor children. were mostly left to themselves, occupying a room 
called the ‘children’s study ’"—though the eldest séwdent was only 
about seven years of ag andered hand in shand over the 
moors. - They were all small and feeble, stunted in their growth, but 
with remarkable precocity of intellect. The eccentric minister one 
day made an experiment to test their powers of reflection or under-. 
standing. He had a mask in the house, and thinking they might 
speak with less timidity if. thus concealed, he told them all to stand 
and speak boldly from under cover of the mask, The youngest, 
about four years of age, was asked what a child like her most want- 
ed; she answered: “Age and experience.’ The next was asked what 
“had best be done with her brother, who was sometimes a- naughty 
boy: ‘Reason with him,’ she said; ‘and when he won’t listen to rea- 
son, whip him:* The boy was then questioned as to the best way of 
knowing the difference between the intellects of man and woman, and. 
vhe replied: ‘By considering the difference between them as to their 
bodies.’ Charlotte was asked what was the best book in the world: 
_*'The Bible,’ she said; ‘and next to that the Book of Nature.” Another 
was asked what was the best education for a woman, and she re- 
~ plied: ‘ That which would:make her rule her house well.’ Lastly, 
the oldest—about ten years of age—was asked what was the best 
- mode of spending time, and she answered: ‘By laying it out in 
- preparation for a happy eternity.’ These extraordinary little reason- 
ers took a great interest in politics and public events; they read and 
discussed the newspapers, and set up among themselves ‘little maga- 
_ Zines’ in imitation of ‘ Blackwood's Magazine.’ Tales, - dramas, 
_ poems, and romances were all attempted by the girls; and in one 
: ~ period of fifteen months, before she was fifteen years of age, Char- 
. lotte had filled twenty-two volumes with original compositions, writ- 
_ ten in a hand so painfuliy small and close as scarcely to be decipher- 
able without the aid of a magnifying-glass. Four of the girls were 
at length sent out to be educated. An active, wealthy clergyman, 
the Rev. W. Carus Wilson, established a school for the education of 
the daughters of poor clergymen at a place called Cowan’s Bridge, 
between Leeds and Kendal. Each pupil paid £14 a year, with £1 “of 
- entrance-money. The institution, however, was badly managed. 
_ The food was insufficient and badly cooked, and one of the teachers 
_ —satirised in ‘Jane Eyre’ as ‘ Miss Scatchard’ yrannised over one 
of the Bronté$ with inhuman severity. A fever afterwards broke 
out in the school, and the little band of sisters returned to the old 
stone parsonage and the ‘children’s study’ at Haworth. Death, 
- however, soon thinned the affectionate group. Maria died in 1825 
in her twelfth year, and in the same year Elizabeth, aged eleven. - 


B< 

4 
is 
* 
s 
4 


;. 
br 


ea 


a74 CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876, 


Branwell, the only boy of the family, was educated at home; he had -~ 
the family talent and precocity, wrote verses, and had a turn for 
drawing, but ultimately became idle and dissipated, and occasioned 
the most poignant distress to-his sisters. The latter made many 
efforts to place themselves in an independent position. They went 
' out as governesses, but disliked the occupation. Charlotte wrote to 
Southey, sending some of her poetry, and the laureate replied ina 
kindly but discouraging tone. - The project of keeping.a school was — 
then suggested. Tie aunt—who~ had come from Cornwall and as- | 
sisted at Haworth since the death of her sister—advanced a little 
money, and Charlotte and Emily proceeded to Brussels in order to 
acquire a knowledge of foreign languages. They entered a-pension- 
nat, and remained from.February to September 1842, when they ~ 
were recalled by the death of their aunt. Charlotte again returned ~ 
to Brussels, and officiated about a twelvemonth as a teacher, her 
salary being just £16 per annum, out of which she had to pay ten 
‘francs a month for German lessons. In January 1844 she was 
again at Haworth. The sisters advertised that they would receive 
pupils in the parsonage; but no pupils came. They then ventured 
on the publication of a volume of their poems. The death of their - 
aunt had somewhat improved their circumstances, and a sum of £31, 
10s. was spent in printing the ‘Poems, by Currer, Ellis, and Acton 
Bell.’ This ambiguous choice of names was dictated, as Charlotte 
relates, by ‘a sort of conscientious scruple at assuming Christian 
names positively masculine, while they did not like to declare them- 
selves women.’ The volume had little success. The best of the 
pieces are those by Emily, who had more vivacity and force of char- 
acter than her sisters. Mrs. Gaskell, in her interesting ‘Life of — 
Charlotte Bronté,’ has the following remarkable statement relative — 
to Emily, and the passage also illustrates Charlotte’s novel of 
‘Shirley?’ 

Emily Bronte and her Dog ‘ Keeper.’ 


From her, many traits in Shirley’s character were taken: her way of sittingonthe — 
rug reading, with her arm round her rough bull-dog’s neck; her calling to a strange _ 
_ dog. running past with hanging head and lolling tongue, to give it a merciful draught +s 

of water. its maddened snap at. her, her nobly stern presence of mind, going right ~ 
into the kitchen, and taking up one of Tabby’s [the old servant in the parsonage] — 
red-hot Italian irons to sear the bitten place, and telling no one, till the danger was — 
well-nigh over. for fear of the terrors that might beset their weaker minds. All this, — 
looked. upon as a well-invented fiction in Shirley, was written down by Charlotte _ 
with streaming eyes; it was the literal account of what Emily had done. The same — 
tawny bull-dog (with his “strangled whistle’) called ‘Tartar’ in Shirley, was — 

‘Keeper’ in Haworth parsonage—a gift to Emily. With the gift came a warning. — 
Keeper was faithful to the depths of his nature as long a8 he was-with friends; but — 
he who struck him with a stick or whip roused the relentless nature of the brute, — 
who flew at his throat forthwith. and held him there until one or fhe other was _ 
at the point of death. Now Keeper’s household fault was this: he loyed to” 
steal up-stairs. and stretch his square, tawny limbs on the comfortable beds, COVE. ¥, | 
ered over with white delicate counterpanes, But the cleanligess of the par ; 


- % 


. 


“ 


ef 


~-pronTi.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 215 


 sonage arrangements was perfect, and Emily declared that if he was found again trans- 
- gressing, she herself, in defiance of warning and his well known ferocity of 
nature, would beat him so severely, that he would never offend again. In the 
gathering dusk of the evening, Tabby came to tell a ae Keeper was lying on 
the best bed in drowsy voluptuousness. Charlotte saw Emily’s whitening face and 
~ set mouth, but dared not interfere; no@one dared when Emily’s eyes glowed in that 
manner out of the paleness of her face, and when her lips were so compressed into 
stone. She went up-stairs, and Tabby and Charlotte stood in the gloomy passage 
-below. Down-stairs came Emily, dragging after her the unwilling Keeper, his hind- 
_ legs set in a heavy attitude of resistance, held by the ‘ scuft of his neck,’ but grow- 
_ ling low and savagely all the time. The watchers would fain have spoken, but durst 
not, for fear of taking off Emily’s attention, and causing her to ave't her head for a 
moment from the enraged brute. She let him go, planted in a dark corner at the 
boitom of the stairs; no time was there to fetch stick or rod, for fear of the strang- 
_ ling clutch at ber throat—her bare clenched fist struck against his red fierce eyes, be- 
fore he had time to’make his spring, and, in the language of the turf, she ‘ punished’ 
him till his eyes were swelled up, and the half-blind stupefied beast was led to his ac- 
- customed lair to have his swollen head fomented and cared for by the very Emily her- 
self. The generous dog owed her no grudge; he loved her dearly ever after; he 
walked first among the mourners at her funeral; he slept moaning for nights at the 
, moor of her empty room; and never, so to speak, rejoiced, dog-fashion, after her 

eath. 


-- Each of the three sisters commenced a novel; Charlotte’s was 
“called ‘ The Professor,’ Emily’s ‘Withering Heights,’ and Anne’s 
‘Agnes Grey.” When completed, the tales were sent to London. 
Charlotte’s was rejected by several publishers; and her sisters’, after 
various refusals, were only accepted on terms ‘ impoverishing to their 
authors.’ Charlotte, however, was encouraged to try a longer work in 
a more saleable form, and the very day that ‘The Professor’ was re- 
turned, ‘Jane Eyre’ was commenced. It was finished, accepted by 
Smith, Elder & Co., and published in October 1847. Its success was 
instant and remarkable. Three editions were called for within a 
_ twelvemonth. A new genius had arisen, ‘capable of depicting the 
_ strong, self-reliant, racy, and individual characters which lingered still 
in the north.’ This individuality of character and description, eulog- 

_ ised by Mrs. Gaskell, constitutes the attraction and the value of the 
~ novel, for the plot is in many parts improbable, and some of the scenes 
are Grawn with coarseness, though with piquancy and power. A mas- 

~ culine vigour and originality pervade the work. There was truth in 
the observation, that Jane Eyre was too like Richardson’s Pamela in 
her intercourse with her Master, though the inherent indelicacy of 
> such passages—of which the authoress was unconscious—Wwas soon 
forgotten in the strong interest excited by Jane’s misfortunes and 
- moral heroism. Much of Charlotte’s own history, down even to her 
- petite figure and plain face, is embodied in the story of the heroine. 
- The authorship had been kept a secret. But when success was as- 
~ sured, Charlotte carried a copy of the novel to her father; he read 
jt in his study, and at tea-time said: ‘ Girls, do you know Charlotte 
~ has been writing a book, and it-is much better than likely,’ He had 


—~ 


tried book-making himself, but with very different powers and differ- 


ex, 


276 ‘ CYCLOPADIA OF 


ent results.* In Decémber 1847, ‘ Wuthering Heights’ and ‘Agnes 
Grey,’ by Emily and Anne Bronté,’ were published. The former had 
some strong delineation—a finished picture of a villain—but the — 
effect was unpleasing. A second tale by Anne, ‘The Tenant of — 
Wildfell Hall,’ is an improvement of the former work, and was more 
successful. Both of these novelists, however, were now fast sinking 
into the grave. Emily first declined, amd Charlotte has told the — 
melancholy sequel in a few brief but impressive words. . 


; Death of Emily and Anne Bronte. a } 


Never in all her life had she [Emily] lingered over any task that lay before her, _ 
and she did not linger now. Shesank rapidly. She made haste to leave us. Yet, — 
while physically she perished, mentally she grew stronger than we had yet known 
her. Day by day, when I saw with what a front she met suffering, I looked on her 
- with an anguish of wonder-and love. I have seen nothing like it; but, indeed, I 
have never seen her parallel in anything. Stronger than a man, simpler than a child, 
her nature stood alone. ‘lhe awful point was, that while full of ruth for others, on 
herself she had no pity; the spirit was inexorable to the flesh; from the trembling - 
hand, the unnerved limbs, the faded eyes, the same service was exacted as they had 
rendered:in health. To stand by and witness this, and not dare to remon-trate, was 
a pain no words can render.- ‘’wo cruel months of hope and fear passed painfully by, 
and the day came at last when the terrors and pains of death were to be undergone 
by this treasure, which had grown dearer and dearer to our hearts as it wasted before ~ 
our eyes. Towards the decline of that day, we had nothing of Emily but her mortal _ 
remains as consumption left them. She died December 19, 1848 [in her thirtieth year], — 
We thought this‘enough; but we were utterly and presumptuously wrong. She was — 
not buried ere Anne fell ill. She had not been committed to the grave a fortnight, 
before we received distinct intimation that it was necessary to prepare our minds to 
see the younger sister go after the elder. Accordingly, she followed in the same path 
with a slower step. and with a patience that equalled the other’s fortitude. She was 
~ religious, and it was by leaning on those Christian doctrines in which she firmly be-- — 
lieved that she found support through her most painful journey. I witnessed their 
efficacy in her latest hour and greatest trial, and must bear my testimony to the calm 
triumph with which they brought herthrough. She died May 28, 1849 [aged twenty- 
nine]. : 


Charlotte alone was now left with the aged father, for Branwell, 
after sinking from vice to vice, had died the year before, in his — 
thirty-first year. Literary labour was indispensable; and Charlotte 
completed her tale of ‘ Shirley,’ another series of Yorkshire delinea- — 
tions, fresh and vigorous as the former, and as well received by the 
public. It was published in 1849. With the publication of ‘Shir-— 
ley’ ended the mystery of the authorship. A Haworth man, resi- 
ding in Liverpool, read the novel, and recognised the localities and — 
dialect ; he guessed it to be Miss Bronté’s, and communicated his ~ 
discovery to a Liverpool paper, after which Miss Bronté paid a visit — 


—— 


\ged® 


* Mrs. Gaskell was probably not aware—and Charlotte Bronte might wish to conceal — 
that the singular minister of Haworth. while resident at Hartshead, published two — 
small volumes of verse—Cottuge Poems. 18113 and The Purval Minstrel. a Miscellany 
of Descrivtive Poems, 18138—the year after his marriage, His name is prefixed to both="_ 
‘Bythe Rev. Patrick Bronte. B..\.. Minister of Hartshead-cum-Cli'ton. near Leeds, — 
Yorkshire:’ and both volumes bear the imprint. * Holifax. printed and sold-by P. Kus | 
‘Holden for the autkor.’ There would have been difficulty in ushering them ito the 
world in any other way, for assuredly no publisher would, at hisown cost. have under= — 
taken the risk. The poems have nothing but their piety to recommend them 08 $ : 

t we 


= 


- pronré.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 277 


to London, and the fact was made distinctly known. It was three 
_ years after this ere she appeared again asa novelist. * Her experi- 
_ ences at the pensionnat in Brussels, and the insight she had obtained 
into French character, suggested the subject of her next work, 
_ * Villette,’ which was published in 1853. In mere literary merit and 
_ skill of construction, it is superior to ‘Shirley,’ but it had not the 

same strong interest or air of reality. This was to be the last of 
_ Charlotte Bronté’s triumphs. Her father’s curate, Mr. Nicholis, had 
entertained a deep and enduring attachment for her.~ The old min- 
ister was at first oppused to the match; but he at length yielded, and 
- Charlotte was married in June, 1854. A few months ot happy wed- 
_ ded lite brightened the close of her strange and sad career, in which 
~ she had displayed the virtues of a noble self-sacrificing nature, and 
she died March 31, 1855, in the thirty-ninth year of her age. Her 
first novel, ‘The Professor,’ has since been published, but it will not 
bear comparison with her other works. ; 


‘Charlotte Bronte’s Protest against Pharisaism.—From Preface to Second 
P Hidition of ‘Jane Hyre.’ 


_ To that class in whose eyes whatever is unusual is wrong; whose ears detect in 
each protest against bigctry—that parent of crime—an insult to piety, that regent 
of Goce == earth, I wouid suggest to such doubters certain obvious distinctions; I 
would remind them of certain simple truths. 
_. Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack 
_ the first is not to assail the last. ‘To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee, 
is not to lift an impious hand to the crown of thorns. These things and deeds are 
diametrically opposed; they are as distinct as vice from virtne. Men too often 
confound them: they should not be confounded : appearance should not be mistaken 
for truth; narrow human doctrines, ihat only tend to elate and magnify a few, 
should not be substituted for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is—I 
- repeat it—a difference; and it is a good and nota bad action to mark broadly and 
clearly the line of separation between them. 
_. The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered. for it has been accustomed 
to blend them: finding it convenient to make external show pass for sterling worth 
—to let white-washed walls vouch for clean shrines. It may hate him who dares to 
“scruti:ize and expose—to raze the gilding, and shew base metal under it—to pene- 
_ trate the sepuichre, end reveal charnel relics: but hate as it will, it is indebted 
— to him. 
, Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophesied good concern‘ng him, but 
evil; probably he liked the sycophant son of Chenaanah better; yet mizht Ahab hava 
escaped a bloody death, had he but stopped his ears to flattery, and opened them te 
 faithfuiconneel. 
¥ There is aman in our Own days whose words are not framed to tickle delicate 
 @ars; who, to my thinking, comes before the great ones of society much as the son 
of Imlai came before the throned kings of Judah and Israci; and who speaks 
- truth as deep, with a power as propheftike and as vital—a mien as dauntless and ag 
daring. Is the satirist of ‘Vanity Fair’ admired in high places? I canmot ted: but 
_ I think if some of those amongst whom he hurls the Greek-tire of his sercasm, and 
ever whom he flashes the levin-brand of his denunciation, were to take his warnings _ 
in time—they or their seed might yet escape a fatal Ramoth-Gilead. 
x Why have I allnded to this man? I have alluded to-him, reader, because I think 


fY 


- Jsee in him an intellect profounder and more unique than his contemporar.es have 
~ -yetrecognised ; because Iregard him as the first social regenerator of the day—as 
* -the very master of that working corps who would restore to_rectitnde the warped 
_ Bystern of things, — eA x : 


= 


378 - CYCLOPAIDIA OF [70 1876, 
The Orphan Child.—From ‘ Jane Fiyre. 


My feet they are sore, and my limbs they are weary 3 > 
Tans is the way, and the mountains are wild; 

Soon will the twilight close moonless and dreary 
Over the path of the poor orphan child. 


Why did they send me so far and so lonely, : 
Up where the Moors spread and gray rocks are piled? : 
Men are hard-hearted, and kind a: gels only 
Watch o’er the steps of a poor orphan child. 


Yet distant and soft the night-breeze is blowing, 
Clouds there are none, and clear stars beam mild* 
God in his mercy protection is shewing, 
Comfort and hope to the poor orphan child. 


Ev’n should I fall o’er the broken bridge passing, 
Or stray in the marshes, by false lights beguiled, 

Still will my Father, with promise and blessing, 
Take to his bosom the poor orphan child. 


There is a thought that for strength should avail me 
Though both of shelter and kindred despoiled * 
Heaven is a home, and a rest will not fail me; 
God is a friend to the poor orphan child. 


CHARLES JAMES LEVER. 


A series of Irish novels, totally different in character from those 
of Banim or Carleton, but as distinctly and truly national, has been ~ 
written by Mr. LEVER, who commenced his career in 1839 with — 
‘The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer.’ The author was born in 
’ Dublin, August 31, 1806. e studied medicime, and practised in Ire- 

‘and. When the cholera broke out in 1832 he exerted himself nobly, — 
and was rewarded with the appointment of physician to the British 
Embassy at Brussels. The success of ‘ Harry Lorrequer’ deter- 
mined Mr. Lever in favor of the literary profession. In 1841 he pro- 
duced ‘Charles O’Malley,’ which was highly popular; and for thirty 
years afterward scarcely a year passed without a novel from the gay 
and brilliant author. Among them were ‘Jack Hinton;’ ‘Tom Burke 
of Ours;’ ‘The O’Donoghue, a Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago;’ — 
“The Knight cf Gwynne, a Tale of the Union;’ ‘ Roland Cashel,’ - 
‘The Daltons,’ ‘The Dodd Family Abroad,’ ‘The Martins of Cro’ 
Martin,’ ‘The Fortunes of Glencore,’ ‘Davenport Dunn,’ ‘Maurice 
Tierney,’ ‘ Sir Jasper Carew,’ ‘ Luttrell of Arran,’ ‘Sir Brook Foss- | 
brooke,’ ‘That Boy of Norcott’s,’ ‘ Paul Gosslett’s Confessions,’ ‘ A 
Day’s Ride,’ ‘ Con Cregan,’ ‘The Bramleighs of Bishop’s Folly,’ &c. — 
His Last novel, ‘ Lord Kilgobbin,’ was produced only a few months be- 
fore his death, and aware that his end was near at hand, he said: ‘I 
hope this effort may be my last.’ He died of heart-disease at Tri- 
este, June 1, 1872. Besides his long file of novels, Lever published 
in ‘ Blackwood’s Magazine’ (where many of his fictions also first ap- _ 

eared) a series of papers ‘upon men and women, and other things 
in general, by Cornelius O’Dowd.’ ‘These are clever, sarcastic and 

= : . eee | 


a | 


“LEVER.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. ; 279 


_ humorous essays, which, when collected, formed three volumes of 
admirable light reading. : 
For about three years (1842-45) Mr. Lever conducted the ‘Dublin 
University Magazine.’ The novels of this versatile and lively author 
had all a considerable sale—some of the early ones rivalled the works 
of Dickens in popularity. ‘Charles O'Malley’ has gone through 
twelve editions. Besides his strange adventures, his battle-scenes, 
and romantic exploits, Mr. Lever has a rich, racy, national humour, 
His heroes have all a strong love of adventure, a national proneness 
to blundering, and a tendency to get into scrapes and questionable 
situations. The author’s chief fault is his sometimes mistaking farce 
- for comedy—mere animal spirits for wit or humour. - In ‘Glencore’ 
_he tried the higher style of fiction—‘ the detection of character and 
the unravelment of that tangled skein which makes up human mo- 
tives;’ but his satire and serious painting are not equal to his light- 
hearted gaiety, rollicking fun, and broad, laughable caricature. In 
‘The Dodd Family’ is an excellent view of foreign life. During the 
latter part of his life Mr. Lever constantly resided abroad. He was 
many years in Florence; in 1858 he was appointed vice-consul at - 
Spezia, where he remained till 1867, when he was transferred to 
Trieste. In 1871 the university of Dublin conferred upon him the 
_degree of LL.D. 


Dispensing Charity among the eee Poor.—From ‘ The Martins of Cro’ 
artin,’ 


Most of those who came were desirous of tickets for dispensary aid, for sickness 
has its permanent home in the Irish cabin, and fever lurks amidst the damp straw and 
smoky atmosphere of the poor peasant’s home.. Some, however, came for articles 

_ of clothing, or for aid to make and repair them ; others, for some little assistance in 
diet, barley for a sick man’s drink, a lemon, or an orange, to moisten the parched 
_ lips of fever; others, again, wanted leave ‘to send a grandchild or a niece to the 
school; and, lastly, a few privileged individuals appeared to claim their weekly rations 
of snuff or tobacco—little luxuries accorded to old age—comforts that solaced many 
_ adreary hour of a joyless existence. Amongst all the crowded mass, there was not 
_ one whom Mary had not known and visited in their humble homes. Thoroughly cone ~ 
-versant with their condition and their necessities, she knew well their real wants 
_ and if one less hopeful than herself might have despaired to render any actual relief 
- to such wide-spread misery, she was sanguine enough to be encouraged by the results 
_. before her, small and few as they were, to think that. possibly the good time was yet 
- to come when such efforts would be unneeded, and when Ireland’s industry, em- 
_ ployed and rewarded, would more then suffice for all the requirements of her humble 
~ poor. é , 
- ‘Jane Maloney,’ said Mary, placing a small packet on the table. ‘ Give this to 
_ Sally Kieran as you pass her door; and here is the order for your own cloak.’ 
_ *May the heavens be your bed. May the holy "—— 
: ‘Catty Honan,’ cried Mary, with a gesture to enforce silence. ‘Catty, your grand- 
+ daughter never comes to the school now that she has got leaye. What ’s the reason 
of that? : 
+ ¢¥eix, your reverence, miss, tis ashamed she is by rayson of her clothes. 
gays Luke Dascias danghters have check aprons.’ stay poe Ee 
_ _£No more of this, Catty. Tell Eliza to come on Monday, and if I’m satisfied with 
t 3 her, she shall have one too.’ 


.. 


a ‘Two ounces of tea for the Widow Jones.’ 


aig 
° 


Se 
vegies 2 


280 ~ CYCLOPEDIA-OF- = fro 1875, 


. ‘*Ayeh,? muttered an old hag, ‘but it’s weak it makes it without a little green in 
ity ; i 

‘How are the pains, Sarah?’ asked Mary, turning to a very feeble-looking old 
creature with crntches. . = : 

‘Worse and worse, my lady. . With every change of the weather they come on 
afresh.’ < 

* The doctor will attend you, Sally, and if he thinks wine good for you, you shai 
have it.’ 

‘Tis that same would be the savin’ of me. Miss Mary,’ said a cunning-eyed little 
woman. with a tattercd straw bonnet on her head, and a ragged shawl over her, 

‘I don’t think so, Nancy. Come up to the house on Monday morning, and help 
Mrs. Taafe with the bleaching.’ é ig 

‘So this is the duplicate, Polly 2?’ said she, taking a scrap of paper from an old” 
woman, whose countenance indicated a blending of dissipation with actual want. 

‘ Qne-and-fourpence was all I got on it, and trouble enough it gave me.’ These 
words sie uitered with a heavy sigh, and in a tone at once resentfui and complii: - 
ing. 

*, Were my uncle to know that you had pawned your cloak, Polly, he ’d never per- 
mit you to cross his threshold.’ 

‘ Ayeh, it’s a great sin, to be sure,’ whined out the hag, half insolently. 

‘A great shame anda great disgrace it certainly is; and I shall stop ail relief to 
_ you till the money be paid back.’ - 

4 And why not?’—‘ To. be sure !’—‘ Miss Mary is right !)—‘* What else could she 
do?’ broke in full twenty sycophant voices, who hoped to prefer their own claims by 
the cheap expedient of condemning another. 

‘The Widow Hannigan ?’ 

‘Here, miss,’ simpered out a smiling, little old creature, with a curtsey, as she 
held up a scroll of paper in her hand. 

‘What. ’s this, Widow Hannigan ?’ ; 

‘*Tis a picture Mickey made of you, miss, when you was out riding that day with 
the hounds; he saw you jumping a stone wall.’ P 

Mary smiled at the performance, which c:rtainly did not promise future excel- 
lence, and went on: ‘ Tell Mickey to mend his writing; his was the worst copy in 
the class; and here ’s a card for your daughtev’s admission into the infirmary. “By 
the way, widow. which of the boys was it.I saw dragging the river on Wednesday ?? - 

‘ Faix. miss, I don’t know. -Sure it was none of ours would aare to ’—— : 

‘Yes, they would, any one of them; but I ’ll not permit it; and what’s more, 
widow. if it occur again, I'll withdraw the leave I gave to fish with a rod.’ 


‘Teresa Johnson. your niece is a very good child. and promises to be véry 


ue Reet co. Pe I 
Seale ec F 


K 


handy with her needle. Let her hem these handkerchiefs, and there’s a frock for | 


herself... My uncle says, ‘Tom shall have half his wages paid him till he’s able to 


come to work again.’ 
ae g 


But why attempt to fotiow out what would be but the long unending catalogue of 


z 


native misery—that dreary series of wants and privations to which extreme destitu= _ 


tion subjects a long-neglected and helpless people. _There was nothing from the cra- 
dle to the coffin, from the first wailing wants of infancy to the last requirement of 
doting old age, that they did noi stand in need of. A melancholy spectacle. indeed, — 


was it to behold an entire population so steeped in misery. so utterly inured to ~ 


wretchedness, that they felt no shame at its exposure, ut rather a sort of self-exalt- 
ation at any opportunity of displaying a more than ordinary amount of human suf- 
fering and sorrow—to hear them how they caressed their afilittions, how they seemed 
to fondle their misfortunes, vying with each other in calamity, and bidding higher 


and higher for a little human sympathy. Mary Martin set herself stoutly to combat — 


this practice. mcluding. as it does, one of the most hopeless features of the national 


eharacter. ‘To inculcate habits of self-reliance, she was often driven, in violation o£ — 


her own feelings, to favour those who least needed assistance, but whose efforts te- 
improve their condition might serve as an example. , 


SAMUEL LOVER—LEITCH RITCHIE. a 
+ Another Irish worthy, SamuEL Lover (1798-1868), a native of 


Dublin, produced a number of. good Irish songs—‘ The Angels’ — 


/ 
. 
his: 
oe 
, At 


a oF eet fi ey 
o> Pos 4 4 i 


Ror . ~ 


LLover.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 281 


pes,’ ‘Molly Bawn,’ ‘The Four-leaved Shamrock, &c.’ His Irish 
novels —‘ Rory O’ More’ (1839), ‘Handy Andy’ (1842), and ‘ Treasure 
_ Trove’ (1844), were well received. His short Irish sketches, how- 


ever, are much better ; and by reciting some of these, and singing 
_ his fine wild songs, he made up a public entertainment which he gave 
with great success in Ireland, England, and America. 


The Angels’ Whisper. 

} A baby was sleeping, its mother was wecp'ng, 

| For her husband was far on the wild raving sea; 

| And the tempest was swelling round the fisherman’s dwelling, 
And she cried: ‘ Dermot, darling, oh! come back to me.’ 


Her beads while she numbered, the baby still slumbered, 
And similed in her face while she bended her knee. 

‘Oh! blest be that warning, my child, thy sleep adorning, 
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee. 


* And while they are keeping bright watch o’er thy sleeping, 
2 ‘Oh! pray to them softly, my baby with me; ‘ 
: And say thou wouldst rather they’d watched o’er thy father, 
| For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.’ 


The dawn of the morning saw Dermot returning, 
And the wife wept with joy her babe’s father to see, 
And closely caressing her child with a blessing, 
Said: ‘1 knew that the angels were whispering with thee.’ 


-. Errrcs Rircutre (1800-1865), a native of Greenock, was author of 
- four novels—‘ Schinderhannes,’ ‘The Game of Life,’ ‘The Magician,’ 
and ‘ Wearyfoot Common,’ 1855. He wrote various short tales and 
continental tours, and for several years bore a part in conducting 
_ *Chambers’s Journal.’ 


THOMAS HUGHES. 


‘Tom Brown’s School-days, by an Old Boy,’ 1857, gives an excel- 
lent account of Rugby School under Dr. Arnold; also some delight- 
_ ful sketches of scenery, rural customs, and sports in Berkshire. ‘The 
_ hero, Tom Brown, is the son of a Berkshire squire; he is genial, 

good-humoured, and high-spirited; he fights his way nobly at Rugby, 
and battles against bullying, tossing, and other evils of our public 
schools. The tore and feeling of the volume are admirable, and it 
"was pleasant to see so healthy and wise a book—for so it may be 
- termed—in its sixth edition within twelve months. Several more edi- 
_ tions have since been published. The same author has still further 
commemorated his beloved Berkshire in ‘The Scouring of the 
' White Horse, or the Long Vacation Ramble of a London Clerk,’ 
1858. In this work the country games, traditions, and antiquarian 
- associations of Berkshire are described. 


>. The Browns. 


a The Browns have become illustrious by the pen of Thackeray and the pencil of 
_ Doyle, within the memory of the young gentlemen who are now matriculating at the 
"universities. Notwithstanding the well-merited but late fame which has now fallen 
f E.L. v. 7—10 


4 . : 


ns ~ “= VE OS Ties ee oY ea’ @ 
po NSO Se rr rr 
~ 7 4 ’ _ “ts Fe Di “pe nN a 9 
ise Ne be AL i Sea 


_ . * eS) 
, 


282 _CYCLOPEDIA OF ———s [ro 1876, 


upon them, any one at all acquainted with the family must feel that much has yet to © 
be written and’said before the British nation will be properly sensible of how much 
of its greatness 1t owes to the browns. For centuries, in their quiet, dogged, hoime- 
spun way, they have been subduing the earth in most English counties, and leavin 
their mark in American forests and Australian upiands. Wherever the fleets an 
arimies of England have won renown, there stalwart sons of the Browns have done 
yeoman’s work. With the yew-bow and cloth-yard shatt at Cressy and Agincourt— 
with the brown bill and pike under the brave Lord Wiioughby—with cuiverin and 
demi-culverin against Spaniards and Dutchmenu—with hand-grenade and sabre, and 
tousket and bayonet, under Rodney and St. Vincent, Wolf and Moore, Nelson and 
Wellington, they have carried their lives in their hands; getting hard knocks and 
hard work in pienty, which was on the whole what they looked for, aud the best 
thing for them: aud little praise or pudding, which indeed they, and most of us, are 
better without. ‘Talbots and Stanleys, St. Maurs and such-like folk, have led armies 
and made laws time out of mind; but those noble families would be somewhat as- 
tounded—if the accounts ever came to be fairly taken—to find how smali their work 
for England has been by the side of that of the Browns. 


The author of ‘Tom Brown’s School-days’ is ‘Thomas Hughes, a 
Chancery barrister (appointed Queen’s Counsel in 1869), son of John 
Hughes, Esq., of Oriel College, Oxford, author of the ‘Itinerary of 
Provence,’ and editor of the ‘ Boscobel Tracts.’ Sir Walter Scott 
pronounced this gentleman ‘a poet, a draughtsman, and a scholar.’ 
The once famous ballad of ‘ The One-horse Shay’ and other political 
pout @esprit in ‘John Bull,’ were by the elder Mr, Hughes. His son, 

orn in 1823, was educated at Rugby under Dr. Arnold. Mr. 
Hughes was for some time an active member of parliament, warmly 
advocating the interests, without flattering the prejudices, of the 
working-classes. In all social questions he takes a deep interest, 
and evinces a manly, patriotic spirit. 


MRS. CROWE, 


This lady differs from most of her sister-novelists in a love of the 
supernatural and mysterious. She possesses dramatic skill in de- 
scribing characters and incidents, and few who have taken up one 
of her stories will lay down the volume until it has been read 
through. Mrs. Crowe’s first publication was a tragedy, ‘ Aristode- 
mus,’ 1488. Her next work was addressed to the many. ‘The 
Adventures of Susan Hopley,’ 1841, is a novel of English life, and 
was very successful. It was followed by ‘Men and Women, or 
Manorial Rights,’ 1843—a tale less popularly attractive than ‘Susan — 
Hopley,’ but undoubtedly superior to it in most essential points. 
Mrs. Crowe next translated ‘The Seeress of Prevorst,’ revelations 
concerning the inner life of man, by Justinus Kerner; and two years 
afterwards (1847), she published ‘The Story of Lilly Dawson.’ 
The heroine, when a child, falls into the hands of a family of English 
smugglers, desperadoes of the Dirk Hatteraick stamp; and the account — 
given of the gradual development of her intellect and affections amidst 
scenes of brutal violence and terror, with the story of her subsequent 
escape and adventures when the world was all before her, form a 
narrative of psychological as well as of romantic interest. Among ~ 


ENGLISH LITERATURE, 283 


| the opinions and reflections thrown out by the authoress is an ad- 
_ mission that the intellectual faculty of woman is inferior in quality 
- aud calibre to that of man: 


If, as we believe, under no system of training, the intellect of woman would be 
_ found as strong as that of man, she is compensated by her intuitions being strouger 
—if her reason be less majestic, her insight is clearer—where man reasons, she sees, 
_ Nature, in short, gave her all that was needful to enable her to fill a nobie part in the 
_ world’s history, if man would but let her play it out, and not treat her like a full- 
grown baby, to be flattered and spoiled on the one hand, and cocrced and restricted 

- onthe other, vibrat.ng betwixt royal rule and slavish serfdom. 


In 1848 Mrs. Crowe issued two volumes representing ‘The Night- 

side of Nature, or Ghosts and Ghost-seers.’ Some of the stories are 
derived from the German, and others are relations of supernatural 
events said to have happened in this country, some of them within 
- the author’s knowledge. A three-volume novel from her pen ap- 
_ peared in 1852, ‘The Adventures of a Beauty,’ describing the per- 
_ plexities arising out of a secret marriage contracted by a wealthy 
- baronet’s son with the daughter of a farmer ; and another domestic 
story, ‘Linny Lockwood,’ two volumes, 1854, appears to complete 
' the round of Mrs. Crowe’s works of fiction. The novelist, we may 
- add, is a native of Borough Green, county of Kent; her maiden 
name was Catherine Stevens, and in 1822 she was married to Colonel 
Crowe. 


Stages in the History of Crime. 


It is in the annals of the doings and sufferings of the good and brave spirits of 
the earth that we should learn our lessons. It is by these that our hearts are mel- 
owed. our minds exalted, and our souls nerved to go and do likewise. But there are 
occasionally circumstances connected with the history of great crimes that render 
them the most impressive of homilies: fitting them to be set aloft as beacons to 
warn away the frail mortal, tossed on the tempest of his passions, from the destruc- 
tion that awaits him if he pursues his course; and such instruction we hold may be 

best derived from those cases in which the subsequent feelings of a criminal are 

disclosed to us; those cases, in short, in which the chastisement proceeds from 
within instead of from without; that chastisement that no cunning concealment, no 
legal subtlety, no eloquent counsel, no indulgent judge can avert... . 

One of the features of our time—as of all times, each of which is new in its 

generation—is the character of its crimes. Every phasis of human affairs, every ad- 
_ vance in civilisation, every shade of improvement in our material comforts and con- 
__veniences, gives rise to new modes and forms—nay, to actual new births—of crime, 
_ the germs of which were only waiting for a congenial soil to spring in ; whilst others 
- are but modifications of the old inventions accommodated to new circumstances. 
There are thus stages in the history of crime -indicative of ages. First, we have 
' the heroic. Ata very early period of a nation’s annals. crime is bloody, bold, and 
_Tesolute. Ambitious princes ‘ make quick conveyance’ with those who stand in the 
. Way of their advancement; and fierce barons slake their enmity and revenge in the 
_ blood of their foes, with little attempt at concealment, and no appearance of remorse. 
oe Next comes the age of strange murders, mysterious poisonings. and lifelong incarce- 
‘Ss rations; when the passions. yet rife, unsubdued by education and the practical in- 
» fluence of religion. and rebellious to the new restraints of law, seek their gratifica- 
_ Won by hidden and tortuous methods. Thisis the romantic era of crime. But as 
Civilisation advances, it descends to a lower sphere. sheltering itself chiefly in the 
_ 8qualid tistricts of poverty and wretchedness ; the last halo of the romantic and he- 
_ Yoic fades from it; and except where it is the result vf brutal ignorance, its chief 
__ characteristic becomes astuteness. 


wre aS a 


y . as WF : erie a as 
284 . CYCLOPADIA OF [ro 1876, 


“a. 


But we are often struck by the strange tinge of romance which still colours the 
page of continental criminal records, causing them to read like the annals of a pre~- 
vious century. We think we perceive also a state of morals somewhat in atrear of ~ 
the stage we have reached, and, certainly, some curious and very defective forms of 
law ; and these two causes combined, seem to give rise to criminal enterprises which, 
ju this country, could scarcely have been undertaken, or, if they were, must have 
been met with immediate detection and punishment. 

Theré is also frequently a singular complication or imbroglio in the details, such 
as would be impossible in this isiand of duylight—for, enveloped in fog as we are 
physically, there is a greater glare thrown upon our actions here than among any other 
nation of the world perhaps—an imbroglio that appears to fling the narrative buck into 
the romantic era, and to indicate that it belongs to a stage of civilisation we bave 
already passed, 


MISS PARDOE. 


JULIA PARDOE (1806-1862), born at Beverley, in Yorkshire, the 
daughter of Major Thomas Pardoe, was an extensive writer in fiction, 
in books of travels, and in historical memoirs. Her most successful 
efforts have been those devoted to Eastern mannersand society. She 
is said to have produced a volume of Poems at the age of thirteen. 
The first of her works which attracted any attention was ‘ Traits and 
Traditions of Portugal, published in 1888. Having proceeded to the 
East, Miss Pardoe wrote ‘The City of the Sultan,’ 1886; which was 
succeeded in 1839 by ‘The Romance of the Harem’ and ‘The Beau- 
ties of the Bosphorus.’ In 1857, reverting to these Eastern studies 
and observations, Miss Pardoe produced a pleasant collection of ori- 
ental tales, entitled ‘Thousand and One Days.’ <A visit to Hungary 
led to ‘The City of the Maygar, or Hungary and its Institutions,’ 
1840, and to a novel, entitled ‘The Hungarian Castle.’ Another 
journey called forth ‘ Recollections of the Rhone and the Chartreuse; 
while studies in French history suggested ‘ Louis the Fourteenth and. 
the Court of France in the Seventeenth Century,’ 1847. The novels 
of Miss Pardoe are numerous. Among them are ‘ Reginald Lyle,’ — 
‘Flies in Amber,’ ‘The Jealous Wife,’ ‘Poor Relations,’ and ‘ Pil- 
grimages in Paris ’—the last published in 1858, and consisting of short 
romantic tales which had appeared in various periodicals. Her his- 
torical works include ‘The Court of Francis I.,’ ‘Memoirs of Marie 
dé Medici,’ ‘ Episodes of French History,’ &c. 


MRS. ANNE MARSH—LADY GEORGIANA FULIERTON. 


The domestic novels of these ladies have been received with great 
favour. They are earnest, impassioned, and eloquent expositions of 
English life and feeling—those of Lady Fullerton, perhaps too uni- 
formly sad and gloomy. Mrs. Marsn (1799-1874) was a Stafford- 
shire lady, daughter of Mr. James Caldwell of Linleywood, Recorder 
of New-castle-under-Lyme. She does not seem to have entered on 
her career as an authoress until 1834, when she published ‘lwo Old 
Men’s Tales.’ Between that year and 1886 she had issued several 
publications—‘ Tales of the Woods and Fields,’ ‘The Triumphs of- 
Time,’ ‘ Amelia Wyndham,’ and ‘Mount Sorel.’ These she followed 
up some years later by ‘Father Darcy,’ an historical romance; 


a 
A 


aries, 
ey 
vice | z 


, : ie - 4 <5 
\ 


MARSH] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 285 


- ¢Mordant Hall,’ ‘ Lettice Arnold,’ ‘The Wilmingtons,’ ‘Time the 
‘Avenger,’ ‘Castle Avon,’ ‘The Roseof Ashurst,’ ‘ Evelyn Marston,’ 
‘and ‘ Norman’s Bridge,’ a family history of three generations. Be- 


sides these works of fiction, Mrs. Marsh published one work of an 
historical character relating to the Protestant Reformation in France, 
but it was never completed. The death of her brother about 1858 


devolving on her the estate of Linleywood, Mrs. Marsh took the 


additional name and arms of Caldwell. 

Lapy FuLtLerton, daughter of the first Earl Granville, was married 
in 1883 to A. G. Fullerton, Esq. of Ballintoy Castle, County of 
Antrim, Ireland. In 144 she published ‘Ellen Middleton,’ a do- 
mestic story, which was followed by ‘ Grantley Manor,’ 1847; ‘ Lady 
Bird,’ 1852; the ‘Life of St. Francis of Rome,’ and ‘La Comtesse 


‘de Bonneval,’ 1857; ‘Rose Leblanc,’ 1861; ‘ Laurentia,’ 1861; ‘ Con- 


stance Sherwood,’ 1865; ‘A Stormy Life,’ 1867; ‘ Mrs. Gerald’s Niece,’ 
1869, &c. 
MISS KAVANAGH. 


A series of tales, having moral and benevolent aims, has been 
produced by Miss JuniA Kavanacu. In 1847 she published a 
Christmas book, ‘The 'hree Paths; and in 1848, ‘ Madeline, a Tale 
of Auvergne; founded on Fact’ The ‘fact’ that gave rise to this 
interesting story is the devotion of a peasant-girl, who by her labour 
founded a hospital in her native village. ‘Women in France during 
the Eighteenth Century,’ two volumes, 1850, was Miss Kavanagh’s 
next work—an ambitious and somewhat perilous theme; but the 


memoirs and anecdotes of the belles esprits who ruled the Parisian 


x 3 


CaS 


courts and coteries are told with discretion and feeling as well as 
taste. French society and scenery supplied materials for another 
fiction, ‘ Nathalie,’ 1851; after which Miss Kavanagh gave short bi- 
ographies of women eminent for works of charity and goodness, en- 
titling the collection ‘ Women of Christianity,’ 1852. She has since 
published ‘ Daisy Burns,’ 1853; ‘ Grace Lee,’ 1855; ‘ Rachel Gray,’ 
1856; ‘ Adele,’ 1858; ‘A Summer and Winter in the Two Sicilies,’ 
two vols. 185%; ‘Seven Years, and other Tales,’ 1859; ‘French 


- Women of Letters,’ 1861; ‘ English Women of Letters.’ 1862; ‘Queen 


Mab,’ 1863; ‘ Beatrice,’ 1865: ‘Sybil’s Second Love.’ 1867: ‘ Dora,’ 
1868; ‘Sylvia,’ 1870; &e. In fiction and memoirs, Miss Kavanagh 
is always interesting, delicate in faney and feeling, and often rich 


‘in description. She is not so able in construction as some of her 


contemporaries, but she has dealt with very various types of char- 
acter, and always with a certain grace and careful decision. This 
lady is a native of Ireland, born at Thurles, in Tipperary, in the 
year 1824; but she was educated in France, 

MRS. GASKELL. 
_-About the same time that Charlotte Bronté was drawing scenes 


and characters from Yorkshire, another lady novelist was depicting 


286 CYCLOPADIA OF [ro 1876. 
the condition of the manufacturing classes in Lancashire. Mrs. 
ELIZABETH CLEGHORN GASKELL (nee Stevenson), wife of the Rev. 
W. Gaskell, Unitarian minister, Manchester, in 1848 published 
anonymously ‘Mary Barton, a Tale of Manchester Life.’ ‘The work 
‘is a faithful and painfully interesting picture of the society of the 
manufacturing capital. ‘he heroine is the daughter of a factory 
operative; and the family group, with their relatives and friends, are 
drawn with a_ distinctness and force that leave no doubt of its 
truth. ‘The authoress says she has often thought how deep might be 
the romance in the lives of some of those who elbowed her daily in 
the streets of Manchester. 


‘T had always,’ she adds, ‘felt a deep sympathy with the care-worn men, who 
looked as if doomed to struggle througn their lives in strange alternations between 
work and want: tossed to and fro by circumstances apparently in even a greater de- 
gree than other men. A little manifestation of this sympathy, and a little attention 
to the expression of feelings on the part of some of the work-people with whom I 
was acquainted, had laid open to me the hearts of one or two of the more thought- 
ful among them ; I saw that they were sore and irritable against the rich, the even 
tenor of whose seemingly happy lives appeared to increase the anguish caused by 
the lottery-like nature of their own. Whether the bitter complaints made by them, 
of the neglect which they experienccd from the prosperous—especially from the 
masters whose fortunes they had helped to build up—were well founded or no, it is 
not for me to judge. 


“nation to God’s will, and turns it to revenge in too many of the poor uneducated 
factory-workers of Manchester.’ 


The effects of bad times, political agitation, and ‘strikes,’ are de- 


picted and brought home more vividly to the reader by their connec- 
tion with the characters in the novel. The Lancashire dialect is also 
occasionally introduced, adding to the impression of reality made 
by the whole work; and though the chief interest is of a painful 
character, the novelist reflects the lights as well as the shades of 
artisan life. Her powers of description may be seen from the beauti. 
ful opening scene: 


Picture of Green Heys Fields, Manchester. 


There are some fields near Manchester. well known to the inhabitants as ‘ Green 
Heys Fields,’ through which runs a public footpath to a little village about twe miles 
distant In spite of these fields being flat and low—nay. in spite of the want of 
wood (the great and usual recommendation of level trocts of land). there is‘a charm 
abont them which strikes even the inhabitant of a mountainous district. who sees and 
feels the effect of contrast in these commonplace but thoroughly rural fields. with the’ 
busv. bustling manufacturing town he left but half an honr ago. Here and there an 
o'd black and white farm-house, with its rambling ontbuildings, speaks of other 


times and other occupations than those which now absorb the popnlation of the ~ 


neithhbourhord. Here in their seasons may be seen the country business of hay-~ 
making. plongehing. &e. which are such pleasant mysteries for towns-people to 
watch: and here the artisan. deafened with noise of tongues and engines, may come 
to listen awhile to the delicions sonnds of rural life—the lowing of cattle, the milk- 
maids’ call. the clatter end cackle of poultry in the old farm-yards You cannot won- 
der, then, that these fields are popular places of resort at every holiday-time ; and you 
would not wonder, if vou could see. or I properly describe. the charm of one partice 
ular stile, that it should be, on such occasions, a crowded halting-place. Close by it 


It is enough to say, that this belief of the injustice and un- ~ 
kindness which they endure from their fellow-creatures, taints what might be resig- ~ 


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GASKELL.) ENGLISH LITERATURE. 287 


_ is a deep, clear pond, reflecting in its dark-green depths the shadowy trees that bend 
_ over it to exclude the sun. The only place where its banks are shelving is on the side 
next to a ‘ambling farm-yard, belonging to one of those old-world. gabled. black and 
white houses I nained above, overlooking the field throngh which the public footpath 
-Jeads. ‘ihe porch of this farm-house is covered by a rose-tree ; and the little garden 
“suirounding it is crowded with a medley of old-fashioned herbs end flowers. p: nted 
long ago, when the garden was the only druggist’s shop within reach, and allcwed ta 
grow in scrambling and wild luxuri:.nce—roses, lavender, sage, balm (fc r tea). 10¢e- 
mary, pinks and waliflowers, onions and jessamine, in most repubtic:n end ind s- 
criminate order. This farm-house and garden are within a hundid yaids of the 
stile of which I spoke, leading from the large pusiure-field into a smaller one. di- 
vided by a hedge of hawthorn and blackthorn ; and near this stile, cn the further 
side, there runs a tale that primroses may often be {ound, and occasionally the blue 
sweet violet on the grassy hedge-bank. 
I do not know whether it was on a holiday granted by the masters, or a holiday 
seized in right of nature and her beautiful spring-time by the workmen; but one 
- afternoon—now ten or a dozen years ago—these fields were much thronged. It was 
an early May evening—the April of the poets: for heavy showers had fallen all the 
morning, and the round, soft white clouds which were blown by a west wind over the 
dark-blue sky, were sometimes varied by one blacker and nore threatening. The 
softness of the day tempted forth the young ereen leaves, which almost visibly flut- 
tered into life ; and the willows, which that morning had had only a brown reflection in 
_ the water below, were now of that tender gray-green which blends so delicately with 
_ the spring harmony of colours. 
Groups of merry, and somewhat loud-talking girls, whose ages might range from 
_ twelve to twenty, came by with a buoyant step. ‘hey were most of them factory- 
girls, and wore the usual out-of docrs dress of that particular class of maidens— 
namely, a shawl, which at mid-day. or in fine weather, was allowed t: be merely a 
shawl, but towards evening, or if the day-were chilly, became a sort of Spanish man- 
’ tilla or Scotch plaid, and was brought over the head and hung loosely down, or was 
pinned under the chin in no unpicturesque fashion. Their faces were not remark- 
able for beauty ; indeed, they_ were below the average, with one or two exceptions 5 
_ they had dark hair, neatly and_ classically arranged. dark cyes, but sallow complex- 
- jons and irregular features. The only thing to strike a passer-by was an acuteness 
and intelligence of countenance which has often been noticedin a mauufacturing 
_ population. 
P There were also numbers of boys, or rather young men, rambling among these 
fields. ready to bandy jokes with any one, and particularly ready to enter into conver- 
- sation with the girls, who, however, held themselves aloof, not in a shy. but rather 
in an independent way, assuming an indifferent manner to the noisy wit or obstre- 
_ perous compliments of the lads. Here and there came a sober, quiet couple, either 
_ ‘whispering lovers. or husband and wife, as the case might be; and if the latter, they 
were seldom unencumbered by an infant, carried for the most part by the father, while 
‘occasionally even three or four little toddlers have becn carried or dragged thus far, in 
4 
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‘order that the whole family might enjoy the delicious May afternoon together. 


Tn 1850 Mrs. Gaskell published ‘The Moorland Cottage’—a short 
' domestic tale : in 1853, ‘ Ruth,’ a novel in three volumes, and ‘Cran- 
ford.’ a collection of sketches that had appeared in a periodical work; 
- in 1855, ‘ North and South,’ another story of the manufacturing dis- 
- tricts, which had also been originally published in the periodical 
~ form: and in 1859, ‘Round the Sofa.’ In 1860 aypeared ‘ Right at 
~ Tast:’ and in 1863, ‘ Silvia’s Lovers.’ These novels were all popular. 
The authoress was a prose Crabbe—earnest, faithful, and often spirl- 
ted in her delineations of humble life. By confining herself chiefly 
to the manufacturing population, she threw light on conditions of 
§ life, habits, and feelings comparatively new and original in our ficti- 
‘tious literature. Her ‘Life of Charlotte Bronté,’ 1857, has all the in- 


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288 CYCLOPEDIA OF °~ . — [ro 18%6, 


terest of a romance, and is worthy of the authoress of ‘Mary Barton.’ 
Mrs. Gaskell died at Alton, November 12, 1865, aged fifty-four. : 


Yorkshiremen of the West Riding.—From ‘ Life of Charlotte Bronte.’ 


Even an inhabitant of the neighbouring county of Lancaster is struck by the pe- 
culiar force of character which the Yorkshiremen display. This makes them inter- 
esting as a race; while at the same time, as individuals, the remarkable degree of 
self-sufficiency they possess gives them an air of independence rather apt to repel a 
stranger. J use this expression ‘ self-sufficiency’ in the largest sense. Conscious of 
ths strong sagacity and the dogged power of will which seem almost the birthright 
of the natives of the West Riding, each man relies upon himself, and seeks no help at 
the hand of his neighbor. From rarely requiring the assistance of others, he comes 
to doubt the power of bestowing it: from the general success of his efforts, he grows 
to depend upon them, and to over-esteem his own energy and power. He belongs to ~ 
that keen, yet short-sighted class who consider suspicion of all whose honesty is not 
proved as a sign of wisdom. ‘lhe practical qualities of a man are held in great re- 
spect; but the want of faith in strangers and untried modes of action, extends itself 
even to the manner in which the virtues are regarded: and if they produce no imme- 
diate and tangible result, they are rather put aside as unfit for this busy, striving 
world; especially if they are more of a passive than an active character. Their af- 
fections are strong, and their foundations lie deep ; but they are not—such affections 
seldom are—wide-spreading, nor do they shew themselves on the surface. Indeed, 
there is little display of any of the amenities of life among this wild,’ rough popula- 
tion. Their accost is curt; their accent and tone of speech blunt and harsh. Some- 
thing of this may, probably, be attributed to the freedom of mountain air and of iso- 
lated hill-side life, something to be derived from their rough Norse ancestry. They 
have a quick perception of character, and a keen sense of humour; the dwellers 
amoung them must be prepared for certain uncomplimentary, though most likely true 
observations, pithily exprssed. Their feelings are not easily roused, but their dura- © 
tion is lasting. Hence there is much close friendship and faithful service. From the 
same cause also come enduring grudges, in some cases amounting to hatred, which 
occasioually has been bequeathed from generation to generation. I remember Miss 
Bronté once telling me that it was a saying round about Haworth: ‘ Keep a stonein 
thy pocket seven year; turn it and keep it seven year longer, that it may be ever 
ready to thy hand when thine enemy draws near.’ 

The West Riding men are sleuth-hounds in pursuit of money. ... These men 
are keen and shrewd; faithful and persevering in following out a good purpose, fell 
in tracking an evil one. They are not emotional; they are not easily made into 
either friends or enemies; but once lovers or haters, it is difficult to change their 
eine, They are a powerful race both in mind and body, both for good and for 
evil. 

The woollen manufacture was introduced into this district in the days of Edward | 
III. It is traditionally said that a colony of Flemings came over and settled in the 
West Riding to teach the inhabitants what to do with their wool. The mixture of © 
agricultural with manufacturing labour that ensued and prevailed in the West Riding 
up to a very recent period, sounds pleasant enough at this distance of time, when the 
classical impression is left, and the details forgotten, or only bronght to light by those 
who explore the few remote parts of England where the custom still lingers. 
The idea of the mistress and her maidens spinning at the great wheels while the mas- — 
ter was abroad plouvhing his fields, or seeing after his flocks on the purple moors, is 
very poctical to Jook back upon; but when such life actually touches on our own 
days, and we can hear particulars from the lips of those now living, there come out F 
details of courseness—of the uncouthness of the rustic mingled with the sharpness of 
the tradesman—of irregularity and fierce lawlessness—that rather mar the vision of 
pastoral innocence and simplicity. Still, as it is the exceptional and exaggerated 
characteristics of any period that leave the most vivid memory behind them, it would. 
be wrong, and in my opinion faithless, to conclude that such and such forms of soci- 
ety and modes of living were not best for the period when they prevailed, although 
the abuses they may have ied into, and the gradual progress of the world, have made— 
it well that such ways and manners should pass away for ever, and as preposterous — 


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COLLINS. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 289 


to attempt to return to them, as it would be for a man to return to the clothes of his 
childhood. 

A uniform edition of Mrs. Gaskell’s novels and tales has been pub- 
lished in seven volumes. 


WILLIAM WILKIE COLLINS. 


This gentleman’s first work was a Life of his father, William Col- 
lins, the celebrated English painter. It was published in 1848, and 
was universally recognized as a valuable addition to our art bio- 
graphy. Mr. Couuins then tried another field. He turned to fiction, 
and in 1850 published a classic romance of the fifth century, entitled 


‘ Antonina, or the Fall of Rome.’ ‘Though much inferior to Bulwer’s 


historical romances, the work evinced Mr. Collins’s art in construct- 
ing an interesting story, and this dramatic faculty—rather than skill 
in depicting character—has distinguished his subsequent productions, 


~ These are—‘ Rambles beyond Railways, or Notes in Cornwall,’ 1851; 


‘Basil,’ a novel, 1852; ‘Mr. Wray’s Cash-box,’ 1852; ‘ Hide and Seek,’ 
1854; ‘After Dark,’ 1856; ‘The Dead Secret,’ 1857. The last of 
these tales appeared in ‘Household Words,’ and kept its readers in 
breathless suspense—the delight of all lovers of romance—until the 
secret was unfolded. Mr. Coliins is author also of a drama, ‘The 
Frozen Deep,’ performed in 1857 by Mr. Dickens, by the dramatist 
himself, and other friends, amateur actors, in aid of the family of 
Douglas Jerrold, the Queen having previously witnessed a private 
representation of the piece. The late works of Mr. Collins are— 
‘The Queen of Hearts,’ 1859; The Woman in White,’ 1860; ‘No 
Name,’ 1862; ‘My Miscellanies,’ 1863; ‘Armadale,’ 1866;:‘The 


~ Moonstone,’ 1868; ‘Man and Wife,’ 1870; ‘Poor Miss Finch;’ ‘The 


_ Law and the Lady,’ &c. This popular novelist is a native of Lon- 


don, born in January, 1824. He was intended for a commercial life, 
then studied law in Lincoln’s Inn; but in his twenty-fourth year he 
entered on his natural field—the literary profession. 
CAPTAIN MAYNE REID. 
In the description of daring feats and romantic adventures—scenes 


- in the desert, the forest, and wild hunting-ground—Caprain MAYNE 


Rep, of the United States army, has earned great popularity, especi- 
ally with the young. He seems to have made Cooper the novelist his 


model, but several of his works are more particularly devoted to 


natural history. This gentleman is a native of the north of Ireland, 
son of a Presbyterian minister, and was born in the year 1818. In 
his twentieth year he went abroad to ‘push his fortune.’ He set out 


- for Mexico, made trading excursions with the Indians up the Red 


_ River, and afterwards sailed up the Missouri, and settled on the prai- 


ries for a period of four or five years. He then took to the literary 
profession in Philadelphia ; but in 1845, when war was declared be- 
tween the United States and Mexico, Mr. Reid obtained a commission - 


‘ 
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290 CYCLOPEDIA OF | [ro 1876. 


in the American army, and distinguished himself by his gallantry. 
He led the forlorn-hope at the assault of the castle of Chapultepec, 
and was severely wounded. The Mexican war over, Capt:in Reid 
organised a body of men to aid the Hungarians in their struggle for 
independence, but the failure of the insurrection prevented his reap- 
ing any fresh laurels as a soldier. He now repaired to England and 
resumed his pen. His personal experiences had furnished materials 
of a rare and exciting kind, and he published a series of romances 
and other works, which were well received. In 1849 appeared ‘ The 
Rifle Rangers;’ in 1850, ‘The Scalp Hunters;’ in 152, ‘The Desert 
Home’ and ‘Boy Hunters;’ in 1853, ‘The Young Voyageurs; in 
1854, ‘ The Forest Exiles;’ in 1855, ‘The Bush Boys,’ ‘The Hunter’s 
Feast,’ and ‘The White Chief;’ in 1856, ‘ The Quadroon, or a Lover’s 
Adventures in Louisiana;’ in 1857, ‘The Young Yagers;’ in 1858, 
‘The Plant Hunters’ and ‘The War Trail;’ in 1859, ‘ Oceola;’ &c. 
As a vivid describer of foreign scenes, Captain Reid is entitled to 
praise; but his incidents, though exciting, are often highly improbable. 


SAMUEL PHILLIPS—ANGUS B. REACH—ALBERT SMITH. 


The author of ‘Caleb Stukeley’ and other tales, Mr. SAMUEL ~ 
PHILLIPS (1815-1854),, was for some years literary critic of the 
‘Times,’ and afterwards literary director of the Crystal Palace. The 
only works to which he put his name were certain guide-books to the 
Palace. Mr. Phillips was by birth a Jew, son of a London trades- © 
man. In his fifteenth year he appeared as an actor in Covent Garden 
Theatre; but his friends placed him in the London University, and 
whilst there, he attracted the attention of the Duke of Sussex by an 
essay on Milton. Through the Duke’s assistance he was sent to Got- 
tingen University. His novel of ‘Caleb Stukeley’ appeared origi- 
nally in ‘Blackwood’s Magazine,’ and was reprinted in 1843. Its 
success led to other contributions to “Blackwood ’—‘ We are all Low 
People There,’ and other tales. He occasionally sent letters to the 
‘Times,’ and ultimately formed a regular engagement with the con- 
ductors of that paper. His reviews of books were vigorous and 
slashing; Dickens, Carlyle, Mrs. Stowe, and other popular writers 
were boldly assailed by the anonymous critic, and his articles became 
the talk of the town. Two volumes of these literary essays have 
since been published. The tales of Mr. Phillips all bear the impress 
of his energetic mind and shrewd caustic observation. With better 
health, he would probably have been more genial, and have accomp- 
lished some complete artistic work. 

As a first-class journalist and happy descriptive writer, few young 
men rose into greater favour and popularity than Mr. ANeus BE- 
THUNE ReAcu (1821-1856). He was a native of Inverness; but be- 
fore he had reached his twentieth year he was in London, busily 
employed on the ‘ Morning Chronicle,’ as reporter and critic, and let 
us add, honourably supporting his parents, on whom misfortune had 


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pi. PHILLIPS. ] ~ .. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 291 


fallen. Besides contributing to the magazines, Mr. Reach wrote two 
~ novels—‘ Clement Lorimer,’ one volume, 1848; and ‘Leonard Lind- 
say,’ two volumes, 1850. He wrote also a number of light satires, dra- 
matic pieces, and sketches of social life—‘ The Natural History of Bores 
and Humbugs,’ ‘The Comic Bradshaw,’ ‘ London on the Thames,’ 
“The Man of the Moon,’ &c. Being despatched to France as a 
Commissioner for the ‘ Morning Chronicle,’ he enriched his note-book 
with sketches social, picturesque, and legendary, published with the 
title of ‘Claret and Olives, from the Garonne to the Rhone,’ 1852, 
The disappointment he experienced in traversing what is considered 
the most poetic region of France, he thus describes: 


The South of France. 


P We entered Languedoc, the most early civilised of the provinces which now 
make up France—the land where chivalry was first wedded to literature—the land 
whose tongue laid the foundations of the greater part of modern poetry—the land 

where the people first rebelled against the tyranny of Rome—the land of the 

Menestrals and the Albigenses. People are apt to think of this favoured tract of 

_ Europe as a sort of terrestrial paradise—one great glowing odorous garden—where, 
in the shade of the orange and the olive tree, queens of love and beauty crowned 
the heads of wandering troubadours. ‘The literary and historic associations have 

>not unnaturally operated upon our common notions of the country; and for the 

‘south of France,’ we are very apt to conjure up a brave, fictitious landscape. Yet, 

this country is no Eden. It has been admirably described in a single phrase, the 

‘Austere South of France.’ It 7s austere—grim—sombre. It never smiles; it-is 

scathed and parched. There is no freshness or rurality in it. It does not seem the 

country, but a vast yard—shadeless, glaring, drear, and dry. Let us glance from 
our elevated perch over the district we are traversing. A vast, rolling wilderness of 
clodded earth, browned and baked by the sun; here and there masses of red rock 
heaving themselves above the soil like protruding ribs of the earth, and a vast 
coating of drouthy dust, lying like snow upon the ground. To the left. a long ridge 
of iron-like mountains—on all sides rolling hills, stern and kneaded, looking as 
thongh frozen. On the slopes and in the plain, endless rows of scrubby, ugly trees, 
powdered with the universal dust, and looking exactly like mopsticks. Sprawling 
and straggling over the soil beneath them, jungles of burnt-up leafless bushes, 
tangled and apparently neglected. The trees are olives and mulberries—the bushes, 
vines. Glance again across the country. It seems a solitude. Perhaps one or two 
distant figures, gray with dust, are labouring to break the clods with wooden 
hammers; but that is all. No cottages—no farm-houses—no hedges—all one 
rolling sweep of iron-like, burnt-up, glaring land. In the distance you may espy a 
village. It looks like a fortification—all blank, high stone walls, and no windows, 
but mere loopholes. A square church tower gloomily and heavily overtops the 
houses, or the dungeon of an ancient fortress rears its massive piie of mouldering 
stone. Where have you seen such a landscape before? Stern and forbidding, it 
has yet a familiar look.. These scrubby, mop-headed trees—these formal square lines 
of huge edifices—these banks and braes, varying in hue from the gray of the dust 
to the red of the rock—why. they are precisely the backgrounds of the pictures of 
the renaissance painters of France and Italy. , 


With his various tasks and incessant labour, the health of the young 
littérateur gave way. Mental disease prostrated him, and for the last 
two years of his life he was helpless. One eminent and generous 
man of letters—Mr. Thackeray—by special lectures and personal 

bounty, contributed largely to the comfort of the sufferer ; and an- 
other—Mr. Shirley Brooks—undertook, and for many months cheer- 
fully fulfilled, some of his friend’s literary engagements. The Liter- 


. 
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292 CYCLOPADIA OF [ro 1876. 


ary Fund also lent assistance. It is gratifying to note these instances — 


of sympathy, but more important to mark the warning which Mr. 


Reach’s case holds out to young literary aspirants of the dangers of 


over-application. 

Mr. ALBERT SmitrH (1816-1860), born at Chertsey, is best known 
for his illustrated lectures or amusing monologues in the Egyptian 
Hall, Piccadilly, in which he described a visit to Constantinople, the 
ascent of Mont Blanc, and a trip to China in 1858-9. Of these tours 
he also published accounts. Mr. Smith studied medicine both in 
London and Paris, but began early to write for the magazines, and 
threw off numerous tales and sketches—as ‘The Adventures of Mr. 
Ledbury,’ ‘The Scattergood Family,’ ‘Christopher Tadpole,’ ‘ The 
Pottleton Legacy,’ several dramatic pieces, &c. His lectures—some- 
what in the style of Mathews’s ‘ At Home,’ but with the addition of 
very fine scenery—were amazingly successful: ‘Mont Blanc’ was 
repeated above a thousand times, and almost invariably to crowded 
houses. . : 

MRS. ELLIS. 

This lady is the Hannah Moore-of the present generation. She 
has written fifty or sixty volumes, nearly all conveying moral or reli- 
gious instruction. Her principal works are—‘ The Women of Eng- 
land,’ 1838; ‘A Summer and Winter in the Pyrenees,’ 1841; ‘The 
Daughters of England,’ 1842; ‘The Wives of England,’ and ‘The 
Mothers of England,’ 1848; ‘Prevention Better than Cure,’ 1847; 
‘Hints on Formation of Character,’ 1848. Several short tales and 
poems have also been published by Mrs. Ellis. This accomplished 


and industrious lady (nee Sarah Stickney) was in 1847 married to the. 


distinguished missionary, the Rev. William Ellis, author of ‘ Poly- 
nesian Researches in the Society and Sandwich Islands,’ four vol- 
umes, 1882. 

MISS C. M. YONGE—MISS SEWELL—MISS JEWSBURY. 


A not less voluminous writer is CHARLOTTE Mary YONGE, a na- 
tive of Hampshire, born in 1823. Her novel, ‘The Heir of Red- 
clyffe,’ 1853, at once established her reputation. She had, however, 
previous to this date written several other tales—‘ Henrietta’s Wish,’ 
‘Venneth,’ and ‘ Langley School,’ 1850; ‘The Kings of England,’ 
‘The Two Guardians,’ and ‘Landmarks of Ancient History,’ 1852, 
&c. The popularity of ‘The Heir of Redclyffe’ induced the au- 
thoress to continue what may be called the regular novel style; and 
in ‘ Heart’s Ease,’ 1854; ‘ Daisy Chain,’ 1856; and ‘Dynevor Ter- 
race,’ 1857, we have interesting, well-constructed tales. Since then 
she has produced several other works—‘ The Young Stepmother,’ 
‘Hopes and Fears,’ ‘The Lances of Lynwood,’ ‘Clever Woman of 
the Family,’ ‘ Prince and the Page,’ &c. The children’s books of 
Miss Yonge have also been exceedingly popular ; and all her works, 
tike those of Mrs. Ellis, have in view the moral improvement of the 


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YONGE.) ENGLISH LITERATURE. _. - 993 


young, more particularly those of her own sex. Miss Yonge is said 


to have given £2000, the profits of her tale ‘ Daisy Chain,’ towards 


_ the building of a missionary college at Auckland, New Zealand, and 


also a portion of the proceeds of the ‘ Heir of Redclyffe’ to fitting 


- out the missionary ship Southern Cross, for the use of Bishop 


Selwyn. 
ELizABETH Misstnc SEWELL, a native of the Isle of Wight, born 
in 1815, is authoress of various works of what is exlled ‘High 


_ Church fiction,’ but works affording moral instruction, blended with 


delicate womanly pictures of life and character. The best known 
of these are ‘Amy Herbert,’ 1844; ‘ Gertrude’ and ‘ Sketches,’ 1847; 
‘Katherine Ashton,’ 1854; ‘Margaret Percival,’ 1858, &c. Miss 
Sewell has written various religious works, sketches of continental 
travel, &c. 

GERALDINE JEWSBURY is more ambitous in style, but not always 
so successful. Her works are—‘ Zoe,’ 1845; ‘ The Half-Sisters,’ 1848; 
‘Constance Herbert’ and ‘ Right or Wrong,’ 1859, &c. Of these, 
‘Constance Herbert’ is the best, both for the interest of the story 
and its literary merits. Miss Jewsbury has written a story for chil- 
dren, ‘Angelo, or the Pine Forest in the Alps,’ 1855. The elder 
sister of this lady, Maria Jane, wife of the Rev. W. Fletcher, ac- 
companied her husband to India, and died at Bombay in 1883; she 
Was an amiable, accomplished woman, authoress of various essays, 
sketches, and poems, including two volumes, ‘ Phantasmagoria,’ 
1829, which Professor Wilson characterised as ‘always acute and 
never coarse.’ 
a NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 


This distinguished American author was born on the 4th July 1804 
—the American Independence Day. He was a native of Salem, 


~ Massachusetts, and was early in the fieid as a contributor to periodi- 


cal literature. Two volumes of these pieces were collected and 
published under the title of ‘ Twice-told Tales’ (1837 and 1842.) In 
1-45 appeared ‘ Mossés from an old Manse,’ and in 1850 ‘ The Scarlet 
Letter,’ which may be said to have given its author a European 
reputation. He afterwards joined with some friends in a scheme 
like the contemplated Pantisocracy of Southey and Coleridge—a 
‘society called the Brook Farm Community, from which Arcadian 
felicity and plenty were anticipated, but which ended in failure. In 
1851, Ate. Hawthorne produced ‘The House of the Seven Gables,’ 
and in 1852 ‘The Blithedale Romance.’ He published also a ‘ Life 
of General Pierce,’ and ‘A Wonder Book,’ a second series of which, 
called ‘ Tanglewood Tales,’ was published in 1858. On the accession 
of General Pierce to the presidency in 1852, Hawthorne was ap- 
- pointed consul for the United States at Liverpool, which he held for 
about five years. A visit to Italy gave occasion to his writing 


_ *'Transformation’ (1860)—a novel which gives an admirable view of 


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294 ° CYCLOPEDIA OF [re 1876. — 


| ' : » 1 
Roman life, antiquities, and art. How graphic and striking and — 
true, for example, is the picture presented by the opening scene! 


The Capitol at Rome. 


Four individuals, in whose fortunes we should be glad to interest the reader, hap- 
pened to be standing in one of the saloous of the sculpture-gallery in the Capitol at 
Rome. It was that room (the first after ascending the staircase) in the centre of 
which reclines the noble and most pathetic figure of the Dying Gladiator, just sink- 
ing into his death swoon. Around the walls stand the Antinious, the Amazon, the 
Lycian Apollo, the Juno; all famous productions of antique sculpture, and still 
shining in the undiminished majesty and beauty of their ideal life, although the mar- 
ble that embodies them is yellow with time, and perhaps corroded by the damp earth _ 
in which they lay buried for centuries. Here, likewise is seen a symbol (as apt at 
this moment as it was two thousand years ago) of the human soul, with its choice 
of innocence or evil at hand, in the pretty figure of a child, clasping adove to her — 
bosom, but assaulted by a snake. — ; : 

From one of the windows of this saloon, we may see a flight of broad stone steps 
descending alongside the antique and massive foundation of the Capitol, towards the 
battered triumphal arch of Septimus Severus, right below. Farther on, the eye skirts 
along the edge of the desolate Forum (where Roman washerwomen hang out their 
linen to the sun), passing over a shapeless confusion of modern edifices, piled rudely 
up with ancient brick and stone, and over the domes of Christian churches, 
built on the old pavements of heathen temples, and supported by the very pillars that — 
ounce upheld them. At a distance beyoud—yet but a little way, considering how — 
much history-is heaped into the intervening space—rises the great sweep of the Coli- 
seum, with the blue sky brightening through its upper tier of arches. Far off, the 
view is shut in by the Alban Mountains, looking just the same, amid all this decay - 
and change, as when Romulus gazed thitherward over his half-finished wall. : ; 

We glance hastily at these things—at this bright sky, and those blue, distant ~ 
mountains, and at the ruins, Etruscan, Roman, Christian, venerable with a three- 
fold antiquity. and at the company of world-famous statues in the saloon—in the 
hope of putting the reader into that state of feeling which is experienced oftenest 
at Rome. It is a vague sense of ponderous remembrances; a perception of such 
weight and density in a bygone life, of which this spot was the centre, that the pres- 
ent moment is pressed down or crowded out, and our individual affairs and interests 
are but half as real here as elsewhere. Side by side with the massiveness of the 
Roman Past, all matters that we handle or dream of nowadays look evanescent and 
visionary alike. 

Mr. Hawthorne returned to America, and published ‘Our Old 
Home,’ two vols., 1863, giving an account of England, but written 
in a tone of querulous discontent and unfairness which pained his — 
friends on both sides of the Atlantic. Part of this must be attri- 
buted to ill-health, which continued to increase till the death of the 
novelist, which took place at Plymouth, New Hampshire, May 19, 
1864. An interesting volume of Memorials of Hawthorne has been 
published by Henry A. Pace. _ His widow also edited and published 
‘ Passages from the American Note-books of Nathaniel Hawthorne,’ 
two vols., 1868; ‘ Passages from the English Note-books of Nathan- 
iel Hawthorne,’ two vols., 1870; and ‘Septimius,’ an unfinished 
romance, 1871. The three early romances, ‘The Scarlet Letter,’ 
‘Seven Gables,’ and ‘ Blithedale,’ are the most popular and original of 
Mr. Hawthorne’s works. The first of these pictures of New Eng- 
land life and Puritanism is on a painful subject, for ‘The Scarlet 
Letter’ is the badge of the heroine’s shame, and her misery and 


Re ee yee 


ca 


_ HAWTHORNE. ] ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. . 205°. 


_ degradation form the leading theme of the story. But it is intensely 
- interesting, and its darker shades are relieved by passages of fine 
- description. Perhaps its only fault is one which attaches also to 
_ Scott's. ‘ Waverley’—a too long and tedious introduction. The 
second romance does not possess the same harrowing interest, 
but it has greater variety, and the inmates of the old house-are 
drawn with consummate skill. ‘The Blithedale Romance’ is a story 
- founded on the Socialist experiment at Brook Farm. A strain of 
weird fancy and sombre thought pervades most of Hawthorne’s 
writings. 
A Socialist Experiment. 
| The peril of our new way of life was not lest we should fail in becoming practical 
~ agriculturists, but that we should probably cease to be anything else. While our en- 
terprise lay all in theory, we had pleased ourselves with delectable visions of the 
spiritualisation of labour. It was to be our form of prayer and ceremonial of wor- 
ship. Each stroke of the hoe was to uncover some aromatic root of wisdom, here- 
tofore hidden from the sun. Pausing in the field, to let the wind exhale the moisture 
- from our foreheads, we were to look upward, and catch glimpses into the far-off 
_ soul of truth. In this point of view, matters did. not turn out quite so well as we 
anticipated. It is very true that, sometimes, gazing casually around me, out of the 
midst of my toil, I used to discern a richer picturesqueness in the visible scene of 
earth and sky. There was, at such moments, a novelty, an unwonted aspect, on the 
face of nature, as if she had been taken by surprise and seen at unawares, with no 
opportunity to put off her real look, and assume the mask with which she mysteri- 
ously hides herself from mortals. But this was all. The clods of earth which we so 
_ constantly belaboured and turned over and over, were never etherialised into thought. 
Our thoughts, on the contrary, were fast becoming cloddish. Ourlabour symbolised 
no: hing, and left us mentally sluggish in the dusk of the evening. Intellectual ac- 
tivity is incompatible with any large amount of bodily exercise. The yeoman and 
the scholar—the yeoman and the man of finest moral culture, though not the man of 
sturdiest sense and integrity—are two distinct individuals, and can never be melted 
or welded into one substance. 


¥ 


In quaint description and love of odd localities, Mr. Hawthorne, 
in his short pieces, reminds us of Charles Lamb. He is a humorist 
with poetical fancy and feeling. In his romances, however, he puts 
forth greater power—a passionate energy and earnestness, with a love 
of the supernatural, but he never loses the simplicity and beauty of 

~ his style. 
Autumn at Concord, Massachusetts. 


Alas for the summer! The grass is stil] verdant on the hills and in the valleys ; 
the foliage of the trees is as dense as ever, and as green: the flowers are abundant 
along the margin of the river, and in the hedgerows, and deep among the woods; the 
days, too, are as fervid as they were a month ago; and yet, in every breath of wina 
and in every beam of sunshine, there is an autumnal influence. I know not how ta 
describe it. Methinks there is a sort of coolness amid all the heat. and a mildness 
in the brightest of the sunshine. A breeze cannot stir without thrilling me with the 
breath of autumn : and I behold its pensive glory in the far, golden gleams among 
the huge shadows of the trees. 

The flowers, even the brightest of them, the golden rod and the gorgeous cardi- 
nals—the most glorious flowers of the year—have this gentle sadness amid their 

Y pop. Pensive autumn is expressed in the glow of every one of them. I have felt 
his influence earlier in some years than in others. Sometimes autumn may be per- 
_ ceived even in the early days of July. There is no other feeling like that caused by 


~ x 


296 - CYCLOPADIA OF [ro 1876. , 


this faint, doubtful, yet real perception, or rather prophecy of the year’s decay, 30 | 


Ree Rey ese aut sad at the same time. ... a 
scarcely remember a scene of more complete and lovely seclusion 

sage of the river through this wood [North Branch]. Beet an Tide ee: ah 
oluen times, could not have floated onward in deeper solitude than my boat. I have 
never elsewhere had such an opportunity to observe how much more beautiful refiec- 
tion is than what we call reality. ‘The sky and the clustering foliage on either hand 
and the effect of sunlight as it found its way through the shade, giving lightsome 
hues in contrast with the quiet depth of the prevailing tints—all these seemed unsur- 
passably beautiful when beheld in upper air. But on gazing downward, there they 
Were, tue Same even to the minutest particular, yet arrayed in ideal beauty, which 
satistied the spirit incomparably more than the actual scene. Iam half convinced 
that the reflection is indeed the reality, the real thing which Nature imperfectly 
images to our grosser sense. At any rate the disembodied shadow is nearest to the 
soul. ‘There were many tokens of autumn in this beautiful picture. ‘Il'wo or three 
of the trees were actually dressed iu their coats of many colcurs—the real scarlet 
and gold which they wear before they put on mourning. 

_ Sunday, September 23.—There is a prevading blessing diffused over all the world 
Ljook out of the window, and think: +O periect day! O beautiful world! O good 
God!’ And such a day is the promise of a blissful eternity. Our Creator would 
never have made such weather, and given us the deep heart to enjoy it, above and 
beyond ail thought, if He had not meant us to be immortal. It opens the gates of 
heaven, and gives us glimpses far inward. 


The English Lake Country— Grasmere. 


I question whether any part of the world looks so beautiful as England—this part 
of England at least—on a fine summer morning. It makes one think the more 
cheerfully of human life to see such a bright universal verdure ; such sweet, rural, 

eaceful, flower-bordered cottages—not cottages of gentility, but dwellings of the 
abouring poor; such nice villas along the roadside so tastefully contrived for com- 
fort and beauty, and adorned more and more, year after year, with the care and 
afterthought of peopie who mean to live in them a great while, and fee] as if~their 
children might live in them also. And so they plant trees to overshadow their walks, 
and train ivy and all beautiful vines up against their walls—and thus live for the 
future in another sense than we Americans do. And the climate helps them out, 
and makes everything moist and green, and full of tender life, instead of dry and 
arid. as human life and vegetable life are so apt to be with us. Certainly, England 
can present a more attractive face than we can, even in its humbler modes of life— 
to say nothing of the beautiful lives that might be led, oue would think, by the 
higher classes, whose gateways, with broad, smooth, gravelled drives leading through 
them, one sees every mile or two along the road, winding into some proud seclusion. 
All this is passing away, and society must assume new relations; but there is no 
harm in believing that there has been something very good in English life—good for 
all classes—while the world was in a state out of which these forms naturally grew. 


MRS. STOWE. 


No work of fiction, perhaps, ever had so large an immediate sale 
as the American Story of ‘ Uncle Tom’s Cabin,’ by Mrs. Harrier 
Beecuer Stowe. — It first appeared in parts in a weekly journal, 
‘The Washington National Era,’ 1850; and when completed, it was 
published in a collected form, and in less than a year 200,000 copies 
are said to have been sold in the United States. It was soon im- 
ported into this country, and there being no restraining law of inter- 
national copyright, it was issued in every form from the price of a 
shilling upwards. At least half a million copies must have been 
sold in twelve months. So graphic and terrible a picture of slavery 
in the Southern States of America could not fail to interest all classes; 


=e 


_ STOWE. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 297 


and though ‘Uncle Tom’ may have been drawn too saint-like, and 
Legree, the slave-owner, too dark a fiend, it is acknowledged that the 
characters and incidents in the tale are founded on facts and authen- 
tie dvcuments. ‘To verify her statements, Mrs. Stowe, in 1858, pub- 
lished a ‘ Key to Uncle Tom’s Cabin,’ in which she had collected ad- 
vertisements of the sale of slaves, letters from the sufferers, and 


arguments in support of slavery from newspapers, law reports, and 


even sermons. 

Mrs. Stowe visited England the same year (1853), and was received 
with great distinction. In London she reccived an address from the 
ladies of England, presented to her in Stafford House—the residence 
of the Duke of Sutherland—by Lord Shaftesbury. She afterwards 
travelled over the country, and from England she proceeded to 
France and Switzerland. An account of this European tour was 
published by Mrs. Stowe, under the title of ‘Sunny Memories of 
Foreign Lands.’ ‘There are some pleasant passages of description in 
this work, but on the whole it is unworthy of the authoress. Se 
much tuft-hunting, vanity, and slip-slop criticism could hardly have 
been expected from one who had displayed so much mastery over the 
stronger feelings and passions of our nature, and so much art in the 
construction of a story. Receptions, breakfast-parties, and personal 
compliments make up a large portion of these ‘ Memories,’ but here 
is one pleasing extract: 


Linglish Trees—Warwick Castle. 


_ When we came fairly into the court-yard of the castle, a scene of magnificent 
beauty opened before us. I cannot describe it minutely. The principal features are 
the battlements, towers, and turrets of the old feudal castle, encompassed by grounds 


~ on which has been expended all that princely art of landscape gardening for which 


England is famous—leafy thickets, magnificent trees, openings and vistas of verdure, 
and wide sweeps of grass, short, thick, and vividly green, as the velvet inoss we 
sometimes see growing on rocks in New England. Grass is an art and a science in 
England—it is an institution. The pains that are taken in sowing, tending, cutting, 
clipping, rolling, and otherwise nursing and coaxing it, being seconded by the misty 
breath and often falling tears of the climate, produce results which must be seen to 
be appreciated. So again of treesin England. ‘l'rees here are an order of nobility ; 
and they wear their crowns right kingly. A few years ago, when Miss Sedgwick was 
in this couutry, while admiriug some splend d trees in a nobleman’s park, a lady 
standing by said to her encouragingly: ‘O well I suppose your trees in America will 
be grown up after a while!’ Since that time, another style of thinking of Amcrica 
has come up, and the remark that I most generaly hear made is: ‘ Oh, I suppose we 
cannot think of shewing you anything in the way of trees, coming as you do from 
America!’ Throwing out of account, however; the gigantic growth of our western 
river-bottoms, where I have seen sycamore trunks twenty feet in diameter—leaving 
out of account, I say, all this mammoth arboria—these English parks have trees as 
fine and as effective, of their kind, as any of ours; and when I gay their trees are an 


“order of nobility, I mean that they pay a reverence to them such as their magnifi- 


cence deserves. Such elms as adorn the streets of New Haven, or overarch the mea- 
dows of Andover. would in England be considered as of a value which no money 
could represent; no pains, no expense would be spared to preserve their life and 


health ; they would never be shot dead by having gas-pipes laid under them. as they 


haye been in some of our New England towns; or suffered to be devoured by canker- 


_ worms for want of any amount of money spent in their defence. Some of the finest 


293 CYCLOPADIA OF [To 1876, 


trees in this place are magnificent cedars of Lebanon, which bring to mind the ex- 
pression in the Psalms, ‘ Excellent as the cedars.’ ‘I hey are the very impersonation 
of kingly majesty, and are fitted to grace the old feudal stronghold of Warwick the 
king-iiaker. ‘These trees, standing ¢ as they do amid magnificent sweeps and undula- 
tions of lawn, throwing out their mighty arms with such majestic breadth and freé- 
dom of outline, are themselves a living, growing, historical epic Their seed was 
brought from the Holy Land in the old days of the Crusades; and a lkindred legends 
miviit be made up of the time, date, and occasion of their planting. 


In 1856, Mrs. Stowe published another novel written to expose the 
evils of slavery and the state of Southern society in America— 
namely, ‘Dred, a Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp,’ a work much 
inferior to ‘Uncle Tom.’ Before the period of her European fame, 
the authoress had contributed tales and sketches to American peri- 
odicals, the most popular of which was ‘ The Mayflower, or Sketches 
of the Descendants of the Pilgrims,’ 1849; a number of children’s 
books, religious poems, and anti-slavery tracts have proceeded from 
her fertile pen. Among her late separate works may be mentioned 
‘The Min:ster’s Wooing,’ 1859—an excellent novel, descriptive of 
Puritan life in New England: ‘The Pearl of Orr’s Island,’ 1862 ; 
‘Agnes of Sorrento,’ 1862 ; ‘Little Foxes, or the Insignificant Little 
Habits which mar Domestic Happiness,’ 1865 ; ‘ Light after Dark- 
ness,’ 1867; ‘Men of our Times, or Leading Patriots of the Day,’ 
1862 ; ‘Old Town Folks,’ 1869 ; ‘ Little Pussy Willow,’ 1870; ‘My 
Wife and I,’ 1871; ‘Pink and White Tyranny,’ 1871 ; ‘Old Town 
Fireside Stories’ (humorous little tales), ‘ Palmetto Leaves,’ 1878 ; &. 
One publication of Mrs. Stowe’s which appeared simultaneously in 
America and England—‘ The True Story of Lady Byron’s Life,’ 1869 
—excited a strong and painful interest. This was a narrative dis- 
closing what the authoress termed ‘a terrible secret,’ confided to her 
thirteen years before by Lady Byron. The secret was that Lord 
Byron was guilty of incest with his half-sister, Mrs. Leigh, to whom 
he had dedicated some of the most touching and beautiful of his 
verses. So revolting an accusation called forth a universal burst of 
indignation. When | examined, the statement was found to be inac- 
curate in dates and in some of its leading features, 

Letters written by Lady Byron to Mrs. Leigh in terms of the 
warmest affection, after the separation of the poet and his wife, were 
produced, and a formal contradiction to some of the principal allega- 
tions was given by the descendants and representatives of both Lord 
and Lady. Byron. Mrs. Stowe attempted a vindication next year, 
but it was a failure. No new evidence was adduced, and her de- 
fence consisted only of strong assertions, of aspersions on the char- 
acter of Byron, and of extracts from the most objectionable of his - 
writings. The whole of this affair on the part of the clever Amer- 
ican lady was a blunder and a reproach, No one, however, ventured 
to think she had fabricated the story. Lady Byron was the delin- 
quent; on that subject Lady Byron was a monomaniac. ‘Her mind 
was not a weak one, but she had impaired it by religious speculations . 


t 


é. 


“srowr.} © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 299 


beyond her reach, and by long brooding over her trials, involving 
some real and many imaginary wrongs. She could at first account 
for her gifted husband’s conduct on no hypothesis but insanity; and 
now, by a sort of Nemesis, there is no other hypothesis on which 


the moralist can charitably account for hers; but there is this marked 
difference in their maladies—he morbidly exaggerated his vices, and 
she her virtues’ (‘Quarterly Review’). This seems to be the true 
view of the case. 

We add a few sentences from ‘The Minister’s Wooing.’ 


A Moonlight Scene. 


Mary returned to the quietude of her room. The red of twilight had faded, and 
the silver moon, round and fair, was rising behind the thick boughs of the apple 
trees, She sat down in the window, thoughtful and sad, and listened to the crickets, 
whose ignorant jollity often sounds as mournfully to us mortals as ours may to supe- 
rior beings. There the little, hoarse, black wretches were scraping and creaking, as 
if life and death were invented solely for their pleasure, and the world were created 
only to give them a good time in it. Now and then alittle wind shivered among the 
boughs, and brought down a shower of white petals which shimmered in the slant 
beams of the moonlight; and now a ray touched some small head of grass, and forth- 
with it blossomed into silver, and stirred itself with a quiet joy, like a new-borr saint 
just awaking in Paradise... And ever and anon came on the still air the soft eternal” 

ulsations of the distant sea—sound mournfullest, most mysterious, of all the harp- 
ings of Nature. It was the sea—the deep, eternal sea—the treacherous, soft, dread- 
ful, inexplicable sea. 


Love. 


Tt is said that, if a grape-vine be planted in the neighbourhood of a well, its roots, 
running silently under ground, wreath themselves in a network around the cold clear 
waters. and the vine’s putting on outward greenness and unwonted clusters and fruit 
js all that tells where every root and fibre of its being has been silently stealing. So 
those loves are most fatal. most absorbing. ia which, with unheeded quietness, every 
thought and fibre of our life twines gradually around some human soul, to us the un- 
suspected well-spring of our being. Fearful, it is, because so often the vine must be 
uprooted, and all its fibres wrenched away ; but till the hour of discovery comes, how 


is it transfigured by a new and beantiful life! 


_ There is nothing in life more beautiful than that trance-like quiet dawn which 
precedes the rising of love in the soul, when the whole being is pervaded impercepti- 
bly and tranquilly by another being, and we are happy, we know not and ask not why, 
te soul is then receiving all and asking nothing. At a later day she becomes eelf- 
conscious, and then come craving exactions, endless questions—the whole world of 


‘the material comes in with its hard counsels and consultations, and the beautiful 
trance fades for rver. ... 


Do not listen to hear whom a woman praises, to know where her heart is ; do not 
ask for whom she expresses the most earnest enthusiasm? But if there be one she 
once knew well, whose name she never speaks; if she seem to have an instinct to 
avoid every occasion of its mention; if, when you speak. she drops into silence and 


changes the subject—why, look there for something !—just as, when getting through 


deep meadow-grass, a bird flies ostentatiously up before you, you may know her nest 
is not there, but far off under distant tufts of fern and buttercup, through which she 
has crept, with a silent flutter in her spotted breast, to act her pretty little falsehood 
before you. 


MRS. LYNN LINTON—MRS. HENRY WOOD. 


Mrs Exiza Linton, a popular novelist, is a native of the pictures- 
que Lake country. She was born at Keswick in 1822, daughter of 


the Rev. J. Lynn, vicar of Crosthwaite in Cumberland. In 1858 she 


= 


ao) 


800 ‘CYCLOPADIA OF [To 1876, 


was married to Mr. W. J. Linton, engraver. Mrs. Linton appeared 
as an authoress in 1844, when she published ‘ Azeth the Egyptian,’ 
which was followed by ‘Amymone, a Romance of the Days of Peri- 
cles,’ 1848 ; ‘ Realities,’ 1851; ‘ Witch Stories,’ 1%61; ‘ Lizzie Lorton,’ 
1866; ‘ Patricia Kemball;’ and other works of fiction, with various 
piquant essays and critical contributions to the periodical press. Mrs. 
Tinton has also published an account of ‘The Lake Country,’ with 
illustrations by Mr. Linton. ‘The novels of this lady represent, in 
clear and vigorous English, the world of to-day. All the little frivoli- 
ties, the-varieties, the jinesse of women, all the empty pretence and 
conscious self-deception of men, she paints with real power and with 
a peculiar tinge of cynicism, which is so regularly recurrent as to 
make the reader a little doubtful of its genuineness. In ‘ Patricia 
Kemball’ she lays bare the hollow hearts and secret vices of society; 
the real heroine, Dora, is insincere, and instigates to crime, yet is re- 
presented as ‘a girl of the period.’ Mrs. Linton has real constructive 
faculty, with descriptive and satirical power. Her earlier novels are 
healthier in tone and feeling than her later ones. She appears to be 
passing into sensationalism and love-stories based on intrigue; and 
though professedly she would by these teach a high moral, we doubt 
if the bulk of her readers will draw the lesson she intends. The 
‘History of Joshua Davidson,’ sufficiently shews that Mrs. Lynn 
Linton has latterly been exercised in seeking a solution of the great 
social problems of the day—the ‘ enigmas of life.” Her book cannot 
be regarded otherwise than as a rejection of Christianity as a creed im- 
possible of application to our complex modern society, or as applica- 
ble only in the form of an undisguised communism. 
Mrs. Henry Woop (nee Price), born in Worcestershire in 1820, 
has written a great number of novels (twenty are enumerated in 
Bentley’s crtalogue), beginning with ‘Danebury House,’ 1860; ‘ East 
Lynne,’ which was published in 1861, and met with great success; 


‘The Channings’ (1862); ‘Mrs. Halliburton’s Troubles,’ ‘ Verner’s 


Pride,’ ‘Bessy Rane,’ ‘Roland Yorke,’ ‘Lady Adelaide’s Oath,’ &e. 


Mrs. Wood has edited a monthly magazine, ‘The Argosy,’ and has — 


contributed, during an active literary life, to various other periodicals. 
In her novels she contrives to unite plot and melodrama with healthy 
moral -teaching. She has shewn talent in dealing with character 
alone, as seen in her anonymous ‘ Johnny Ludlow Papers,’ which 
were highly praised by critics who had spoken coutemptuously of 
the novels published under her own name. 


MISS ANNE MANNING—MIS8S RHODA BROUGHTON, &C. 


A series of novels, most of them cast in an antique autobiographi- — 


cal form, commenced in 1850 with ‘The Maiden and Married Life — 


of Mary Powell, afterwards Mrs. Milton,’ an ideal representation of 


Milton’s first wife, written and printed in the style of the period. 
This has been followed by ‘The Household of Sir Thomas More,’ — 


MANNING] © © ENGLISH LITERATURE; 301 


{ ~1851 ; ‘Edward Osborne,’ 1852; ‘The Provocations of Madame 
if Palissy,’ 1853 ; ‘ Chronicles ot "Merrie England,’ 1854; ‘ Caliph 
“Haroun Alraschid,’ 1855; ‘Good Old T imes,’ 1856; a ‘Cottage 
’ ae of England,’ EM satic of Ludlow,’ &c., 1866. These works 
’ are stated to be written by a lady, Miss ANNE MANNING. 
Miss Roopa BrouGuron has constructive talent, combined with 
no ordinary knowledge of society, with little sentiment and some 
‘4 defiance—at least disregard—of conventionalism. Her novels are 
—‘ Nancy;’ ‘ Good-bye, Sweetheart; ‘ Red as a Rose is She; ‘Cometh 
9 up as a Flower,’ &c. Not unlike Miss Br oughton is Mrs. Epwarps, 
who has written ‘Steven Lawrence, Yeoman,’ ‘ Archic Lovell,’ 
&c. Mrs. Edwards’s heroes are of- the masculine sort, and in her 
“Archie Lovell’ (which was very popular) she has delineated some 
of the features of the fashionable Bohemianism of the day. Houma 
_ LEE (whose real name is Harriet Parr) is of the purest and brightest 
of the domestic school of novelists, and also a writer of some ex- 
_ cellent essays. She has but slight skill in plot, but has a firm hold 
_ of certain ranges of character, and superior analytical faculty. The 
unwearying industry of ‘Holme Lee’ has enabled her to reside on a 
- small property of her own in the Isle of Wight: Her novels are— 
‘Against Wind and Tide,’ ‘Sylvan Holt’s Daughter,’ ‘Kathie 
Brande,’ “Warp and Woof,’ ‘Maude Talbot,’ ‘ The “Beautiful Miss 
se Barrington,’ &c. Mrs. Rmpert made a reputation among the 
~ novel- readers by her novel ‘ George Geith,’ a really powerful fiction, 
_ In her later works she has gone too far in the direction of plot and 
sensation merely. In 1875. an anonymous novel, ‘Coming through 
_ the Rye,’ became at once popular, and various authors are named. 
- At length it was found that it was written by Miss Marumr, a lady 
: known as the author of some poems. 


CHARLES READE. 


The novels of Mr. CHARLES READE have been among the most 

' popular and most powerful of our recent works of fiction. In 1853 

- appeared his ‘Peg Woffington,’ a lively, sparkling story of town-life 

and the theatres a century ago, when Garrick, Quin, and Colley 

_ Cibber were their great names. The heroine, Peg Woffington, was 

an actress, remarkable for beauty and for her personation of certain 

characters in comedy. Walpole thought her an ‘impudent Ivish- 
faced girl,’ but he admitted that ‘all the town was in love with her.’ 

Mr. Reade’s second heroine was of a very different stamp. His 

~ ‘Christie Johnstone,’ 1853, is a tale of fisher-life in Scotland, the 

- scene being laid at Newhaven on the Forth. A young lord, Viscount 

Ipsden, is “advised by his physician, as a cure for ennwi and dys- 

pepsia, to make acquaintance with people of low estate, and to learn 

their ways, their minds, and their troubles. He sails in his yacht to 

_ the Forth, accompanied by his valet 


= 

* a ‘ 

i> 

i 

, 
oe , 


802 ““<CYCLOPADIA‘OF Sa = [To 1876. 


Newhaven Fisherwomen. 


‘Saunders! do you know what Dr. Aberford means by the lower classes?’ ‘ Per- 
fectly, my lord.’’ ‘ Are there any about here?’ *I am sorry to say they are every- 
where, my lord.’ ‘Get me some ’"—(cigarette). Out weut Saunders, with his usual 
gracetul empressement, but an internal shrug of his shoulders. He was absent an 
nour and a half; he then returned with a double expression on his face—pride at 
his success in diving to the very bottom of society, and contempt of what he had 
fished up thence. He approached his lord mysteriously, and said, sotto voce, but im- 
pressively: ‘This is low enough, my lord.’ ‘Then glided back, and ushered in, with 
polite disdain, two lovelier women than he had ever opened a door to in the whole 
course of his perfuined existence. 

On their heads they wore caps of Dutch or Flemish origin, with a broad lace bor« 
der, stiffened and arched, over the forehead, about three inches high, leaving the 
brow and cheeks unincumbered. They had cotton jackets, bright red and yellow, 
mixed in patterns, confined at the waistby the apron strings, but bobtailed below the 
waist ; short woollen petticoats, with broad vertical stripes, red and white most vivid 
in colour; white worsted stockings, and neat though high-quartered shoes. Under 
their jackets they wore a thick spotted cotton handkerchief, about one inch of which 
was visible round the lower part of the throat. Of their petticoats, the outer one 
was kilted, or gathered up towards the front; and the second, of the same colour, 
hung in the usual way. 

Of these young women. one had an olive complexion, with the red blood man- 
tling under it, and black hair, and glorious black eyebrows. The other was fair, with 
a massive but shapely throat, as white as milk; glossy brown hair, the loose threads 
of which glittered like gold; and a blue eye, which, being contrasted with dark eye- 
brows and lashes, took the luminous effect peculiar to that rare beanty. 

Their short petticoats revealid a neat ankle and a leg with a noble swell: for na- 
ture, when she is in earnest, builds beauty on the ideas of aucient sculptors and - 
oets, not of modern poetasters, who, with their airy-like sylphs, and their smokes 
ike verses, fight for want of flesh in woman and want of fact in poetry as parallel 
beauties, They are, my lads. Continuez! These women had a grand corporeal 
trait; they had never known a corset! so they were straight as javelins; they could 
lift their hands above their heads—actually! Their supple persons moved as nature 
intended; eyery gesture was ease, grace, and freedom. What with their own radi- 
ance, and the snowy cleanliness and brightness of their costume, they came like 

meteors into the apartment. 

Lord Ipsden, rising gently from his seat, with the same quiet politeness with 
which he would have received two princes of the blood, said. ‘How do you do?’ and ~ 
smiled a welcome. ‘Fine, hoow’s yoursel?’ answered the dark lass. whose name 
was Jean Carnie, and whose voice was not so sweet as her face. ‘ What’n lord are | 
ye?’ continuéd she. ‘Are yea juke? I wad like fine to hae a crack wi’ a juke.’ 
Saunders, who knew himself the cause of this question, replied, sotto voce, * His lord- 
ship is a viscount.’ ‘I dinna ken’t,’ was Jean’s remark; ‘ but it has a bonny soond.’ 
‘What mair would ye hae?’ said the fair beauty, whose name was Christie John- 
stone. Then appealing to his lordship as the likeliest to know, she added: ‘No 
beelity is just a soond itsel, I’m tauld.’ The viscount finding himself expected to 
say someting on a topic he had not attended much to, answered drily: ‘ We must 
ask the republicans; they are the people that give their minds to such subjects.’ 
‘And yon man,’ asked Jean Carnie, ‘is he a lord, too?’ ‘I am his lordship’s ser- 
vant,’ replied Saunders gravely, not without a secret misgiving whether fate had been 
just. ‘Na!’ replied she, not to be imposed upon. ‘Ye are statelier and prooder 
than thisane.’ ‘I will explain,’ said his master. ‘Saunders knows his value; a ser 
vant like Saunders is rarer than an idle viscount.’ : 


Mr. Reade is not very happy with his Scotch dialogue. His novel, 
however, is lively and interesting, and Christie, like Peg Woffington, 
is ably drawn. This type of energetic impassioned women is char- 
acteristic of all Mr. Reade’s novels. In 1856 appeared ‘It is Never 
Too Late to Mend,’ the scene of which is partly laid in Australia, 


- 


a 


‘peapE]  —- ENGLISH LITERATURE. 803 


and which introduces us to life in the bush. and to a series of surpris- 
ing adventures. This was followed by ‘ White Lies,’ 1857. ‘The 
Course of True Love Never did Run Smooth,’ 157; ‘Jack of all 
Trades,’ 1°58; ‘Love me Little, Love me Long,’ 1859; and ‘The 
Cloister and the Hearth, a Tale of the Middle Ages,’ 1861. The last 
is a powerful romance—the author’s noblest. work. It was followed 
by ‘ Hard Cash,’ 1863; and by ‘Griffith Gaunt, or Jealousy,’ 1868— 


~ both remarkable fictions, though deformed by coarse, overdrawn 
scenes, and painful disclosures of immorality, crime, and suffering. 


The other novels of Mr. Reade are ‘ Foul Play,’ 1868; ‘ Put Yourself 
in his Place,’ 1870; and ‘A Terrible Temptation,’ 1871. 
Before his successful career as a novelist, Mr. Reade had produced 


~ some dramatic pieces—‘ Gold,’ 1850; and, in association with Mr. 


Tom Taylor, a drama entitled ‘Two Loves and a Life,’ 1854; ‘The 


_ King’s Rivals,’ 1854; ‘Masks and Faces,’ 1854; on the last of these 
_ was founded the story of Peg Woffington. Mr. Reade is an Oxford- 


shire man, a D.C.L. of the university, youngest son of a squire of 
the same name; born in [814, graduated at Magdalen Hall, elected 
to one of the Vinerian Fellowships in 1842, and called to the bar in 
1843. . 


G. R. GLEIG—W. H. MAXWELL—JAMES GRANT. 


Various military narratives, in which imaginary scenes and char. 
acters are mixed up with real events and descriptions of conti- 
nental scenery, have been written by the above gentlemen. The 
Rev. GEorGEe Rosert Gueie (son of Bishop Gleig of Brechin, and 


_ born in 1796) in the early part of his life served in the army, but after- 


wards entered the church, and is now Chaplain-General to the Forces. 


_ A portion of his military experience is given in his work, ‘The Sub- 


altern,’ 1825, which gives an accurate and lively account of some of 


_ the scenes in the Peninsular war. He has since proved one of our 
_ most voluminous writers. Among his works are—‘ The Chelsea Pen- 
-sioners,’ 1829; ‘The Country Curate,’ 1834; ‘The Chronicles of Wal- 


tham,’ 1885; ‘The Hussar,’ 1837; ‘Traditions of Chelsea College,’ 
1838; ‘The Only Daughter,’ 1839; ‘The Veterans of Chelsea Hos- 
ital,’ 1841; ‘The Light Dragoon,’ 1844; ‘Story of the Battle of 

aterloo;’ &c. Mr. Gleig has also written ‘Lives of British 
Military Commanders,’ a ‘ History of. British India,’ a ‘Familiar 
History of England,’ a ‘Life of Sir Thomas Munro,’ ‘ Memoirs 
of Warren Hastings,’ a ‘ Military History of Great Britain,’ an ac- 
count of ‘ Sale’s Brigade in Afghanistan,’ ‘Campaigns of the British 
Army in Washington,’ a ‘ Life of Lord Clive,’ three volumes of tra- 


_ vels in Germany, Bohemia and Hungary; two volumes of ‘ Essays’ 


contributed to the ‘Edinburgh’ and ‘ Quarterly Reviews,’ several 
volumes of sermons and educational treatises, &c. Many of these 


_ works of Mr. Gleig bear traces of haste and mere book-making; the 


‘Memoirs of Hastings,’ though poor, had the merit of producing one 


a" 


304 CYCLOPEDIA OF ~— “['n0/1876. 


of Macaulay’s best essays. The latest of Mr. Gleig’s works isa * Life 
of Sir Walter Scott,’ 1871, reprinted from the ‘ Quarterly Review.’ 

WitiiAM Hamitton MAXWELL ('795-1861) is said to have been 
the first who suggested the military novel, afterwards so popular with 
Charles Lever. Mr. Maxwell travelled for some time with the Brit- 
ish army in the Peninsula, but took orders in the church, and became 
rector of Baliagh in Connaught. He was a voluminous writer, 
author, among other works, of ‘Stories of Waterloo,’ 1829; ‘ Wild 
Sports of the West,’ 1833; ‘The Dark Lady of Doona,’ 1836; ‘ The 
Bivouac, or Stories of the Peninsular War,’ 1837; ‘Life of the Duke 
of Wellington,’ 3 vols., 1889-41; ‘ Rambling Recollections of a Sol- 
dier of Fortune,’ 1842; ‘ Hector O'Halloran,’ 1844; ‘ History of the 
Trish Rebellion of 1798’ (illustrated by Cruikshank), 1845; ‘ Ad- 
ventures of Captain O'Sullivan,’ 1846; ‘Hillside and Border 
Sketches,’ 1847; Bryan O’Lynn,’ 1848; &e. 

A number of military novels and memoirs of eminent comman- 
ders have been written by Mr. JAMES GRANT (born in Edinburgh in 
1822), who served for a short time in the 62d Regiment. Among 
these are—‘ The Romance of War,’ 1846, to which a sequel was 
added the following year; ‘ Adventures of an Aide-de-Camp,’ 1848; 
‘Walter Fenton, or the Scottish Cavalier,’ 1850; ‘ Bothwell,’ 1851; 
‘Jane Seton,’ 1858; ‘Philip Rollo,’ 1854; ‘The Yellow Frigate,’ 
1855; ‘The Phantom Regiment,’ 1456; and every succeeding year a 
military novel, the latest being ‘ Under the Red Dragon,’ 1872. Be- 
sides these, Mr. Grant has written ‘ Memoirs of Kirkaldy of Grange,’ _ 
1849; ‘Memorials of Edinburgh Castle,’ 1850; ‘ Memoirs of Sir John 
Hepburn,’ 1851. Familiar with military affairs and with Scottish 
history, some of Mr. Grant’s novels present animated pictures of the 
times, though often rambling and ill constructed. 


GEORGE MACDONALD. 


One of the most original novelists of the day, especially in describ- 
ing humble Scottish life and feeling, whose genius ‘loves to dwell on 
the border-land between poetry and prose, between this world and 
romance,’ is Mr. Georck MacDonaup. Born at Huntly, county of 
Aberdeen, December 10, 1824, Mr. MacDonald went to college at 
Aberdeen in his sixteenth year, and pursued his studies with a view 
to devoting his life to science, particularly chemistry. He afterwards 
attended the Theological College at Highbury, and became the minis- 
ter of a Congregational church at Arundel in Sussex. He remained 
three years in Arundel, and then removed to Manchester. He was 
compelled, however, to give up preaching on account of the state of his 
health, which has always been delicate and precarious. A short resi- 
dence in Algiers restored Mr. MacDonald to comparative vigour, and 
returning to London, he took to literature as a profession. In 1856, — 
his first work, ‘ Within and Without,’ a poem, appeared. This was 
followed by ‘ Phantastes, a Faerie Romance,’ as wild as Hogg’s ‘ Kil- 


a 


a? 
e 


i 


MACDONALD. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. — 805 


meny,’ but also, like it, full of poetic beauty and power. <A Tong 


series of novels and imaginative works succeeded. ‘ David Elgin- 
brod,’ 1862; ‘The Portent, a Story of Second Sight,’ 1864; ‘ Adela 
Cathcart,’ 1864; ‘Alec Forbes of Howglen,’ 1865; ‘ Annals of a Quiet 
Neighbourhood;’ ‘Robert Falconer; ‘Seaboard Parish; ‘Wow 0’ 


Riven, or the Idiot’s Home; ‘ At the Back of the North Wind; ‘The 


Princess and the Goblin; ‘ Wilfrid Cumbermede;’ ‘ Malcolm,’ ‘ St. 
Michael and the Dragon,’ 1875; &c. Besides his numerous novels, 
Mr. MacDonald has published a volume of poems and some theolo- 
gical works, as, ‘Unspoken Sermons,’ 1869; ‘The Miracles of Our 
Lord,’ 1870. In depicting certain phases of religious belief and de- 
velopment, and in exposing the harsher features of Calvinism, Mr. 
MacDonald is original and striking, and scenes of that nature in his 
novels are profound as well as touching and suggestive. The fol- 
towing extract is from ‘ Robert Falconer? 


Death of the Drinking; Fiddling Soutar (Shoemaker). 

Silence endured for a short minute; then he called his wife. ‘Come here, Bell. 
Gie me a kiss, my bonny lass. I hae been an ill man to you.’ 

‘Na, na, Sandy. Ye hae aye been gude to me—better nor I deserved. Ye hae 
been nae ody’s enemy but yer ain.’ 

*Haud yer tongue. Ye ’re speykin’ waur blethers nor the minister, honest man ! 
And, eh! ye war a bonny lass when I merried ye. I hae blandit (spoiled) ye a’the- 
gither. But gin I war up. see gin I wadna gie ye a new goon, an’ that wad be some- 
thing to make ye like yersel’ again. I’m affrontet wi’ mysel’ at I had been sic a 


- brute o’a man to ye. But ye maun forgie me noo, for I do believe i’ my hert ’at the 


= 
» 


Lord’s forgien me. Gie me anither kiss. lass. God be praised, and mony thanks to 
you. Yemicht hae run awa’ frae me lang or noo, an’ a’body wad hae Said ye did 
riclLt—Robert, play a spring.’ 
s Absorbed in his own thoughts, Robert began to play ‘The Ewie wi’ the Crookit 
orn. 

‘Hoots! hoots!’ cried Sandy angrily. ‘What are ye aboot? Nae mair o’ that. 
IT hae dune wi’ that. What ’s i’ the heid 0’ ye, man ?’ 

‘What 711 I play then Sandy 2?’ asked Robert meekiy. 

‘Play the ‘The Lan’ o’ the Leal,’ or ‘My Nannie’s Awa’,’ or something 0’ that 
kin’. I’jl be lealto ye noo, Bell. An’ we winna pree 0’ the whusky nae mair, lass.’ 

‘I canna bide the smell o’t,’ cried Bell sobbing. 

Robert struck in with ‘The Land o’ the Leal.’ When he had played it over two 
or three times, he laid the fiddle in its place.and departed—able just to see, by the 
licht of the neglected candle, that Bell sat on the bedside stroking the rosiny hand 


- of her husband. the rhinoccros-hide of which was yet delicate enough to let the love 


through to his heart. After this the soutar never called his fiddle his au/d wife. 
Robert walked home with his head sunk on his breast. Dooble Sanny [Double 


_ Sandy], the drinking, ranting. swearing soutar, was inside the wicket-gate. .. . 


Henceforth Robert had more to do in reading the New Testament than in playing 
the fiddle to the soutar, though thy never parted without an airor two. Sandy con- 
tinued hopeful and generally cheerful, with alternations which the reading generally 
fixed on the right side for the nicht. Robert never attempted any comments, but 
left him to take from the Word what nourishment he could. There was no re urn 
of streneth, and the constitution was gradually yielding. 

The rumour got abroad that he was a ‘changed character ’—how, it is not far to 


seek, for Mr. Macleary fancied himself the honoured instrnment of his conversion, 


whereas paralysis and the New Testament were the chief agents, and even the violin 
had more share in it than the minister. For the spirit of God lies all about the spirit 
of man like a mighty sea, ready to rush in at the smallest chink in the walls that shut 


- him out from his own—walls which even the tone of a violin afloat on the wind of 


that spirit is Sometimes enough to rend from battlement to base, as the blast of the 


“ 


fe 


. 


308. CYCLOPEDIA OF ———_—s« [ro 1876, 


ram’s horns rent the walls of Jericho. And now, to the day of his death, the shoe- 
maker had need of nothing. Food, wine, and delicacies were sent him by many who, 
while they considered him outside of-the kingdom, would have troubled themselves 
in no way about him. What with visits of condolence and flattery, inquiries into his 
experience, and long prayers by his bedside, they now did their best to send him 
back among tue swine. ‘he soutar’s humour, however, aided by his violin, was a 
strony antidote against these evil influences. 3 

‘J doobt I’m gavin’ to dee, Robert,’ he said at length one evening, as the lad sat 
by his bedside. ; iaovis : 

‘ Weel, that winna do ye nae ill,’ answered Robert ; adding with just a touch of bit- _ 
terness: ‘ye needna care aboot that.’ 

‘1 do not care aboot the deein’ o’t. But I jist want to live lang eneuch to Jat the 
Lord ken ’at I’m doon-richt earnest aboot it. I hae nae chance 0’ drinkin’ as lang 
as I’m lyin’ here.’ 

‘Never ye fash yer heid aboot that. Ye can lippen (trust) that to him, for it’s 
his ain business, He ’ll see ’at ye’re a’ richt. Dinna ye think at’ he’ll lat ye off.’ 

‘The Lord forbid,’ responded the soutar earnestly. ‘It maun be a’ pitten richt. 
It wad be dreifw’ to be Jatten off. Iwadna hae him content wi’ cobbler’s wark. I 
hae ’t,’ he resumed, after a few minutes’ pause: ‘ the Lord’s easy pleased, but ill to 
satisfee. I’m sair pleased wi’ your playin’, Robert, but it’s naething like the richt 
thing yet. It does me gude to hear ye, though, for a’ that.’ 

‘Lhe very next night he found him evidently sinking fast. Robert took the vio- 
lin, and was about to play, but the soutar stretched out his left hand, and took it 
from him, laid it across his chest and his arm over it, for a few 1: oments, as if he 
were bidding it ferewell, then held it out to Robert, saying: ‘Hae, Robert, she’s 
yours. De:uth’s a sair divorce. Maybe they ’l] hae an orra fiddle whaur I’ m gaein’, 
though. Think o’ a Rothieden soutar playing afore his Grace!’ 

Robert saw that his mind was wandering, and mingled the paltry honours of 
earth with the grand simplicities of heaven. He began to play the *Land o’ the 
Leal.’ For a little while Sandy seemed to follow and comprehend the tones, but by 
slow degrees the light departed from his face. At length his jaw fell, and with a 
sigh the body parted from Dooble Sanny, and he went to God. His wife close& 
mouth and eyes without a word, laid the two arms straight by his sides, then seating 
herself on the edge of the bed, said: ‘Dinna bide, Robert. It’s a’ ower noo. 
He’s gane home. Gin I war only wi’ him, wharever he is!’ She burst into tears, but 
dried her eyes a moment after. 


Bible Class in the Fisher Village.-—From ‘ Malcolm.’ 


He now called up the Bible class, and Malcolm sat beside and listened. That 
morning they had read one of the chapters in the history of Jacob. 

‘Was Jacob a good man?’ he asked, as soon as the reading, each of the scholars 
in turn taking a verse, was over. An apparently universal expression of assent 
followed; halting in its wake, however, came the voice of a boy near the bottom of — 
the class: ‘ Wasna he some double, sir?? ‘You are right, Sheltie,’ said the master; _ 
‘he was double. I must, I find, put the question in another shape: was Jacob a 
bad man ?’ 

Again came such a burst of * yeses? that it might have been taken for a general 
hiss. But limping in the rear came again the half dissentient voice of Sheltie: 

‘ Pairtly, sir.’ ‘ You think then, Sheltie, that a man may be both bad and good?’ ‘I — 
dinna ken, sir; I think he may be whiles ane and whiles the other, and whiles 
ynaaybe it wad be ill to say which. Our colly’s whiles in twa minds whether he’il do 
what he’s telled or no.’ A 

‘That’s the battle of Armageddon, Sheltie, my man. It’s aye raging, as gun 
roared or bayonet clashed. Ye maun up and do your best in’t, my man. Gien ye © 
die fechting like a man, ye’ll flee up with a quiet face and wide open een ; and there’s 
a great One that will say to ye, ‘‘ Weel done, Jaddie!” But gien ye gie in to the 
enemy, he’ll turn ye into a creeping thing that eats dirt: and there *Il no bea hole in 
a’ the crystal wa’ of the New Jerusalem near enough to let ye creep through.’ 

‘T reckon, sir,’ said Sheltie, ‘Jacob hadna foughten out his battle.’ 

‘That’s just it, my boy. And because he would not get up and fight manfully, 
. God had to take him in hand. Ye’ve heard tell of generals, when their troops were _ 


| 
«tte 4 


- Raa ip gk f * “ yz eon 
4 owt \ 


“Macponatp.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 307 


; rinnin’ awa’, having to cut this man down, shoot that ane, and lick another, till he 
_ turned them a’ right face about, and drave them on to the foe like a spate (flood). And 
the trouble God took wi’ Jacob was not lost upon him at last.’ 

__ *An’ what came o’ Esau, sir?’ asked a pale-faced maiden with blue eyes. ‘ He 
- wasna an il kind o’ a chield, was he, sir?’ 
q ‘No, Mappy,’ answered the master; ‘he was a fine chield as you say, but he 
_ needed miair time and gentler treatment to make onything o’ him. Ye see he had a 
_ guid heart, but was a duller kind o’ creature a’thegither, and cared for neathing hé 
5 couldua see or handle. He never thought muckie about God at a’. Jacob was 
~ another sort—a poet kind o’ a man, but a sneck-drawing creature for a’ that. It was 
- easier, however, to get the slyness out o’ Jacob than the duilness out o’ Esau. Pun- 

ishment telled upon Jacob like upon a thin-skinned horse, whereas Esau was mait 

like the minister’s powny, that can hardly be made to understand that ye want him 


to gang on.’ 
The Old Churchyard—From ‘ Malcolm.’ 


The next day, the day of the Resurrection, rose glorious from its sepulchre of 
Sea-fog and drizzle. It had poured all night long, but at sunrise the clouds had 
_ broken and scattered, and the air was the purer for the cleansing rain, while the earth 
_ shone with that peculiar lustre which follows the weeping which has endured its aps 
pointed night. ‘The larks were at it again, singing as if their hearts would break for 
joy as they hovered in brooding exultation over the song of the future; for theiz 
nests beneath hoarded a wealth of larks for summers to come. Especially about the 
_ old church—half buried in the ancient trees of Lossie House, the birds that day were 
- jubilant; their throats seemed too narrow to let out the joyful air that filled all theiz 
ollow bones and quills; they sang us if they must sing or choke with too much glad- 
ness. Beyond the short spire and its shining cock, rose the balls and stars and arrowy 
vanes of the house, glittering in goldand sunshine. The inward hush of the Resurrec- 
tion, broken only by the prophetic birds, the poets of the groaning and travailing crea- 
tion, held time and space as in a trance; aud the centre from which radiated both the 
husn and the carolling expectation seemed to Alexander Graham to be the church- 
ard in which he was now walking in the cool of the morning. It was more carefully 
ept than most Scottish churchyards, and yet was not too trim; Nature had a word 
' inthe affair—was allowed her part of mourning in long grass and moss and the 
- crumbling away of stone. The wholesomeness of decay, which both in nature and 
_ fumanity is but the miry road back to life. was not unrecognised here; there wag 
nothing of the hideous attempt to hide death in the garments of life. The master 
walked about gently, now stopping to read some well-known inscription. and ponder 
_ fora moment over the words; and now wandering across the stoneless mounds, 
_ content to be forgotten by all but those who loved the departed. At length he seated 
_ himself ona slab by the side of the mound that rose but yesterday ; it was sculptured 
. with symbols of decay—needless, surely, where the originals lay about the mouth 
Of every newly-opened grave, as surely ill befitting the precincts of a church whosd 
_ indwelling gospel is of life victorious Over death! * What are these stones,’ he said 
_ to himself, ‘ but monuments to oblivion.’ They are not memorials of the dead, but 
' memorials of the forgetfulness of the living. How vain it is to send a poor forsaken 
name, like the title-page of a lost book, down the careless stream of time! Let me 

_ serve ny generation, and may God remembcr me! 


Mr. MacDonald is a master of thought and sentiment, with fine 
fancy and descriptive power, but with little or no constructive tact. 
-His ideas are apt to run away with him, and to cause one part of his 
story to move in a wholly different atmosphere from that of the other. 

_ The quaint realism of the first volume of ‘David Elginbrod’ but in- 
differently reconciles itself with the spiritualistic effusiveness of the 
latter. The ‘Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood’ errs in the same 
_ way, and also ‘ Malcolm;’ yet what fine things are in those works! 
_ Mr. MacDonald’s peculiar reaction against Calvinism is seen in most 
_ Of his novels, particularly in ‘Robert Falconer,’ which is perhaps the 


808 CYCLOPEDIA OF °% .- | “[To 1876, 


ablest of his tales. His Scotch is the dialect of the east of Scotland, 
Moray and Aberdeen—not the classic Scotch of Burns and Scott. 
His latest novel, ‘St. George and St. Michael,’ is English, and is a 
story of the time of the Commonwealth, the plot turning on the pro- 
gress of the war. Lord Herbert, the inventor, is well drawn, and the 
novel has occasional touches of humour. Mr. MacDonald has been 
very successful in fairy stories, after the model of the German ‘ Mar- 
chen,’ and his ‘ Phantastes’ is in its way quite inimitable. As in all 
his tales Mr. MacDonald shews poetic feeling, we might expect to 
find him versifying, and accordingly he has written two or three 
volumes of poetry marked by penetration, sympathy, and subtle 
beanty of expression. In such lines as the following we see a fine 
lyrical power: 


Come to us; above the storm There is sunshine everywhere 
Ever shines the blue. , For thy heart and mine: 

Come to us; beyond its form God for every sin and care 
Ever lies the True. Is the cure divine. 

Mother, darling, do not weep— We’re so happy all the day 
All I cannot tell: Waiting for another ; 

By and by, you'll go to sleep, All the flowers and sunshine stay 
And you’ll wake so well. Waiting for you, mother. 


Most of Mr. MacDonald’s novels contain snatches of verse. Ina 
longer poem, ‘ Hidden Life,’ in blank verse, is the following Words 
worthian passage: 


Love-dreams of a Peasant Youth, 


He found the earth was beautiful. The sky 
Shone with the expectation of the sun. 
He grieved him for the daisies, for they fell 
Caught in the furrow, with their innocent heads 
Just out imploring. ° A gray hedgehog ran 
With tangled mesh of bristling spikes, and face 
Helplessly innocent, across the field : 
He let it run, and blessed it as it ran. 
Returned at noon-tide, something drew his feet 
Into the barn: entering, he gazed and stood. 
For, through the rent roof lighting. one sunbeam 
Blazed on the yellow straw one golden spot, 
Dulled all the amber heap, and sinking far, 
Like flame inverted, through the Joose-piled mound, 
Crossed the keen splendour with dark shadow-straws, 
Jn lines innumerable. ’Twas so bright. 
His eye wis cheated with a spectral smoke 
That rose as from a fire. He had not known 
How beautiful the sunlight was. not even 
Upon the windy fields of morning grass, 
Nor on the river, nor the ripening corn. 
Asif to catch a wild live thing, he crept 
On tiptoe silent, laid him on the heap, 
And gazing down into the glory-gulf, 
Dreamed as a boy half-sleeping by the fire ; 
And dreaming rose, and got his horses out, 

God, and not woman, is the heart of all, 


.. 


> 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 809 


But she, as priestess of the visible earth, 


Holding the key, herself most beautiful, 

Had come to him, and flung the portals wide. 
He entered in: each beauty was a glass : 
That gleamed the woman back upon his view. 
Shall 1 not rather say, each beauty gave 

Its own soul up to him who worshipped her, 
For that his eyes were opened thus to see? 

Already in these hours his quickened soul 

Put forth the white tip of a floral bud, 

Ere long to be a crown-like aureole flower, 

His songs unbidden, his joy in ancieut tales, 
Had hitherto alone betrayed the seed 

‘That lay in his heart, close hidden even from him, 
Yet not the less mellowing all his spring: 

Like summer sunshine came the maiden’s face, 
And in the youth’s glad heart, the seed awoke. 
It grew and spread, and put forth many flowers, 
And every flower a living open eye, 

Until his soul was full of eyes within. 

Each morning now was a fresh boon to him ; 
Lach wind a spiritual power upon his life ; 
Each individual animal did share 

A common being wiih him; every kind 

Of flower from every other was distinct, - 
Uttering that from which alone it was— 

Its something human, wrapt in other veil. 

And when the winter came. when thick the snow 
Armed the sad fields from gnawing of the frost, 
When the low sun but skirted his far realms, 
And sank in early night, he drew his chair 
Beside the fire: and by the feeble lamp 
Read book on book ; and wandered other climes, 
And lived in other lives and other needs, 

And grew a larger self. 


Mr. MacDonald has occasionally lectured on the poets—Shak- 
speare, Milton, Wordsworth, &c.—to largre intellectual audiences, in 


- London and the provinces. 


EDMUND YATES. 


_ Epmunp Hopeson Yates, a miscellaneous writer and journalist 


- (born in 1831), is author of several novels, including ‘ Kissing the 


Rod,’ and ‘Land at Last,’ 1866; ‘Wrecked in Port,’ 1869; ‘ Dr. 
Wainwright's Patient,’ and ‘ Nobody’s Fortune,’ 1871 ; ‘The Cast- 


= away,’ 1872; 


‘Two by Tricks,’ 1874; &c. Mr. Yates was a contrib- 


| tributor to Dickens’s periodical ‘ All the Year Round,’ in which ap- 
_ peared his novel of ‘Black Sheep’ and’ other works of fiction, As 
_adramatic writer and critic he is also well known. Indeed, for the 
drama Mr. Yates may be said to have a hereditary predeliction, as 
his father was a popular and accomplished actor and theatrical 


manager. 


MISS ERADDON—LOUISE DE LA RAME, 


Mary EvzzAretH BRADDON has produced about thirty novels, all 
of them shewing remarkable artistic skill in weaving the plot and 
_ arranging the incidents so as to enchain the reader’s attention, This 


810 CYCLOPEDIA OF [To 1876, 


is the distinguishing feature of the authoress rather than delineation 
of character. Some of her tales have a strong fascinating interest, 
and abound in dramatic scenes and powerful description. Her novels 
are full of surprises—literally packed with incidents of the most 
striking character—winding out interminably, and threatening to 
collapse in conflicting lines of interest, but just at the right moment 
they reunite themselves again with ingenious consistency. ‘Lady 
Audley’s Secret’ and ‘Aurora Floyd’ may be considered as repre- 
sentative works, skilful in plot, but dealing with repellent phases of 
life and character. ‘The following are among the best known of Miss 
Braddon’s works: ‘Lady Audley’s Secret’ (which had an amazing 
popularity, six editions being disposed of in as many weeks), ‘ Henry 
Dunbar,’ ‘Only a Clod,’ ‘ Dead-Sea Fruit,’ ‘John Marchmont’s Leg- ~ 
acy,’ ‘The Lady’s Mile,’ ‘Captain of the Vulture,’ ‘Birds of Prey,’ 
‘Aurora Floyd,’ the Doctor’s Wife,’ ‘ Eleanor’s Victory,’ ‘Sir Jas- 
per’s Tenant,’ ‘ Trail of the Serpent,’ ‘Charlotte’s Inleritance,’ ‘ Ru- 
pert Godwir,’ ‘ Ralph the Bailiff,’ ‘The Lovels of Arden,’ ‘To the 
Bitter End,’ &c. Miss Braddon has also produced some dramatic’ 
pieces and a volume of ‘ Poems’ (1861), and she conduets a monthly 
magazine entitled ‘Belgravia.’ The prolific authoress is a native of 
London, daughter of Mr. Henry Braddon, a solicitor, and born in 1837. 

A lady assuming the name of ‘ Ouida’ (said to be LOUISE DE LA 
Rams, of French extraction) is author of a number of novels, cha- 
racterised by gentie and poetic feeling and sentiment. Among these 
are: ‘ Folle-Farine;’ ‘Idalia, a Romance;’ ‘Chandos, a Novel; ‘ Un- 
der Two Flags; ‘Cecil Castlemaine’s Gage; ‘Tricotrin, the Story 
of a Waif and Stray,’ ‘ Pascarel, only a Story;’ ‘Held in Bondage, 
or Granville de Vigne;’ ‘A Dog of Flanders, and other Stories; — 
‘Puck, his Vicissitudes, Adventures,’ &c.; ‘Strathmore, or Wrought — 
by his Own Hand,’ &c.; ‘Two Little Wooden Shoes.’ 


GEORGE ELIOT. 


Under the name of ‘George Eliot,’ as author, a series of novels by 
a lady (said to be a native of the fair and classic county of War- 
wick) has appeared, dating from 1857, which are remarkable for 
fresh original power and faithful delineation of English country life. 
The first of these, entitled ‘Scenes of Clerical Life,’ appeared in 
‘Blackwood’s Magazine,’ and attracted much attention. It was fol-— 
lowed in 1859 by ‘Adam Bede,’ of which five editions were sold 
within as many months, The story of this novel is of the real 
school, as humble in most of its characters and as faithful in its por- 
traiture as ‘Jane Eyre.’ The opening sentences disclose the worldly 
condition of the hero, and form a fine piece of English painting. 
The scene is the workshop of a carpenter in a village, and the date 
of the story 1799: 


_ The afternoon sun was warm on the five workmen there, busy upon doors and 
windcw-frames and wainscoting. A scent of pine-wood from a tent-like pile of 
planks outside the open door mingled itself with the scent of the elder-bushes; _ 


a 


‘ 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 811 


_ which were spreading their summer snow close to the open window opposite; the 


slanting sunbeams shone through the transparent shavings that flew »efore the 
steady plane, and lit up the fine grain of the oak panelling which stocd propped 
against the wall. Ona heap of those soft shavings a rough gray shepherd-dog had 
made himself a pleasant bed, and was lying with his nose between his fore-paws, 
occasionally wrinkling his brows to cast a glance at the tallest. of the five workmen, 
who was Carving a shield in the centre of a wooden mantel-piece. It was to this 
workman that the stronge barytone belonged which was heard above the sound of 
plane and hammer, singing: 


‘ Awake, my soul, and with the sun 
Thy daily stage of duty run; 
Shake off dull sloth ’—— 


Here some measurement was to be taken which required more concentrated atten- 
tion, and the sonorous voice subsided into a low whistle ; but it presently broke out 
again with renewed vigour: 
‘ Let all thy converse be sincere, 
Thy conscience as the nocnday clear.’ 


Such a voice could only come from a broad chest, and the broad chest belonged to a 
large-boned muscular man, nearly six feet high, with a back so flat and a head so 
well poised, that when he drew himself up to take a more distant survey of his 
work, he had the air of a soldier standing at ease. The sleeve rolled up above the 
elbow shewed an arm that was likely to win the prize for feats of strength; yet the 
long supple hand, with its bony finger-tips, looked ready for works of skill. In his 
tall stalwartness, Adain Bede was a Saxon, and justified hisname ; but the jet-black 
hair, made the more noticeable by its contrast with the light paper-cap, and the keen 
glance of the dark eyes that shone from under strong y-marked, prominent, and 
mobile eyebrows, indicated a mixture of Celtic blood. 


The real heroine of the tale is Dinah Morris, the Methodist 
preacher; but Adam Bede’s love is fixed on a rustic coquette and 
beauty, thus finely described as standing in the dairy of the Hall 


| Farm: 


Hetty Sorrel. 


It is of little use for me to tell you that Hetty’s cheek was tike a rose-petal, that 
dimples played about her pouting lips, that her Jarge dark eyes had a soft roguish- 
ness under their long lashes, and that her curly hair, though all pushed back under 
her round cap while she was at work, stole back in dark delicate rings on her tore- 


- head and about her white shell-like ears; it is of little use for me to say how lovely 


was the contour of her pink and white neckerchief, tucked into her low plum-coloured 
stuff bodice ; or how the linen butter-making apron, with its bib, seemed a thing to 


be imitated in silk by ducnesses, since it fell in such charming lines; or how her 


brown stockings and thick-soled buckled shoes, lost all that clumsiness which they 
must certainly have had when empty of her foot and ankle; of little use, unless you 


R _ have seen a woman who affected you as Hetty affected her beholders, for otherwise, 
_ though you might conjure up the image of a Jovely woman, she would not in the least 
resemble that distracted kitten-lixe maiden. Hetty’s was a spring-tide beauty ; it 


was the beauty of young frisking things, round-limbed. gamboling, circumventing 


- you by a false air of innocence—the innocence of a young star-browed calf, for ex- 


ample. that, being inclined for a promenade out of bounds, leads you a severe steeple- 


chase over hedge and ditch, and only comes to a stand in the middie of a bog. 


“ 
/. 


Poor Hetty’s vanity and beauty led her to ruin. She agrees to 
marry Adam Bede, but at length goes away to seek her former lover, 


Arthur Donnithorne, the gentleman, and to hide her shame. The 


- account of her wanderings and her meditated suicide is related with 


‘ 


i 


affecting minuteness and true pathos. Hetty is comforted by the 


gentle Methodist enthusiast, Dinah Morris, who at last becomes the 


wife of Adam Bede. The other characters in the novel are all dis 


>. 


: eas Sn TEN ae 
812 CYCLOPZDIA OF - [ro 1876, 


tinct, well-defined individuals. The vicar of the parish, Mr. Ir 
vine; the old bachelor schoolmaster, Bartle Massey; and Mr. and 
Mrs. Poyser of the Hall Farm, are striking, lifelike portraits. Mrs. 
Poyser is an original, rich in proverbial philosophy, good sense, and 
amusing volubility. ‘The following is a discussion on matrimony, 
the interlocutors being the schoolmaster, the gardener, and Mr. and 


Mrs. Poyser. 
Dialogue on Matrimony. 


‘What !’ said Bartle, with an air of disgust. ‘ Was there a woman concerned? 
Then J give you up, Adam.’ 

‘But it’s a woman you'n spoke well on, Bartle,’ said Mr. Poyser. ‘Come, now, 
you canna draw back; you said ouce as women wouldna ha’ been a bad invention if 
they ’d all been like Dinah.’ 

‘IT meant her voice, man—1 meant her voice, that was all,’ said Bartle. ‘I can bear 
to hear her speak without wanting to put wool in my ears. As for other things, I 
dare say she’s like the rest o’ the women—thinks two and two’ll come to five, if she 
cries and bothers enough about it.’ 

‘Ay, ay!’ said Mrs. Poyser; * one ’ud think, an’ hear some folk talk, as the men 
war ’cute enough to count the corns in a bag 0’ wheat wi’ only smelling at it. They 
can see through a barn-door, they cun. Perhaps that’s the reason they can see so 
little o’ this side on’t.’ 

Martin Poyser shook with delighted laughter, and winked at Adam, as much as to 
say the schoolmaster was in for it now. 

‘Ah;’ said Bartle sneeringly, ‘the women are quick enongh—they’re quick 
enough. ‘faey know the rights of a story before they hear it, and can tell a man 
what his thoughts are before he knows ’em himself.’ 

‘Likeenvugh,’ said Mrs. Poyser; ‘forthe men are mostly so s'ow, their thoughts 
overrun ’em, an’ they.can only catch ’em by the tail. I can count a stocking-top while 
aman’s getting’s tongue ready ; an’ when he out wi’ his speech at last, there’s little 
broth to be made on’t. It’s your dead chicks take the longest hatchin’. Howiver, — 
I’m not denyin’ the women are foolish; God Almighty made ’em to match the men.’ 

‘Match!’ said Bartle; ‘ay, as vinegar matches one’s teeth. If a man saysa word 
his wife ll match it with a contradiction; if he’s a mind for hot meat, his wife ai 
match it with cold bacon; if he laughs, she ll match him with whimpering. She’s 
such a match as the horsefly is to th’ horse: she’s got the right venom to sting him 
with—the right venom to sting him with.’ 

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Poyser, ‘I know what the men like—a poor soft. as ’ud simper 
at ’em like the pictur o’ the sun, whether they did right or wrong, an’ say thank you 
for a kick. an’ pretend she didna know which end she stood uppermost, till her hus- 
band told her. That ‘s what a man wants in a wife, mostly: he wants to make sure 
0’ one foo] as ‘ll tell him he ’s wise. But there ’s some men can do wi’out that—they 
think so much o’ themselves a’ready—an’ that ’s how it isthere ’s old bachelors.’ 

‘Come. Craig,’ said Mr. Poyser jocosely, ‘you mun get married pretty quick 
else you 1} be set down for an old bachelor; an’ you see what the women 7ull think 
on you. 

‘Well,’ said Mr. Craig, willing to conciliate Mrs. Poyser, and setting a high value 
on his own compliments, ‘ J like a cleverish woman 0’ sperrit—a managing woman.’ 

‘You ’re out there. Craig,’ said Bartle dryly ; ‘you ’re out there. You judge o’ 
your garden-stuff on a better plan than that; you pick the things for what they can 
excel jiu—for what they can excelin. You don’t valne your peas for their roots, or 
your carrots for their flowers. Now that ’s the way you should choose women $ 
their cleverness ’l] never come to much—never come to much; but they make excel- 
Jent simpletons, ripe and strong flavoured.’ 

‘What dost say to that?’ said Mr. Poyser, throwing himself back and looking 
merrily at his wife. ; 

‘Say !’ answered Mrs. Poyser, with dangerous fire kindling in her eye; ‘why, 1 
say as some folk’s tongues are like the clocks as run on strikin’, not to tell you the 
time o’ the day, but_because there 's summat wrong i’ their own inside.’ 


—-E110T.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. © $18 


Of similar style with ‘Adam Bede,’ and with no diminution of 
power or reality, appeared in 1859 ‘ The Mill on the Floss,’ and in 
_ 1861 ‘Silas Marner,’ not inferior to any of its predecessors. Silas is 
- a weaver, a Dissenter, wronged and injured, a solitary unhappy man. 
‘You were hard done by once, Mr. Marner, and it seems as if you'll 
never know the rights of it; but that doesn’t hinder there being a 
rights, Master Marner, for all its dark to you and me.’ And this 
moral is evolved out of a painful but most interesting and powerful 
story. The fourth novel of the author was of a more ambitious cast: 
in 1863 was published ‘ Romola,’ an historical novel of Italian life in 
the days of Savonarola, a highty-finished, eloquent, artistic work, 
and by a select class considered the greatest intellectual effort of the 
author. It was, however, not so popular as its predecessors, and 
the author returned to the familiar English scenes. ‘Felix Holt, the 
Radical,’ appeared in 1866. The title, and what by courtesy could be 
regarded as the main plot, have reference to politics,*but most of the 
incidents and illustrations of character relate to religious and social 
peculiarities rather than to the party feelings of Tories, Whigs or 
Radicals. Though inferior in sustained interest to the other English 
_ tales of the author, ‘Felix Holt’ has passages of great vigour, and 
“some exquisitely drawn characters—we may instance that of Rufus 
Lyon, « Uissenting minister—and also some fine, pure and natural 
description. The next novel of this brilliant series was ‘ Middle- 
- march, a Study of English Provincial Life,’ 1871-2. In 1876 appeared 
- “Daniel Deronda,’ a story of modern English life. The heroine of 
this story, a haughty capricious beauty, and some sketches in it of 
Jewish life and character, are as striking and original and powerfully 
_ drawn as anything in modern romance. SBesides these prose fictions, 
_ George Eliot has sent forth an elaborate dramatic poem, ‘The Gypsy 
Queen,’ 1868, which abounds in subtle philosophical thought, and in 
scenes and lines of great beauty, yet has no strong prevailing interest. 
_A second poetical work, ‘Agatha, a Poem,’ appeared in 1869. 
_ _ George Eliot, we may add, is rich in reflective power and in the 
_ delineation of character. She also infuses into her writing a dvep 
_ personal teaching which has laid hold of the most thoughtful, w iile 
hardly militating against the taste of careless or popular readers. 
This is distinctly seen in her ‘ Mill on the Floss,’ ‘ Middlemarch,’ » 
and ‘Daniel Deronda.’ In these we have a strong belief in the past 
as a great determining element in character and possibility. ‘The 
same feature occurs in ‘The Spanish Gypsy,’ in which the heroine 
fails to detach herself from a past that is, in certain respects, opposed 
to her highest aspirations. George Eliot has skilfully balanced 
depth of thought with ripe humour and invention. In her latest 
_works she seems fond of drawing into her descriptions scientific and 
_ phi osophical phrases, which occasionally seem out of place; there is 
also at times a slight touch of masculine coarseness in her metaphors 
and illustrations The exquisite singer falls intoa false note! But 


t Beda 8. 7-11 
q 


ed 


814 “CYCLOPEDIA OF _ {ro 1876, 


what are these to the fascination of her style and her characters, and 
her features of English scenery and life? And we may also instance 

the learning and imagination so prominent and so finely blended 

in ‘ Romola,’ which revives Italian life of the time of Savonarola. 


Spring—Bright February Days. 

Bright February days have a stronger charm of hope about them than any other 
days in the year. One likes to pause in the mild rays of the sun, and look over the 
gates at the patient plough horses turning at the end of the furrow, and think that the 
beautiful year is all before one. The birds seem to feel just the same: their notes are 
as clear as the clear air. There are no leaves on the trees and hedgerows, but how 
green all the grassy fields are! and the dark purplish brown ot the ploughed earth 
and of the bare branches is beautiful too. What a glad world this looks like, as one 
drives or rides along the valleys and over the hills! I have often thought so when in 
foreign countries, where the fields and woods have looked to me like our English 
Loamshire—the rich land tilled with just as much care, the woods rolling down the 
gentle slopes to the green meadows. JI have come on something by the roadside 
which has reminded me that I am not in Loamshire: an image of a great agony—the 
agony of the cross. *It has stood perhaps by the clustering apple blossoms, or on the 
broad sunshine by the corn-field, or at a turning by the wood where a clear brook 
was gurgling below: and surely, if there came a traveller to this world who knew 
nothing of the story of man’s life upon it, this image of agony would seem to him 
strangely out of place in the midst of this joyous nature. He would not know that 
hidden behind the apple-blossoms, or among the gclden corn, or under the shrouding 
boughs of the wood, there might be a human heart beating heavily with anguish ; 
perhaps a young blooming girl, not knowing where to turn for refuge mile swift-ad- 
vancing shame; understanding no more of this life of ours than a foolish lost lamb 
wandering farther and farther in the nightfall on the lonely heath; yet tasting the 
bitterest of life’s bitterness. 

Such things are sometimes hidden among the sunny fields and behind the blossom- 
ing orchards; and the sound of the gurgling brook, if you come close to one spot” 
behind a small bush, would be mingled for your ear with a despairing human sob. 
No wonder man’s religion has much sorrow in it: no wonder he needs a suffering 
God.—Adam Bede. 


It was in the prime It was but a minute 

Of the sweet spring-time. In a far-off spring, 

In the linnet’s throat But each gentle thing, 
Trembled the love-note, Sweetly wooing linnet," 
And the love-stirred air Soft-thrilled hawthorn tree 
Thrilled the blossoms there. Happy shadowy elf 

Little shadows danced, With the thinnest self, 
Each a tiny elf, Love still on in me; 
Happy in large light, O the sweet, sweet prime 
And the thinnest self. Of the past spring-time. 


Spanish Gypsy. 
Ruined Castles on the Rhine.—From ‘The Mill on The Floss.’ 


Those ruins on the castled Rhine have crumbled and mellowed into such harmony 
with the green and rocky steeps, that they seem to have a natural fitness, like the 
mountain pine; nay, even in the day when they were built, they must have had this 
fitness, as if they had been raised by an earth-born race, who had inherited from 
their mighty parent a sublime instinct of form. And that was a day of romance! 
If these robber-barons were somewhat grim and drunken ogres, they had a certain 
grandeur of the wild beast in them—they were forest boars with tusks, tearing and ~ 
rending, not the ordinary domestic grunter; they represented the demon forces for 
ever in collision with beauty, virtue, and the gentle uses of Life; they made a fine 
contrast in the picture with the wandering minstrel, the soft-lipped princess, the 
pious recluse, and the timid Israelite. That was a time of colour, when the suniight — 
fell on glancing stee] and floating banners: e timo of adventure and fierce siruggle= 


ELIOT. ] 7 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 315 


nay, of living religious art and religious enthusiasm: for were not cathedrals built 
in those days, and did not great emperors leave their western palaces to die before 
the infidel strongholds in the East! Therefore it is that these Rhine castles thrill me 
with a sense of poetry ; they belong to the grand historic lite of humanity, and raise 
up for me the vision of an epoch. But these dead-tinted, hollow-eyed angular skele- 
tons of villages on the Rhine oppress me with the feeling that human life—very much 

- of it—is a narrow, ugly, grovelling existence which even calamity does not elevate, 
but rather tends to exhibit in all its bare vulgarity of conception; and I have a cruel. 
conviction that the lives these ruins are the traces of, were part of a gross sum of 
obscure vitality, that will be swept into the same oblivion with the generations of 
ants and beavers. 


~ Saint Theresa.—Unfulfilled Aspirations.—From ‘ Middlemarch.’ 


Who that cares much to Know the history of man, and how the mysterious mix- 
ture behave under the varying experiments of time, has not dwelt, at least briefly, on 
the life of Saint Theresa, has not smiled with some gentleness at the thought of the 
little girl walking forth one morning hand-in-hand with her still smaller brother, to 
go and seek martyrdom in the country of the Moors? Out they toddled from rugged 
Avila, wide-eyed and helpless-looking as two fawns, but with human hearts, already 
beating to a national idea; until domestic reality met them in the shape of uncles, 
and turned them back from their great resolve. That child-pilgrimage was a fit be- 
ginning. Theresa’s passionate, ideal nature demanded an epic life: what were 
many-volumned romances of chivalry and the social conquests of a brilliant girl to 
her? Her flame quickly burned up that light fue! ; and, fed from within, soared 
after some illimitable satisfaction, some object which would never justify weariness, 
which would reconcile self-despair with the rapturous consciousness of life beyond 
self. She found her epos in the reform of a religious order. 

That Spanish woman who lived three hundred years ago, was certainly not the last 

_ of her kind. Many Theresas have been born who found for themselves no epic life 
wherein there was a constant unfolding of far-resonaut action; perhaps only a life 
of mistakes, the offspring of a certain spiritual grandeur ill-matched with the mean- 
ness of opportunity ; perhaps a tragic failure which found no sacred poet, and sank 
unwept into oblivion. With dim lights and tangled circumstance they tried to shape 
trey thought and deed in noble agreement; but after all, to common eyes their 

- struggles seemed mere inconsistency and formlessness ; for these later-born ‘Mheresas- 
were whee by no coherent social faith and order which could perform the function 

~_ of knowledge for the ardently willing soul. Their ardour alternated between a vague 
ideal and the common yearning of womanhood; so that the one was disapproved as 
_ extravagance, and the other Condemned as a lapse. 

Some have felt that these blundering lives are due to the inconvenient indefinite- 
ness with which the Supreme Power has fashioned the natures of women; if there 
_ were one level of feminine incompetence as strict as the ability to count three and 
—~ no more, the social lot of women might be treated with scientific certitude. Mean- 
while, the indefiniteness remains, anu the limits of variation are really much wider 
than any one would imagine from the sameness of women’s coiffure and the favou- 
rite love stories in prose and verse. Here and there a cygnet is reared uneasily 
among the ducklings in the brown pond, and never finds the living stream in fellow- 
ship with his own oary-footed kind. Here and there is born a Saint Theresa, fovn- 
dress of nothing, whose loving heart beats and sobs after an unattained goodness, 
tremble off, and are dispersed among hindrances, instead of centering in some long- 
recognisable deed. 


Detached T hougits. 


Comprehensive talkers are apt to be tiresome when we are nct athirst for infor- 

mation, but, to be quite fair, we must admit that superior reticence is a good deal 

due to the lack of matter. Speech is often barren; but silence also does not neces- 

sarily brood over a full nest. Your still fowl, blinking at you without remark, may 

- allthe while be sitting on one addled nest-egg; and when it takes to cackling, will 
have nothing to announce but that addled delusion. 


oe 


316 CYCLOPAEDIA OF [ro 1876, 


All knowledge which alters our lives, penetrates us more when it comes in the 
early morning: the day that has to be travelied with something new, and perhaps 
for ever sad 1n its light, is an image of the life that spreads beyond. But at night 
the time of rest is near. _ 


We could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it—if 
it were not the earth where the same flowers come up again every spring, that we 
used to gather with our tiny fingers us we sat lisping to ourselves on the grass—the 
sae redbreasts that we used to call God’s birds, because they do no harm to the pre- 
cious crops. What novelty is worth that sweet monotony where eyerything is 
known, and loved because it is known 27 

O the anguish of that thought, that we can never atone to our dead for the stinted 
affection we gave them, for the light answers we returned to their plaints or their 


pleadings, for the little reverence we shewed to that sacred human soul that lived so 
close 10 us, aud was the divinest thing God has given us to know! 


No story is the same to us after alapse of time; or rather, we who read it are DO 


longer the same interpreters. Melodies die out like the pipe of Pan, with the ears ~ 


that love them and listen for them. 

_ The finest language, I believe, is chiefly made up of unimposing words, such as 
‘light,’ ‘sound,’ stars,’ ‘ music’? —words really not worth looking at, or hearing in 
-hemselves, any more than ‘chips’ or *sawdust:’ it is only that they happen to be 
‘he signs of something unspeakably great and beautiful. 


MRS. CRAIK (MISS MULOCE). 


In 1849 appeared ‘ The Ogilvies’—‘ a first novel,’ as the authoress 
timidly announced, but without giving her name, It was instantly 
successful, and appreciated as a work of genius, ‘ written with deep 
earnestness, and pervaded by a deep and noble philosophy.’ ‘The ac- 
complished lady who had thus delighted and benefited society by her 
‘ first novel’ was Dinan Marta MuLock, born at Stoke-upon-Trent, 
Staffordshire. The success of her story soon led to others, and we 
subjoin a list of the works of this authoress—a list which gives a pic- 
ture of a wonderfully active literary career and prolific genius: 


Novets: ‘The Ogilvies,’ 1849; ‘Olive,’ 1850; ‘The Head of the 


Family,’ 1851; ‘ Agatha’s Husband,’ 18538; ‘John Halifax’ 1857; A. 
Life for a Life,’ 1859; ‘Mistress and Maid,’ 1863; ‘ Christian's Mis- 
take,’ 1865; ‘A Noble Life,’ 1866; ‘Two Marriages,’ 1867; ‘The 
Woman’s Kingdom,’ 1869; ‘A Brave Lady,’ 1870; ‘ Hannah,’ 1871. 
MisceLLANEous Works: ‘ Avillion and other Tales,’ 1858; *‘ Nothing 
New,’ 1857; ‘A Woman’s Thoughts about Woman,’ 185%; ‘ Studies 
from Life, 1861; ‘The Unkind Word and other Stories,’ 1870; ‘ Fair 
France,’ 1871; ‘Sermons Out of Church.’ CHTLDREN’s Books: ‘Alice 
Learmont, a Fairy Tale; ‘Rhoda’s Lessons,’ ‘Cola Monti,’ ‘ A Hero,’ 
‘Bread upon the Waters,’ ‘The Little Lychetts,’ ‘ Michael the Miner,’ 
‘Our Year,’ ‘Little Sunshine’s Holiday,’ ‘ Adventures of a Brownie.’ 


Besides the above, this authoress has written a number of poetical — 


pieces, and translated several works. / 
In i865 Miss Mulock was married to Mr. George Lillie Craik, pub- 
lisher, son of the Rev. Dr. Craik, Glasgow, and nephew of Professor 
Craik. Asa moral teacher, none of the novelists of the present day 
excels Mrs. Craik. She is not formally didactic—she insinuates im- 


vy - 


ONS 9 oe ENGLISH LITERATURE. 311 


‘struction. A too prolonged feminine softness and occasional senti- 


mentalism constitute the defects of her novels, though less prominent 
in her later works than in her first two novels. Her mission, it has 
justly been remarked, is to shew ‘ how the trials, perplexities, joys, 
sorrows, labours, and successes of life deepen or wither the charac- 
ter according to its inward bent—how continued insincerity gradual- 
ly darkens and corrupts the life-springs of the mind—and how every 
event, adverse or fortunate, tends to strengthen and expand a high 


mind, and to break the springs of a selfish or even merely weak and 


self-indulgent nature.’* In carrying out this moral purpose, Mrs. 


Craik displays eloquence, pathos, a subdued but genial humour, and 


happy delineation of character. Of all her works, ‘John Halifax’ 
(of which the eighteenth edition is now before us) is the greatest 
favourite, and is indeed a noble story of English domestic life. 


Death of Muriel, the Blind Child.—From ‘ John Halifax.’ 


John opened the large Book—the Book he had taught all his children to long for 
and to love—and read out of it their favourite history of Joseph and his brethren. 
The mother sat by him at the fireside, rocking Maud softly on her knees. Edwin 
and Walter settled themselves on the heaith-rug, with great eyes intently fixed on 
their father. From behind him the candle-light fell softly down on the motionless 
figure in the bed, whose hand he held, and whose face he ever now and then turned 


‘to look at—then, satisfied, continued to read. In the reading his voice had a fatherly, 


flowing calm—as Jacob’s might have had. when ‘the children were tender,’ and he 
gathered them all round him under the palm-trees of Succoth—years before he cried 
unto the Lord that bitter cry (which John hurried over as he read): ‘Zf J an bereaved 
of my children, I am bereaved.’ ; 

For an hour, nearly. we all sat thus, with the wind coming up the valley, howling 
in the beech-wood, and shaking the casement as it passed outside. Within the 


-Ouly sound was the father’s voice. This ceased at last; he.shut the Bible, end put 


it aside. The group—that last perfect household picture—was broken up. It melted 
away into things of the past, and became only a picture for evermore. 

‘Now. boys, it is full time to say good-night. ‘here, go and kiss your sister.’ 
‘Which?’ said Edwin, in his funny way. ‘We've got two now; and I don’t know 
which is the biggest baby.’ ‘I’ll thrash you if you say that again,’ cried Guy. 
‘Which, indeed! Mand is but the baby. Muriel will be always sister.’ ‘Sister,’ 
faintly laughed as she answered his fond kiss—Guy was often thought to be her 


‘favourite brother. * Now, off with you, boys; and go down-stairs quietly—mind, I 


Say quietly.’ 
1 


1ey obeyed—that is, as literally as, boy-nature can obey such an admonition. 

But an hour xfter, I heard Guy and Edwin arguing vociferously in the dark, on the 
respective mer ts and future treatment of their two sisters, Muriel and Maud. 

John and I sat up Jate together that night. He could not rest, even thongh he 


told me he had left the mother and her two danghters as cosy as a nest of wood- 


pigeons. We listened to the wild night, till it had almost how:ed itself away; then 


- our fire went out. and we came and gat over the Jast fagot in Mrs. Tod’s kitchen, the 


old Debateable Land. We began tvelk'ng of the long-ago time, and not of this 
tiine at all. “The vivid present—never out of either mind for an instant— we in our 
conversation did not touch upon, by at least ten years. Nor did we give expression 
to a thought which strongly oppressed me. and which I once or twice fancied I 
could detect in John likewise: how very like this night seemed to the night when 


_ Mr. March died; the same silentnees in the house. the same windy whirl without, 


ru © North British Review, November 1883, 


the same blaze of the wood-fire on the same kitchen ceiling. More than once I cowd 


“almost have deluded myself that I heard the faint mouns and footsteps overhead ; 


-_—_— —- Fone SO eee eer 


‘ 


318 _ “eoeYCLOPADIA OF “4 [ro 1876. 


that the staircase door would “oie and we should see there Miss March, in her white 
yn, ale, steadfast Jook. : fi ite 
sp abies rtidaae fe seemed very well and calm to-night,’ I said, eee eae 7 
we were retiring. ‘She is, God help her—and us all? ‘He will.” That wasa 
bf ciaiarenk up stairs the last thing, and brought down word that mother and 
ildr asleep. , 
anne think I aay te them a de oe tomar And now, Uncle Phineas, 
f k as tired as tired can be. 5 } : 
ou if Baa aes tut At night long I had disturbed dreams, in which I pictured 
over and over again, first the night when Mr. March died, then the night at Long- 
field, when the little white ghost had crossed by my bed’s foot, into the room where 
Mary Baines’ dead boy lay. And continually, towards morning, I fancied I heard 
through my window, which faced the church, the faint, distant sound of the organ, 
yhe iel used to play it. 
ie “ee eis it was dayiatit Irose. As I passed the boys’ room, Guy called out 
tome: ‘Halloa! Uncle Phineas, is it a fine morning? for I want to go down into ~ 
the wood and get a lot of beech-nuts and fir-cones for sister. It’s her birthday to- 
day, you know.’ It was for her. But for us—O Muriel, our darling, darling child! 
Let me hasten over the story of that morning, for my old heart quails before it 
still. John went early to the room up-stairs. It was very still. Ursula lay calmly 
asleep, with baby Maud in her bosom; on her other side, with eyes wide open to the 
daylight, lay—that which for more than ten years we had een used to call ‘ blind 
iel.’ She saw now. ... ; 
eee the same homely room—half bed-chamber, half a nursery—the same little 
curtaipless bed where, for a week past, we had been accustomed to see the wasted 
ficure and small pale face-lying in smiling quietude, all day long. 
~ Tt lay there still. Init, and in the room, was hardly any change. One of Wal- 
ter’s playthings was in a corner of the window-sill, and on the chest of drawers stood 
the nosegay of Christmas roses which Guy had brought for his sister yesterday morn- 
ing. Nay, her shawl—a white, soft, furry shawl, that she was fond of wearing—re- 
mained still hanging up behind the door. One could almost fancy the little 
maid had just been said ‘good night’ to, and left to dream the childish dreams on 
her nusery pillow, where the small head rested so peacefully, with that pretty baby- 
ish nightcap tied over the pretty curls. Tnere she was, the child who had gone out 
of the number of our children—our earthly children—for ever. 


T he Chateau of La Garaye.—From ‘ Fair France.’ 


Mrs. Norton’s poem has made well known that touching story of a devoted hus- 
band and his beautiful loving wife. whom a sudden accident changed into a crippled 
invalid for life ; how they turned their house into a hospital, and both gave them- 
selves to the end of their days to the duty of succouring the afflicted, with not only 
their personal fortune, but personal care. They quitted entirely the gay world in 
which they were born, and hid themselves in this far-away nook among their sick, 
whom they personally tended. For this end they both studied medicine and surgery ; 
and the comtesse is reported to have been a famous oculist. They died—happily al- 
most a quarter of a century before the brutalities of the Revolution destroyed the 
fruit of their labours, and made the Chateau of La Garaye the ruin it is now. . . . 

It ‘s that most touching form of ruin—no castle. not even a baronial mansion, 
only a house. The gates of the garden, where the lady of La Garaye may have cul- — 
tivated her medicinal plants, are broken and lichen-covered ; the gnarled apple-trees 
still bvar fruit in their old age. and that day were a picture of rosy plenty; but over 
everything is thrown the shade of desolation. Round the shattered windows. from — 
which many asick face may have looked out, gazing its last on this beautiful world, 
and many another brightened into health as it caught its first hopeful peep at the 
half-forgotten world outside; round these blank eyeless windows, climb gigantic 
brambles, trailing along heavy with fruit as large and sweet as mulberries. Once 
more we gathered and ate, almost with solemnity. It was a subject too tender for 
much speaking about—that of a life, which, darkened for ever, took comfort _in giv-— 
ing light and blessing to other lives sadder than its own-~a subject that Dickens — 


_CRAIK.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 319 


might have written about—Dickens, whom, asI set down his name here, I start to 
remember, has been these twenty-four hours—only twenty-four hours—one of us 
mortals no more, but. 2 disembodied soul : 
Oh, the solemn and strange - 
Surprise of the change! 


Yet how soon shall we all become shadows—those who are written about, and 
those who write—shadows as evanescent as the gentle ghosts which seem to haunt 
this ruined house, this deserted, weed-covered garden, which scarcely more than a 
century ago was full of life—life with all its burdens and all its blessedness, its work 
_and suffering, pleasure and pain, now swept away together into eternal rest! 


The Last Look of England.—From ‘Hannah.’ 


There 1s a picture familiar to many, for it was in the Great Exhibition of 1851, 
and few stopped to look at it without tears—‘ The Last Look of Home,’ by Ford 
Madox Browne. Merely a bit of a ship’s side—one of those emigrant ships such as 
are constantly seen at Liverpool, or other ports whence they sail—with its long row 
of dangling cabbages, and its utter confusion of cargo and passengers. There, in- 
different to all, and intently gazing on the receding shore, sit two persons, undoubt- 
edly a man and his wife, emigrants bidding adieu to home for ever. The man is 
quite broken-down, but the woman, sad as she looks, has hope and courage in her 
face. Why not? In one hand she firmly grasps her husband’s; the other supports 
her sleeping babe. She is not disconsolate, for she carries her ‘home’ with her. 

In the picture the man is not at all like Bernard certainly ; but the woman is ex- 
ceedingly like “aunah in expression at least, as she sat on the deck of the French 
steamer, taking her last look of dear old England, with its white cliffs glimmering in 
tbe ponent, fainter and fainter every minute, across the long reach of Southamp- 

on Water. 
Bernard sat beside her, but he too was very silent. He meant to go back again as 
goon as he had seen her and Rosie and Grace safely landed at Havre; but he knew 
that to Hannah this farewell of her native land was, in all human probability, a fare- 
well ‘for good.’ Ay, for good, in the fullest sense; and she believed it; believed 
that they were both doing right, and that God’s blessing would follow them wherever 
they went; yet she could not choose but be a little sad, until she felt the touch of the 
small, soft hand which, now as ever, was continuously creeping into Tannie’s. Then 

she was content. If it had been God’s will to give her no future of her own at all, 
she could haye rested happily in that of the child and the child’s father. 

It happened to be a most beautiful night for crossing—the sea calm as glass, and 
the air mild as summer, though it was in the beginning of November. Hannah could 
not bear to go below, but with Rosie and Grace occupied one of those pleasant cabins 

upon deck, sheltered on three sides, open on the fourth. There, wrapt in countless 

- rugs and shawls, Rosie being in an ecstacy at the idea of going to bed in her clothes, 
‘all under the tars’ (s was still an impossible first consonant to the baby tongue), 

pe settled down for the night, with her child in her arms, and her faithful servant at 

menerfeet.. .. 

- When she woke it was no longer moonlight, but daylight, at least daybreak ; for 
she could discern the dark outline of the man at the wheel. the only person she saw 
on deck. The boat seemed to be passing swiftly and silently as a phantom ship 
through a phantom ocean ; she hardly knew whether she was awake or asleep, dead 
or alive, till she felt the soft breathing of the child in her arms, and with a passion of 
joy remembered‘all. 

_ A few minutes after, Hannah, raising her head as high as she could without dis- 

. turbing Rosie, saw a sight which she had never seen before, and never in all her life 

“May see again, but will remember to the end of her days. 

' Just where sea and sky met, was a long, broad line of most brilliant amber, grad- 
nally widening and widening as the sun lifted himself out of the water and shot his 
rays, in the form of a crown, right up into the still dark zenith. Then, as he climbeé 
higher, every floating cloud—and the horizon seemed full of them—became of a bril- 

_ liant rose hue, until the whole heaven blazed with colour and light. In the midst of 


320. CYCLOPADIA OF ~ [io 1876, — 


it all, dim as a dream, but with all these lovely tints flitting over it, Hannah saw, far ’ 
in the distance, the line of the French shore. } 


MRS. OLIPHANT. 


The tales illustrative of Scottish life by Mrs. OLrpHant (nee Mar- — 
garet O. Wilson), have been distinguished by a graceful simplicity 
and truth. One of the first ‘is in the form of an autobiography, ‘ Pas- 
sages in the Life of Mrs. Margaret Maitland of Sunnyside,’ 1849. 
The quiet pathos and domestic incidents of this story are not un-- 
worthy of Galt, whose ‘Annals of the Parish’ probably suggested 
to Mrs. Oliphant the outline of her tale. In 1851, ‘Merkland, a - 
Story of Scottish Life,’ appeared, and sustained the reputation of — 
the authoress. There is here a plot of stirring interest and gre:ter 
variety of characters, though the female portraits are still the best 
drawn. ‘Adam Greme of Mossgray,’ 1852, presents another series 
of home pictures, but is inferior toits predecessors. ‘Harry Muir,’ 
1853, aims at inculcating temperance, and is a powerful pathetic 
tale. The hero is one of those characters common in life, but difii- 
cult to render interesting in fiction—a good-natured, pleasant youth, — 
easily led into evil as weil as good courses. ‘Magdalen Hepburn, a 
Story of the Scottish Reformation,’ 1854, may be considered a his- 
torical romance, as Knox and other characters of his age are intro- © 
duced, and the most striking scenes relate to the progress of the 
Reformation. The interior pictures of the authoress are still, how- — 
ever, the most winning portion of her works. ‘ Lilliesleaf,’ 1855, is — 
a concluding series of ‘Passages in the Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- _ 
land,’ and the authoress has had the rare felicity of making the se- 
cond equal to the first portion. ‘ Zaidee, a Romance,’ 1856, is in a 
style new to Mrs. Oliphant. Thescene is laid partly in Cheshire and ~ 
partly abroad, and the heroine, like Jane Eyre, is an orphan, who ~ 
passes through various trying scenes and adventures—nearly all in- 
teresting, though in many instances highly improbable. ‘Twoshorter — 
tales, ‘Katie Stewart’ and ‘The Quiet Heart,’ have been published | 
by Mrs. Oliphant in ‘Blackwood’s Magazine.’ Almost every year 
has borne testimony to the talents and perseverance of this accom- 
plished lady. Among her recent works of fiction are—‘ Agnes,’ 1867; - 
‘The Brownlows,’ 1868; ‘The Minister’s Wife,’ 1869; ‘ Chronicles 
of Carlingford; ‘Salem Chapel,’ 1869; ‘John, a Love Story; ‘ Three 
Brothers:’ ‘Son of the Soil,’ 1870; ‘Squizve Arden,’ 1871; ‘ Ombra,’ 
1872: ‘At His Gates,’ 1872; ‘Innocent,’ 1873; ‘May,’ 1873; * For 
Love and Life,’ 1874; ‘A Rose in June,’ 1874; ‘The Story of Valen- 
tine and his Brothers,’ 1875; ‘ Whiteladies,’ 1875; ‘The Curate in 
Charge,’ 1876, &¢. a 

Mrs. Oliphant has been more versatile than any other of our living 
female novelists. She has tried the pure character story, with which, 
indeed, she may be said to have started in ‘Kate Stewart,’ a tale of | 
Fifeshire (to which county she belongs), and since then she has been 


i 
‘ 
bes 
, a 
: 
r 4 
ea 


f 


_ OLIPHANT. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 821 


sensational, domestic, and psychological by turns. Her critical and 
historical papers in ‘ Blackwood’ are ably and finely written. In her 
novels, Mrs. Oliphant has great powers of construction, knowleage 
_of human nature, and penetration, added to extensive knowledge of 
society, and the modes and manners of foreign countries. Her ‘Salem 
Chapel,’ which first raised its author to wide popularity, is an excellent 
specimen of the story of character, full of shrewd observation; and 
the same remark applies to ‘The Chronicles of Carlingford.’ In ‘The 
Squire of Arden’ and in ‘ Madonna Mary ’ we have the novel of soci- 
ety and plot: whilst in such tales as ‘ At His Gates’ we find plot and 
sensation most prominent, and in ‘Agnes,’ ‘The Minister's Wife,’ 
‘Innocent,’ and ‘ Valentine and his Brother,’ we have what are really 
psychological stories, in which the morbid or exceptional type of 
character isa main element. Mrs. Oliphant, however, takes care to 
accompany all such effects with enough of relief and variety of other 
characters and situations to maintain general interest. For example, 
the Italian child ‘ Innocent ’—half idiot—is thrown into such situa- 
tions as introduce us to many characters in whom we are deeply in- 
terested, though they never overshadow the chief figure; and in the 
father of ‘ Valentine and his brother,’ we are introduced to various 
Scotch characters and to sketches of fine society abroad. In pathos, 
_ we think this accomplished novelist deficient—that is inferior to her- 
self in other respects—and occasionally careless as to style. She 
rambles into long-winded sentences and paragraphs in which repeti- 
tion isfrequent. But for this defect, her tale of ‘ Whiteladies’ would 
_have been a most powerful story of motive and conscience, worthy 
of Hawthorne. ‘The Curate in Charge’ is one of the happiest of 
her long file of creations. it may be considered an exposé of the evils 
‘of patronage in the church; and, though cynical, possesses scenes 
of true pathos—such as the death of the old curate, and the efforts of 
his daughters afterwards to support themselves. Mrs. Oliphant’s 
latest novel, ‘ Pheebe, Junior,’ is no less interesting and life-like. 


as An English Rector and Rectory. 


‘Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things. Let Ae 
child alone—she will never be young again if she should live a hundred years !’ 

_- ‘These words were spoken in the garden of Dinglefield Rectory on a very fine sum- 
mer day afew yearsago. Thespeaker was Mr. D. Lamerel, the rector, a middle-aged 
man, with very fine, somewhat worn features, a soft benignant smile, and, as every- 
body said who knew him. the most charming manners in the world. He was a min 

of very elegant mind aswell as manners. He did not preach often, but when he did 
preach all the educated persons of his congregation felt that they had very choice 
fare indeed set before them. I am afraid the poor folk liked the curate best, but 
then the curate liked them best, and it mattered very litue to any man or woman of 

_ refinement what sentiment existed between the cottages and the curate. Mr. Da- 
merel was perfectly kind and courteous to everybody, gentle and simple. who came 
in his way, bnt he was not fond of poor people in the abstract. He disliked every- 
thing that was unlovely, and alas! there are a great many unlovely things in poverty. 

__ The rectory garden at Dinglefield is a delightful place. ‘he house is on the sum- 

- Mnit of a little hill or rather tableland, for in the front, towards the green, all is level 
and soft, as becomes an English village; but on the other side the descent begins to- 

_ Wards the lower country, and from the drawing-room windows and the lawn, the 


322 CYCLOPEDIA OF " [ro 1876, 


view extended over a great plain, lighted up with links of the river, and fading into 
unspeakable hazes of distance, such as were the despair of every artist, and the de- — 
light of the fortunate people who lived there, and were entertained day by day with 
the sight of all the sunsets, the mid-day splendours, the flying shadows, and soft 

rolonged twilights. Mr. Damerel was fond of saying that no place he knew so lent —~ 
itself to idleness as this. ‘Idleness! I speak as the foolish ones speak,’ he would 
say. ‘for what occupation could be more ennobling than to watch those gleams and 
shadows—all nature spread out before you, and demanding attention, though so 
softly tuat only they who have ears hear? I allow, my gentle Nature here does not 
shout at you, and compel your regard, like her who dwells among the Alps, for in- 
stance, My dear, you are always practical—but so long as you leave me my land- 
scape I want little more.’ , 

‘Thus the rector would discourse. It was very little more he wanted—only to have 
his garden and lawn in perfect order, swept and trimmed every morning like a lady’s 
boudoir, and refreshed with every variety of flower: to have his table not heavily 
loaded with vulgar English joints, bnt daintily covered, and oh! so daintily served; 
the linen always fresh, the crystal always fine, the ladies dressed as ladies should be: 
to have his wine, of which he took very little, always fine, of choice vintage, and 
with a bouquet that rejoiced the heart; to have plenty of new books: to have quiet 
undisturbed by the noise of the children, or any other troublesome noise such as 
broke the harmony of nature: and especially undisturbed by bills and cares, such as, 
he declared, at once shorten the life and take all pleasure out of it. This was all he 
required: and surely never man had tastes more moderate, more innocent, more 
virtuous and refined. 

The little scene to which I have thus abrubtly introduced the reader took place in 
the most delicious part of the garden. The deep stillmess of noon was over the — 
suushiny world; part of the lawn was brilliant in light; the very,insects were sub- 
dued out of their buzz of activity by the spell of the sunshine; but here, under the 
lime-tree, there was grateful shade, where everything took breath. -Mr. Damerel — 
was seated in a chair which had been made expressly for him, and which combined 
the comfort of soft cushions with such a rustic appearance as became its habitation 
out of doors; under his feet was a soft Persian rug in colours blended with all the 
harmony which belongs to the Eastern loom; at his side a pretty carved table, with 
a raised rim, with books upon it, and a thin Venice glass containing a rose. 

Another rose, the Rose of my story, was half-sitting, half-reclining on the grass ~ 
at his feet—a pretty, light figure in a soft muslin dress, almost white, with bits of soft 
rose-coloured ribbon here and there. She was the eldest child of the house. Her fea- 
tures I do not think were at all remarkable, but she had a bloom so soft, so delicate, — 
s0 sweet, that her father’s fond title for her, ‘a Rose in June,’ was everywhere ac- 
knowledged as appropriate. A rose of the very season of roses was this Rose. Her 
very smile, which came and went like breath, never away for two minutes together, 
yet never lasting beyond the time you look to look at her, was flowery too, I can — 
scarcely tell why. For my own part, she always reminded me not so much of a gar- — 
den rose in its glory, as of a branch of wild roses all blooming and smiling from the ~ 
- bough, here pink, here white, here with a dozen ineffable tints. . . In all herlife she 
had never had occasion to ask herself was she happy? Of course she was happy! 
Did not she live, and was not that enough? 


Fiction and Biography—From ‘Agnes.’ © ‘ 


It has always been my opinion that, as the great value of fiction lies in its power 
of delineating life, there may be cases in which it may assume to a certain extent 
the form of biography ;.I °o not mean of autobiography, which is sufficiently com- 
mon in novels; but that the writer of ‘fiction may occasionally be permitted to sup-— 
plement the work of the serious biographer—to depict scenes which never could be 
depicted as happening to any actual individual, and to reveal sentiments which may 
be in many minds, but which none would care in their own person to give expression 
to. Ido not believe that there ever was, or could be, in this world a wholly true, can- 
did, and unreserved biography, revealing all the dispositions, or even, without exce 
tion, all the facts of any existence. Indeed, the thing is next to impossible; since 
that case, the subject of the biography must be a man or woman without reserve 7 
without delicacy, and without those secrets which are inevitable even to the most 


Poe rr 


2 


_ TROLLOPE. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 823 


stainless spirit. Even fiction itself, which is less responsible, can in many instances 


_ only skim the surface of the real. Most people must be aware, in their own experi- 


ence, that of those passages of their lives which have affected them most they could 
give only the baldest description to their friends; and that their saddest and supre- 


Mest moments are hidden in their own hearts, and never find any expression. It is 


Only in the region of pnre invention that the artist can find a model who has no se- 


crets from him, but lies all open and disclosed to his investigation. 


ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 


The most prolific novelist of the present times—far exceeding 
Scott and Dickens in the number of his works—is Mr. ANTHONY 
TROLLOPE, second son of the late Mr. T. A. Trollope, barrister, and 
of Mrs. Trollope, noticed in a previous page as a distinguished 
authoress. Anthony was born April 24, 1815, and was educated at 
Winchester and Harrow. Having obtained an appointment in the 
General Post-ofiice, he rose high in the service, and was despatched 
to Egypt, America, and other countries, in order to arrange postal 
conventions. He retired from the service in 1867, having made a 


handsome competency by his literary labours, which he was enabled 


f 


to carry on during the busiest portions of his life by means of the 
invaluable habit of early rising. It was while stationed in Ireland, 
in the surveyor’s department of the Post-office, that Mr. Trollope 


commenced his career as an author. In 1847 he published the first 


of his long file of novels—an Irish story entitled ‘The Macdermotts 
of Ballycloran.’ This was followed, a twelvemonth afterwards, by 
another Irish tale, ‘The Kellys and the O’Kellys, or Landlords and 
Tenants.’ Conscious of his powers, and sure of readers, Mr. Trol- 
lope continued to pour forth works of fiction, among which are the 
following: ‘La Vendée,’ 1850; ‘The Warden,’ 1855; ‘ Barchester 


- Towers,’ 1857; ‘The Three Clerks,’ 1858; ‘Doctor Thorne,’ 1858; 


‘The Bertrams,’ 1859; ‘ Castle Richmond,’ 1860; ‘ Framley Parson- 
age,’ 1861; ‘Orley Farm,’ 1861; ‘Tales of All Countries,’ 161; 
‘Rachel Ray,’ 1463; ‘ Can You Forgive Her?’ 1864; ‘ The Small House 


at Allington,’ 1864; ‘Miss Mackenzie,’ 1865; ‘The Belton Estate,’ 


1866; ‘The Last Chronicle of Barset,’ 1867; ‘ The Claverings,’ 1867; 
‘Lotta Schmidt and other Stories,’ 1867; ‘He Knew he was Right,’ 


1869; ‘ Phineas Finn,’ 1899; ‘ An Editor’s Tales,’ 1870; ‘ The Vicar of 


Bullhampton,’ 1870; ‘Ralph the Heir,’ 1871; ‘Sir Harry Hotspur of 


’ Humblethwaite,’ 1871; ‘The Struggles of Brown, Jones, and Robin- 
-son;’ ‘The Eustace Diamonds,’ 1872-3; ‘ The Golden Lion of Grand- 


pere,’ 1872-3; ‘ Harry Heathcote of Gangoil,’ ‘ Lady Anna,’ ‘ Phineas 
Redux,’ 1874; ‘The Way We Live Now,’ and ‘Diamond Cut Dia- 


mond,’ 1875; ‘The Prime Minister,’ 1876; &c._ Besides the above 
_ works of fiction, Mr. Trollope has written ‘The West Indies and the 
Spanish Main,’ a pleasing volume of travels and description, pub- 
lished in 1859; ‘ North America,’ 2 vols., 1862; ‘ Hunting Sketches,’ 


1865; ‘Travelling Sketches,’ 1866; ‘Clergymen of the Church of 


England,’ 1866 (these last three works were reprints from the ‘ Pall 


~ 
is . 


Mall Gazetie); ‘British Sports and Pastimes,’ 1863; ‘ Australia and 


¢ 


324 CYCLOPADIA OF | [ro 1876. 


New Zealand,’ 2 vols., 1873. Mr. Trollope was for about three years 
editor of ‘Saint Paul’s Magazine,’ and he has contributed largely to 
other periodicals. 

Mr. Trollope is emphatically a ‘man of the time,’ the very anti- 
podes of imaginative writers like George MacDonald. He is a 
real st, a painter of men and manners of the present day, 
a satirist within a certain range, ready to make use of any 
type that may present itself, and seem characteristic as a product 
of the special conditions of the present century. He is rather con- 
servative and High Church, his best portraitures being those of 


the clergy. Who can ever forget Mr. Slope, Dr. Grantly, Bishop 


Prowdie or Mrs. Prowdie? Ladies of rank, aspiring members of par- 
liament (Irish and English), habitues of the clubs, Australian stock- 
men, female adventurers—all of these, and many more, he has taken 
up, and so set them in midst of their surroundings, that his pictures 
look like photographs, and they seem to be produced as easily as the 
photographer throws off his scenes and portraits.* Mr. Trollope is 
eminently practical and also public-minded, for hiS characters fre- 
quently refer to great public questions, and suggest political changes. 
His humour is peculiar to himself, dry, direct, and with no infusion 
of sentiment. In his excellent story, ‘The Small Houses of Alling- 


ton,’ he will not allow sentiment to suggest even the slightest poeti- 


cal justice in reference to his beautiful and brave, but unfortunate 
heroine, Lily Dale. The reality of his subsidiary characters, and his 
manner of seizing on peculiar traits without dwelling on them, so as 
to suggest vd tity, separate him entirely from the school of Dickens, 


whilst his dislike of moralising, and his trick of satire, separate him_ 


as distinctly from the school of Thackeray, in whom tenderness 
always lies alongside the cynical touches and bitterness. Mr. Trol- 
lope’s style is clear, natural, sometimes eloquent, and without any 
trace of artifice. 

The Archdeacon’s Sanctum and the Old Church. 


No room could have been more becoming for a dignitary of the church. Each 
wall was loaded with theology; over each separate book-case was printed in small 
gold letters the names of those great divines whose works were ranged beneath; 
beginning from the early fathers in due chronological order, there were to be 


found the precious labours of the chosen servants of the church down to the last — 


pamphlet written in opposition to the consecration of Dr. Hampden; and raised 
above this were to be seen the busts of the greatest among the great—Chrysostom, 
St. Augustine, Thomas 4 Becket, Cardinal Wolsey, Archbishop Laud and Dr. Phil- 
potts. ae 


*In a lecture delivered in Natal by the Hon. Mr. Broome, secretary to the colony, 
and republished in the literary journal Lveving Hours, is the following: 


*“* Don’t you ever,’’ said a friend of mine to Mr. Trollope, * find a difficulty in bes — 


ginning?’’ ‘* Not at all—why should [? I sit down to write. and what difficulty is 
there? I do just four hundred words in a quarter of an hour.’’ Nothing seems to disturb 
the even tenorof Mr. Trollope’s pen. The other day. going out to Australia round the 
Cape, he had a eabin fitted with a desk. and wrote novels at sea just as usual fora certain 
time and a certain number of pages every morning. He published about one eyery two 
months for some time after he returned to England. But Mr. Trollope’s ruling passion 
is not novel-writing, but the hunting-field, and the last time I met him. in the vestibule 
of the Garrick Club, bis arm was in a sling froma bad fall with the Berkshire hounds.’ 


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“frotuorr.} ENGLISH LITERATURE. : 825 


* Hyery application that could make study pleasant and give ease to the over-toiled 
brain was there; chairs made to relieve each limb and muscle; reading-desks 
and writing-desks to suit every attitude; lamps and candles mechanically contrived 
to throw their light on any favoured spot, as the student might desire ; a shoal of 
newspapers to amuse the few leisure moments which might be stolen from thie la- 
bours of the day; and iaen from the window a view right through a bosky vi-ta, 
along which ran a broad green path from the rectory to the church, at the end of 
which the tawny-tinted fine old tower was seen with all its variegated pinna les and 
arapets. Few parish churches iu England are in better repair, or better worth keep- 
ing so, than that at Plumstead Episcopi; and yet it is built in a faulty style; the body 
of the church is low—so low that the nearly flat leaden roof would be visible from 
the churchyard, were it not for the carved parapet with which it is surrounded. It 
‘is cruciform, though the transepts are irregular, one being larger than the other; and 
the tower is much too high in proportion to,;the church: but the color of the build- 
ing is perfect ; it is that rich yellow gray which one finds nowhere but in the south 
and west of Enyland, and which is so strong a characteristic of most of our oid 
houses of Tudor architecture. The ston. work is also beautiful; the mullions of the 
windows and the rich tracery of the Gothic workmanship are as ric! as fancy can 
desire; and though in gazing on such a structure, one knows by rule that the old 
priests who built it, built it wrong, one cannot bring one’s self to wish that they 
should have made it other than it is. 


A Low-church Chaplain:—From ‘ Barchester Towers.’ 


Mr. Slope soon comforted himself with the reflection. that as he had been 
selected as chaplain to the bishop, it would probably be in his power to get the good 
things in the bishop’s gift, without troubling himself with the bishop’s daughter 5 
and he found himself able to endure the pangs of rejected love. As he sat himself 
down in the railway carriage, confronting the bishop and Mrs. Proudie, as they 
started on their first journey to Barchester, he began to form in his own mind a 
plan of his future life. He knew well his patron’s strong points, but he knew the 
weak ones as well. He understood correctly enough to what attempts the new 
hishop’s high spirit would soar, and he rightly guessed that the public life would 
better suit the great man’s taste, than the small details of diocesan duty. 

He, therefore—he. Mr. Slope—would in effect be bishop of Barchester. Such 

“was his resolve; and to give Mr. Slope his due, he had both courage and spirit to 
bear him out in his resolution. te knew that he should have a hard battle to fight, 
for the power and patronage of the see would be equally coveted by another great 
mind—Mrs, Proudie would also choose to be bishop of Barchester. Slope, however, 
flattered himself that he could out-manceuvre the lady. She must live much in 
London, while he would always be on the spot. She would necessarily reinain 
ignorant of much, while he would know everything belonging to the diocese. , At 
first. doubtless, he must flatter and cajole, perhaps yield in some things; bui he did 
not doubt of ultimate triumph. If all other means failed, he could join the bishop 
against his wife, inspire courage into the unhappy man, lay an axe to the root of 
the woman’s power. and emancipate the husband. 

Such were his thoughts as he sat looking at the sleeping pair in the railway-car- 
riage, and Mr. Slope is not the man to trouble himself with such thoughts for noth- 
ing. He is possessed of more than average abilities, and is of good courage. 
Though he can stoop to fawn, and stoop low indeed, if need be, he has still witlin 
him the power to assume the tyrant; and with the power he has certainly the wish. 
His acquirements are not of the hi_hest order; but such as they are, they are com- 
pletely under control. and he knows the use of them, He is gifted with a certain kind 
of pulpit eloquence, not likely indeed to be persuasive with men, but powerful with 
the softer sex. In his sermons he deals greatly in denunciations, excites the minds 
of his weaker hearers with a not unpleasant terror, and leaves the impression on 
their minds that all mankind are in a perilous state, and all womankind too, except 
those who attend regularly to the evening lectures in Baker street. His looks and 
tones are extremely severe, so much so that one cannot but fancy that he regards the 
greater part of the world as being infinitely too bad for his care. As he walks 
through the streets, his very face denotes his horror of the world’s wickedness; and 


there is always an anathema lurking in the corner of his eye. 
_. In doctrine, he, like his patron, is tolerent of dissent, 1f so strict a mind can be 


SS ee ee ant 


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326 | CYCLOPEDIA OF  —_—_—- [ro 1876, 


called tolerant of anything. With Wesleyan Methodists he has something in com- 
mon, but his soul trembles in agony at the iniquities of the Puseyites. His aversion 
is carried to things outward as well as inward. His gall rises at a new church with a 
high-pitched roof; a full-breasted black-silk waistcoat is with him a symbol of Sa- 
tan; and a profane jest-book would not, in his view, more foully desecrate the 
church seat of a Christian, than a book of prayer printed with red letters, and orna- 
mented with a cross on the back. Most active clergymen have their hobby, and 
Sunday observances are his. Sunday, however, is a word which neyer pollutes his 
mouth—it is always ‘the Sabbath.’ The ‘ desecration of the Sabbath,’ as he delights 
to call it, is to him meat and drink—he thrives upon that as policemen do on the 
general evil habits of the community. It is the loved subject of all his_evening dis- 
courses, the source of all his eloquence, the secret of all his power over the female 
heart. To him the revelation of God appears only in that one law given for Jewish 
observance. ‘To himthe mercies of our,Saviour speak in vain. To him in vain has 
been preached that sermon which fell from divine lips on the mountain: * Blessed 
are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth ’—‘ Blessed are the merciful, for they 
shall obtain mercy.’ To him the New Testament is comparatively of little moment, 
for from it can he draw no fresh authority for that dominion which he loyes to exer- 
cise over at least a seventh part of man’s allotted time here below. 

Mr. Slope is tall, and not ill made. His feet and hands are large, as has ever been 
the case with all his family, but he has a broad chest and wide shoulders to carry off 
these excrescences, and on the whole his figure is good. His countenance, however, 
is not specially prepossessing. His hair is lank, and of a dull, pale reddish hue. It 


a4 


is always formed into three straight lumpy masses, each brushed with admirable - 


precision, and cemented with much grease; two of them adhere closely to the sides 
of his face, and the other lies at right angles above them. He wears no whiskers, 
and is always punctiliously shaven. His face is nearly of the same colour as his hair, 
though perhaps a little redder: it is not unlike beef—beef, however, one would say 
of a bad quality. Her forehead is capacious and high, but square and heavy, and 
unpleasantly shining. His mouth is large, though his lips are thin and bloodless ; and 
his big, prominent, pale brown eyes inspire anything but confidence. His nose, 
however, is his redeeming feature: it is pronounced, straight and well formed ; 
though I myself should have liked it better did it not possess a somewhat spongy, por- 
ous appearance, as though it had been cleverly formed out of a red-coloured cork. 


I never could endure to shake hands with Mr. Slope. <A cold, clammy perspira- 


tion always exudes from him, the small drops are ever to be seen standing on his brow, 
and his friendly grasp is unpleasant. 

Such is Mr. Siope—such is the man who has suddenly fallen into the midst of 
Barchester Close, and is destined there to assume the station which has heretofore 


been tilled by the son of the late bishop. 
The Humanity of the Age. 


"This is undoubtedly the age of hnmanity—as far, at least, as England is concern- 
ed. A man who beats his wife is shocking to us, and a colonel who canuot manage 
his soldiers without having them beaten is nearly equally so. We are not very fond 
of hanging; and some of us goso far as to recoil under any circumstances from 
taking the blood of life. We perform our operations under chloroform 3 and it hag 
even been suggested that those schoolmasters who insist on adhering in some sort to 
the doctrines of Solomon should perform the operations in the same guarded man- 
ner. If the disgrace be absolutely necessary, let it be inflicted; but not the bodily 

ain. 
i So far as regards the low externals of humanity, this is doubtless a humane age, 
Let men, women, and children have bread ; let them have, if possible, no blows, or, 
at least, as few as may be; let them also be decently clothed ; and let the pestilence 
be kept out of their way. In venturing to call these low, I have done so in no con- 
temptuous spirit; they are comparatively low if the body be lower than the mind. 
- The humanity of the age is doubtless suited to its material wants, and such wants 
are those which demand the promptest remedy. But in the inner feelings of men to 
men, and of one man’s mind to another man’s mind, is it not an age of extremest 


cruelty ? 
There is sympathy for the hungry man, but there is no sympathy for the unsuc- 


TROLLOPE. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. ee 


cessful man who is not hungry. If a fellow-mortal be ragged, humanity will sub- 
- scribe to mend his clothes ; but humanity will subscribe nothing to mend his ragged 
hopes, so long as his outside coat shall be whole and decent. 
- To him that hath shall be given ; and from him that hath not shall be taken even 
that which he hath. ‘This is the special text that we delight to follow, and success is 
the god that we delight to worship. ‘Ah, pity me! Ihave struggled and fallen— 
- struggled so manfully, yet fallen so utterly—help me up this time that I may yet push 
forward again!’ Who listens to such a plea as this? ‘ Fallen! do you want bread ?’ 
‘Not bread, but a kind heart and a kind hand.’ ‘ My friend, I cannot stay by you; I 
myself am in a hurry; there is that fiend of a rival there even now gaining a step on * 
me. I beg your pardon, but I will put my foot on your shoulder—only for one mo- 
ment.’ Occupetextremus scabies. 

~ Yes. Let the devil take the hindmost; the three or four hindmostif you will; 
nay, all but those strong-running horses who cap force themselves into noticeable 
places under the judge’s eye. This is the noble shibboleth with which the English 

outh are now spurred on to deeds of—what shall we say ?—money-making activity. 
Let every piace in which a man can hold up his head be the reward of some autago- 
nistic struggle, of some grand competitive examination. Let us get rid of the fault of 
past ages. With us, let the race beever to the swift; the victory always to the 
strong. And let us always be racing, so that the swift and the strong shall ever be 
known among us. But what, then, for those who are not swift, not strong? Va 
victis! Let them go to tothe wall. They can hew wood probably; or, at any rate, 


draw water. 
Letter-writing. 

This at least should be a rnle through the letter-writing world—that no angry letter 
be posted till four-and-twenty hours shall have elapsed since it was written. We all 
know how absurd is that other rule. that of saying the alphabet when you are angry. 
Trash! Sit down and write your letter; write it with all the venom in your power ; 
spit out your spleen at the fullest; ’twill do you good. You think you have been 
injured ; say all that you can say with all your poisoned eloquence, and gratify your- 
self by reading it while your temper is still hot. Then put it in your desk; and as a 
matter of course, burn it before breakfast the following morning. Believe me that 
you will then have a double gratification. 

A pleasant letter I hold to be the pleasantest thing that this world has to give. It 
should be good-humoured ; witty it may be, but with a gentle diluted wit. Con- 
cocted brilliancy will spoil it altogether. Not long, so that it be not tedious in the 
reading; nor brief, so that the delight suffice not to make itself felt. It should be 
written specially for the reader, and should apply altogether to him, and not alto- 
gether to any other. It should never flatter—flattery is always odious. But under- 
neath the visible stream of pungent water there may be the slightest under-current 
of eulogy, so that it be not seen, but only understood. Censure it may contain freely, 
but censure which, in arraigning the conduct, iinplies no doubt as to the intellect. 
It should be legibly written, so that it may be read with comfort; but no more than 
that. _Caligraphy betokens caution, and if it be not light in hand, it is nothing. 
That it be fairly grammatical and not ill spelt, the writer owes to his schoolmaster, 
but this should come of habit, not of care. Then let its page be soiled by no busi- 
ness; one touch of utility will destroy it all. If you ask for examples, Jet it be as 
unlike Walpole as may. be. If you can so write it that Lord Byron might have 
written it, you will not be very far from high excellence. 


Karly Days—Lovers’ Watks. 

Ah! those lovers’ walks, those loving lovers’ rambles. Tom Moore is usually 
somewhat sugary and mawkish ; but in so much he was right. If there be an Elys- 
ium on earth, it is this. They are done and over for us, O my compatriots! Never 
again—unless we are destined to rejoin our houris in heaven, and to saunter over 
fields of asphodel in another and a greener youth—never again shall those joys be 
ours! And what can ever equal them? ’Iwas then, between sweet hedgerows, 
under green ‘oaks, with our feet rustling on the crisp Jeayes, that the world’s cold re- 
Serve was first thrown off, and we found that those we loved were not goddesses, 


328. CYCLOP-EDIA OF - [ro 1876. 
made of buckram and brocade, but human beings like ourselves, with blood in their 
veins and hearts in their bosoms—veritable children of Adam like ourselves. 

‘Gin a body i:.eet a body comin’ through the rye.’ Ah, how delicious were those 
meetings! How convinced we were that there was no necessity for loud alarm ! 
How fervently we agreed with the poet! My friends, born, together with me in the 
consulship of Lord Liverpool, all that is done and overforus! There is a melan- 
choly in this that will tinge our thoughts, let us draw ever so strongly on our philoso- 
phy. We can still walk with our wives, and that is pleasant too, very—of course. 
But there was more animation in it when we walked with the same ladies under 
other names. Nay, sweet spouse, mother of dear bairns, who hast so well done thy 
duty; but this was so, let thy brows be knit ever so angrily. That lord of thine has 
been indifferently goed to thee, and thou to him hast been more than good. Uphill 
together have we walked peaceably labouring ; and now arm in arm ye shall go down 
tie gradual slope which ends below there in the green churchyard. ‘Tis good and 
salutary to walk thus. But for the full cup of joy, for the brimming springtide 
of human bliss, oh give me back ! Well, well, well; it is nonsense; I know it, 
but may not a man dream now and again in his evening Hyp, aud yet do yo bariy.? 

Vixi pueliis nuper idoneus, 

Et militavi. 
How well Horace knew all about it, but that hanging up of the gittern;* one would 
fain have put it off, had falling hairs, and marriage vows, and obesity have per- 
mitted it. 


THOMAS ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. 


The elder brother of Mr. Anthony Trollope, born in 1810, has also 
been a voluminous writer. MJesiding chiefly in Florence, many of 
his works are connected with Italian life and literature. His first 
two works were edited by his mother, and were books of travel—‘ A 
Summer in Brittany,’ 1800; and ‘A Summer in Western France,’ 
1841. He afterwards added a volume descriptive of wanderings in 
Italy, Switzerland, France, and Spain. In 1856 he produced an in- 
teresting scholarly illustration of Italian history, ‘The Girlhood of 
Catherine dé Medici,’ in which he traces the influences that helped to 
form the monstrous character of the heiress of the Medici. In 1859 
Mr. Trollope added to his reputation by a biographical work, ‘A 
Decade of Italian Women,’ which was followed in 1860 by ‘ Filippo 
Strozzi,’ a history of the last days of the old Italian liberty. Several 
novels were then successfully produced: ‘Marietta,’ 1862; ‘ Giulio 
Malatesta,’ 1868; ‘Beppo,’ 1864, ‘ Lindisfarn Chace,’ 1864; ‘Gemma,’ 
1866; ‘ Artingale Castle,’ 1867; ‘The Dream Numbers,’ 1868; *Leo- 
nora Cassoloni,’) 1868; ‘The Garstangs of Garstang Grange,’ &c. Mr. 
Trollope is author also of an elaborate historical work, ‘A History 
of the Commonwealth of Florence,’ 4 vols., 1865. 


THOMAS HARDY. 


Mr. Toomas Harpy has produced a series of novels of a fresh 
original character, especially illustrative of English peasant life and 
character: ‘Under the Greenwood Tree,’ ‘ Desperate Remedies,’ ‘A 


—— 


*T lately was fit to be called upon duty, 
And gallantly fouzhtin the service of beauty; 
But now crowned with conquest, I hang up my arms— 
My harp that campaigned it in midnight alarms. 
Hor., Ode 26, Book iii, 


4 a 


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I - ~ . 4 


Harpy.) © | ENGLISH LITERATURE. B29 
ae = : 
_ Pair of Blue Eyes,’ ‘ Far from the Madding Crowd,’ and ‘The Hand 
_ of Ethelberta.’ The dialogues of his clowns and rustics remind one 
of the Elizabethan times, and in some of the rural nooks-of England 
- much of this primitive style of ideas and expression may yet linger. 
_ So far as modern novels are concerned, the style of Mr. Hardy’s fic- 

tion is quite unique. ‘The following extracts are from ‘The Madding 
_ Crowd:? 


The Great Barn and the Sheep-shearers. 


_- Men thin away to insignificance and oblivion quite as often by not making the 
- most of good spirits when they have them as by lacking good, spirits when they are 
- indispensable. Gabriel lately, for the first time since his prostraticn by misfortune, 
- had been independent in thought and vigorous in action to a marked extent—con- 
ditions which, powerless without an opportunity, as an opportunity without them ig 
_ barren, would have given him a sure and certain lift upwards when the favourable 
: conjunction should have occurred. But this incurable loitcring beside bathsheba 
Everdene stole his time ruinously. The spring tides were going by without floating 
_ him off, and the neap might soon come which could not. 
~_ It was the first day of June, and the sheep-shearing season culminated, the land- 
' scape, even to the leanest pasture. being all health and colour. Every green was 
young, every pore was open, and every stalk was swollen with racing currents of juice. 
B God was paipably present in the country, and the devil had gone with the wor.d to 
- town. Flossy catkins of the later kinds, fern-fronds like bishops” crosiers, the 
_ square-headed moschatel, the odd cuckoo-pint—like an apoplectic saint in a niche of 
- malachite—clean white lady’s-smocks, the toothwort approximating to human flesh, 


4 


es 


3 the enchanter’s nightshade, and the black-petaled doleful-bells were amoug the 
- quainter objects of the vegetable world in aud about Weatherbury at this teeming 
_ time; and of the animal, the metamorphosed figures of Mr. Jan Coggan, the master- 
_ shearer; the second and third shearers, who travelled in the exercise of their call- 
_ ing, and do not require definition by name; Henry Fray, the fourth shearer; Susan 
 Tall’s husband, the fifth ; Joseph Poorgrass, the sixth; young Cain Bail as assis- 
tant shearer, and Gabriel Oak as general supervisor. None of these were clothed to 
_ any extent worth mentioning, each appearing to have hit in the matter of raiment 
the decent mean between a high and low caste Hindu. An angularity of lineament 
and a fixity of facial machinery in general proclaimed that serious work was the 
order of the day. 
They sheared in the great barn, called for the nonce the Shearing-barn, which on 
- ground plan resembied a church with transepts. It not only emulated the form of 
- the neighbouring church of the purish, but vied with it in antiquity. Whether the 
barn had ever formed one of a group of conventual buildings nobody seemed to be 
aware ; no trace of such surroundings remained. ‘The vast porches ai the sides, lofty 
enough to admit a wagon laden to its highest with corn in the sheaf, were spanned 
_ by heavy pointed arches of stone, broadiy and boldly cut, whose vcry simplicity was 
- the origin of a grandeur not apparent in erec ions where more ornament has been 
attempted. The dusky, filmed, chestnut roof, braced and tied in by huge collars, 
~ curves, and disgonals, was far nobler in design, because more wealthy in material, 
_ than nine-tenths of those in oir modern churches. Along each side-wall was a 
range of striding buttresses, throwing deep shudows on thespaces between them, 
_ which were perforated by lancet openings, combining in their proportions the precise 
- requirements both of beauty and ventilation. 
One could say about this barn, what could hardly be said of either the church or 
the castle, its kindred in age and sty!e, that the purpose which had dictated its origi- 
~ nal erection was the same with thet to which it was still applied. Unlike and supe- 
rior to either of those two typical remnants of medizevalism. the old barn embodied 
_ practices which had suffered no mutilation at the hands ot time. Here at least the 
spirit of the bnilders then was at one with the spirit of the beholder now. 
Standing before this abraded pile, the eye regarded its present usage ; the mind dwelt 
 uponits past history with a satisfied sense of functional continuity throughout—a 
_ feeling almost of gratitude, and quite of pride, at the permanenee of the idea which 


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830 CYCLOPADIA OF - __—__ [ro 1876, 


had heaped it up. The fact that four centuries had neither proved it to be founded 
on a mistake, inspired any hatred of its purpose, nor given rise to any reaction that 
had battered it down, invested this simple gray effort of old minds with a repose, if 
not a grandeur, which a too curious reflection was apt to disturb in its ecclesiastical 
and military compeers. For once medizvalism and modernism had a common 
stand-point. The lanceolate windows, the time-eaten arch-stones and chamfers, the 
orientation of the axis, the misty chestnut work of the rafters, referred to no ex- 

loded fortifying art or worn-out religious creed. The defence and salvation of the 
body by daily bread is still a study, a religion, and a desire. 

‘'o-day the large side-doors were thrown open towards the sun to admit a bounti- 
ful light to the immediate spot of the shearers’ operations, which was the wood 
threshing-tioor in the centre, formed of thick oak, black with age, and polished by 
the beating of flails for many generations, till it had grown as slippery and as rich in 
hue as the state-room floors of an Elizabethan mansion. Here the shearers knelt, 
the sun slanting ir. upon their bleached shirts, tanned arms, and the polished shears 
_ they flourished, causing them to bristle with a thousand rays strong enough to blind 
a weak-eyed man. Beneath them a captive sheep lay panting, increasing the ra- 
Sad of its pants as misgiving merged in terror, till it quivered like the hot landscape 
outside. : 

This picture 0f to-day in its frame of four hundred years ago did not produce that 
marked contrast between ancient and modern which is implied by the contrast of 
date. In comparison with cities, Weatherbury was immutable. The citizen’s Then 
is the rustic’: Now. In London, twenty or thirty years ago are old times ; in Paris, ten 
years, or five; in Weatherbury, three or four score years were included in the mere pre- 
sent. and nothing less than a century set a mark on its face or tone. Five decades hardly ~ 
modified the cut of a gaiter, the embroidery of a smock-frock, by the breadth of a 
hair. ‘en generations failed to alter the iurn of a single phrase. In these nooks the 
pu outsider’s ancient times are only old; his old times are still new ; his present is 

uturity. 
‘ So the barn was natural to the shearers, and the shearers were in harmony with the 

arn. 
The spacious ends of the building answering ecclesiastically to nave and chanca ’ 
extremities, were fenced off with hurdles, the sheep being all collected in a crowd 
within these two enclosures; and in one angle a catching pen was formed, in which 
three or four sheep were continuously kept ready for the shearers to seize without 
loss of time. In the background, mellowed by tawny shade, were the three 
women, Maryann Money, and Temperance and Soberness Miller, gathering up the 
fleeces, and twisting ropes of wool with a wimble for tying them round. They were 
indifferently well assisted by the old maltster, who, when the malting season from 
October to April had passed, made himself useful upon any of the bordering farm- 
steads. Behind all was Bathshebs, carefully watching the men, to see that there 
was no cutting or wounding through carelessness, and that the animals were shorn 


close. 
A Thunder-storm. 


Bathsheba’s property in wheat was safe for at anyrate a week or two, provided — 
always that there was not much wind. Next came the barley. This it was onl 
possible to protect by systematic thatching. Time went on, and the moon vanished, 
not to reappear. It was the farewell of the ambassador previous to war. The 
night had a haggard look, like a sick thing; and there came finally an utter expira- 
tion of air from the whole heaven in the form of a slow breeze, which might have 
been likened to a death. And now nothing was heard in the yard but the dull thuds 
of the beetle which drove in the spars, and the rustle of the thatch in the intervals. — 

A light flapped over the scene, as if reflected from phosphorescent wings crossing 
the sky, and arumble filled the air. It was the first arrow from the approaching 
storm, and it fell wide. 

The second peal was noisy, with comparatively little visible lightning. Gabriel 
saw a candle shining in Bathsheba’s bedroom, and soon a shadow moved to andfro __ 
upon the blind. 

Then there came a third flash. Manceuvres of a most extraordinary kind were 
going on in the vast firmamental hollows overhead. The lightning now wasthe 
colour of silver, and gleamed in the heavens like a mailed army. Rumbles became 


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" HARDY.) ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~~“ 881 


rattles. Gabriel from his elevated position could see over the landscape for at least 
half-a-dozen miles infront. Every hedge, bush, and tree was distinct as in a line 
engraving. In a paddock in the same direction was a herd of heifers, and the forms of 
these were visible at this moment in the act of galloping about in the wildest and 

_ maddest confusion, flinging their heels and tails high into the air, their heads to 
earth. A poplar in the immediate foreground was like an ink stroke on burnished 
tin. Then the picture vanished, leaving a darkness so intense that Gabriel worked 
entirely by feelin fg his hands. 

He had stuck his ricking-rod, groom, or poignard, as it was indifferently called—a 
long iron lance, sharp at the extremity and polished by handling—into the stack to 
support the sheaves. <A blue light appeared in the zenith, and in some indescribable 
manner flickered down near the top of the rod. It was tbe fourth of the larger 
flashes. A moment later and there was a smack—smart, clear, and short. Gabriel 
felt his position to be anything but a safe one, and he resolved to descend. 

Not a drop of rain had fallen as yet. He wiped his weary brow, and looked again 
at the black forms of the unprotected stacks. Was his life so valuable to him, after 
all? What were his prospects that he should be so chary of running risk, when im- 
portant and urgent Jabour could not be carried on without such risk? He re- 
solved to stick to the stack. However, he took a precaution. Under the staddles was 
a long tethering-chain, used to prevent the escape of errant horses. This he carried 
up the ladder, and sticking his rod through the clog at one end, allowed the other 
end of the chain to trail upon the ground. The spike attached to it he drove in. 
pee the shadow of this extemporised lightning-conductor he felt himself compara- 

tively safe. 

Before Oak had laid his hands upon his tools again, out leapt the fifth flash, with 
the spring of a serpent and the shout of a fiend. It was green as an emerald, and the 

reverberation was stunning. What was this the light revealed to him? In the open 
ground before him, as he looked over the ridge of the rick, was a dark and ap- 
parently female form. Could it be that of the only venturesome woman in the parish 

_—Bathsheba? The form moved on a step; then he could see no more. 

‘Is that you, ma’am ?’ said Gabriel to the darkness. ~ 

‘Who is there ?’ said the voice of Bathsheba, 

‘Gabriel. I am on the rick, thatching.’ 

‘O Gabriel! and are you? I have come about them. The weather awoke me, 
and I thoaght of the corn. I am so distressed about it; can we save it anyhow? I 
cannot find my husband. Is he with you?’ 

‘He is not here.’ 

{ ‘Do you know where he is ?’ 
‘ Asleep in the barn.’ - 
k ‘He promised that the stacks should be seen to, and now they are all neglected! 
' CanI do anything to help? Liddy is afraid to come out. Fancy finding you here at 
such an hour! Surely I can do something ?’ 
‘You can bring up some reed-sheaves to me, one by cne, ma’am ; if you are not 
_ afraid to come up the ladder in the dark,’ said Gabriel. ‘Every moment 1s precious 
now, and that would save a good deal of time. It is not very dark when the light- 
_ ning has been gone a bit." 
_. ‘J?ll do anything!’ she said, resolutely. She instantly took a sheaf upon. her 
shoulder, clambered up close to his heels, placed it behind the rod, and descended for 
another. At her third ascent the rick suddenly brightened with the brazen glare of 
shining majolica; every knot in every straw was y==ble. On the slope in front of him 
appeared two human shapes, black as jet. The rick lost its sheen—the shapes va- 
nished. Gabriel turned his head. It had been the sixth flash which had come from 
the east behind him, and the two dark forms on the slope had been the shadows of 
himself and Bathsheba. 
Then came the peal. It hardly was credible that such a heavenly light could be 
the parent of such a diabolical sound. 
 ©How terrible!’ she exclaimed, and clutched him by the sleeve. Gabriel turned, 
and steadied her on her aérial perch by holding her arm. At the same moment, 
while he was still reversed in his attitude, there was more light, and he saw as it were 
a copy of the tall poplar tree on the hill drawn in black on the wall of the barn. It 
Was the shadow of that tree, thrown across by a secondary flash in the west. 


, 


“44 


—— 


332 -CYCLOPEDIA OF —  ____ [ro 1876, 
| ) 


_— 


The next flare came. Bathsheba was on the ground now, shouldering another 
sheaf, and she boreits dazzle without flinching—thunder and all—and again asceided 
with theload. ‘There was then asilence everywhere for four or five minutes, and 
the crunch of the spars, as Gabriel hustily drove them in. could again be distinctly 
peste: He thought the crisis of the storm had passed. But there caimea burst of 
ight. Sy 

‘Hold on!’ said Gabriel, taking the sheaf from her shoulder, and grasping her 
arm again. 

Heaven opened then, indeed. The flash was almost too novel for its inexpres- 
sibly dangerous niture to be at once realised, and Gabriel could only comprehend the 
magnificence of 1ts beauty. It sprang from east, west, north, south. It Was a per- 


fect dance of death. ‘The forms of skeletons appeared in the air, shaped with blue - 
fire for bones—dancing, leaping. striding, racing around, and mingling altogether in — 


unparalleled confusion. With these were intertwined undulating snakes of grecn, 


Behind these was a broad mass of lesser light. Simultancously came from every _ 


part of the tumbling sky what may be called a shout; since, though no shout.ever 
came near it, it was more of the nature of a shout than of anything else earthly. In 
the meantime one of the grisly forms had alighted upon the point of Gabriel’s rod, 
torun invisibly down it, down the chain, and into the earth. Gabriel was almost 
blinded, and he could feel Bathsheba’s warm arm tremble in his hand—a sensation 
novei and thrilling enough ; but love, life, everything human, seemed small and trifling 
in such close juxtaposition with an infuriated universe. 

~ Oak had hardly time to gather up these impressions into a thonght, and to see 


how strangely the red feather of her hat shone in this light, when the tall tree on the 
hill before mentioned seemed on fire to a white heat, and a new one among these — 


terrible voices mingled with the Jast crash of those preceding. It was a stupefying 
blast, harsh and pitiless, and it fell upon their ears in a dead. flat blow, without that 
reverberation which lends the tenes of a drum to more distant thunder. By the 
lustre reflected from every part of the earth, and from the wide domical scoop above 


it, he saw that the tree was sliced down the whole length cf its tall straight stem, a — 


huge riband of bark being apparently flung off. The other portion remained erect, 
and revealed the bared surface as a strip of white down the front. The lightnin 
had struck the tree. A sulphurous smell filled the air: then all was silent and black 
asacavein Hinnom. ‘ We had a narrow escape!’ said Gabriel. 


BRET HARTE. 
The American humorist and painter of wild life in the West (see 


ante), has recently produced a novel—his first complete novel—in — 


the regular three-volume shape, entitled ‘Gabriel Conroy’ (1876). It 


is not skilfully constructed either as to plot or dialogue, and has ~ 
less originality than the earlier sketches. It opens with the follow. — 


tng description: 


A Snow-storm in the California Sierras. 


Snow everywhere. As far as the eye could reach—fifty miles. looking southward — 


from the highest white peak—filling ravines and gulches, and dropping from the 


, ea 


walls of canons in white shroud-like drifts, fashioning the dividing ridge into the — 


likeness of a monstrous grave, hiding the bases of giant pines, and completely cov- 
ering young trees and larches, rimming with porcelain the bowl-like edges of still, 


cold lakes, and undulating in motionless white billows to the edge of the distant — 


horizon. Snow lying everywhere over the California Sierras on the 15th day of 


March 1848, and still falling. 


It had been snowing for ten days, snowing in finely granulated powder. in damp 


spongy flakes. in thin feathery plumes; snowing from a leaden sky steadily, snow- 


ing fiercely, shaken out of purple black clouds in white floccuent. masses, or drop= 


ping in Jong level lines, like white lances from the tumbled and broken heavens. But 


always silently! The woods were so choked with it, the branches were so Jaden 


with it—it had so permeated, filled, and possessed earth and sky; it had so cush- 


ioned and mufiled the ringing rocks and echoing hills, that all sound was deadened. — 


aes eae -  Se as 
ig . js . ; : 


if : 


marte.] = ENGLISH LITERATURE. 333 


_ ‘The strongest gust, the fiercest blast, awoke no sigh or complaint from the snow- 
soe ; 2, 

packed rivid files of forest. ‘There was no cracking of bough nor crackle of un- 

derbush ; the overladen branches of pine and fir yielded and gave way without a 
sound. The silence was vast, measureless, complete. 


Perhaps the best of all Bret Harte’s productions is his ‘ Luck of 

- Roaring Camp ’—so vivid, so original. The camp is one of Cali- 

fornia gold-diggers—a rough, wild crew, but not devoid of tender- 

ness. One wretched woman is among them, and she dies after giv- 

ing birth to a child. The child is brought up by the men, and be- 
comes the ‘ Luck’ and favourite of the camp. 

Strange to say, the child thrived. Perhaps the invigorating cli- 
mate of the mountain camp was compensation for material defi- 
ciences. Nature took the foundling to her broader breast. In that 
rare atmosphere of the Sierra foot-hills—that air pungent with bal- 
samic odour, that etherial cordial at once bracing and exhilerating— 
he may have found food and nourishment, or a subtle chemistry that 

_ transmuted asses’ milk to lime and phosphorus. Stumpy inclined to 
the belief that it was the latter and good nursing. ‘Me and that 
ass, he would say, has been father and mother to him! Don’t 
you,’ he would add, apostrophising the helpless bundle before him, 

- ‘never go back on us.’ - 

_. All went on prosperously till winter came with its floods, and then 

~ the ‘luck’ and light of the Roaring Camp perished: 


4 


Death and Destruction at the Diggings, 


™~ The winter of 1851 will long be remembered in the foot-hills. The snow lay deep 
on the Sierras, and every mountain-creek became a river, and every river a lake. 
Each gorge and gulch was transformed into a tumultuous water-course that descended 
the hill-sides. tearing down giant trees, and scattering its drift and débris along the 
plain. Red Dog had been twice under water, and Roaring Camp had been fore- 
warned.’ ‘Water put the gold into them gulches,’ said Stumpy. ‘It’s been here 
once, and will be here again!’ And that night the North Fork suddenly leaped over 
its banks, and swept up the trianguiar valley of Roaring Camp. 
" In the confusion of rushing water. crushing trees, and crackling timber, and the 
- darkness which seemed to flow with the water and blot out the fuir valiey, but little 
could be done to collect the scattered camp. When the morning broke, the cabin of 
_ Stumpy nearest the river-bank was gone. Higher up the gulch they found the body 
of its un'ucky owner; but the pride, the hope, the joy, the Luck of Roaring Camp 
had disappeared. They were returning with sad hearts, when a shout from the bank 
recalled them. 

It was a retief-boat from down the river. They had picked up, they said, a man 
and an infant, nearly exhausted, about two miles below. Did anybody know them, 
and did they belong here? 

It needed but a glance to shew them Kentuck lying there, cruelly crushed and 

~ bruised, but stil] holding the Luck of Roaring Camp in hisarms. As they bent over the 
strangely assorted pair, they saw that the child was cold and pulseless. ‘ He is dead,’ 
said one. Kentuck opened his eyes. ‘Dead?’ he repeated feebly. ‘ Yes, my man, 
and you are dying too.’ A smile lit the eyes of the exp ring Kentuck. ‘Dying,’ he 
repeated; ‘he’s a-taking me with him—tell the boys I’ve got the Luck with me 
now ;’ and the strong man, clinging to the frail babe as’ a drowning man is said to 
cling to a straw, drifted away into the shadowy river that flows forever to the un- 
known sea. © ; : ; ; 
The Chinese emigrants now form a large element in Californian 


society; and Bret Harte presents us with a type of the colony: 


~ 


. 
. 


- 


834 CYCLOPADIA OF [to 1876. 


John Chinaman. 


The expression of the Chinese face in the aggregate is neither chetrful nor happy. 
In an acquaintance of half a dozen years, I can only recall one or two exceptions to 
this rule. There is an abiding consciousness of degradation, 2 secret pain or self- 
humiliation visible in the lines of the mouth and eye. Whether it is only a modifi- 
cation of Turkish gravity, or whether it is the dread Valley of the Shadow of the 
Drug through which they are continually straying, I cannot say. They seldom smile, 
and their laughter is of such an extraordinary and_ sardonic nature—so purely a me- 
chanical spasm, quite independent of any mirthful attribute—that to this day I am 
doubtful whether I ever saw a Chinaman laugh. A theatrical representation by na- 
tives, one might think, would have set my mind at ease on this point ; but it didnot. 
Indeed, a new difficulty presented itselfi—the impossibility of determining whether the 
performance was a tragedy or farce. I thought I detected the low comedian in an 
active youth who turned two somersaults, and knocked everybody down on entering 
the stage. But, unfortunately, even this classic resemblance to the legitimate farce 
of our Civilisation was deceptive. Another brocaded actor, who represented the hero 
of the play, turned three somersaults, and not only upset my theory and his fellow- 
actors at the same time, but apparently ran amuck behind the scenes for some time 
afterward. I looked around at the glinting white teeth to observe the effects of these 
two palpable hits They were received with equal acclamation, and apparently equal 
facial spasms. One or two beheadings which enlivened the play produced the same 
sardonic effect, end left upon my mind a painful anxiety to know what was the seri- 
ous business of life in China. It was noticeable, however, that my unrestrained 
langhter had a discordant effect, and that triangular eyes sometimes turned omi- 
nously toward the ‘Fanqui devil;’ but as I retired discreetly before the play was 
finished, there were no serious results. I have only given the above as an instance of 
the impossibility of deciding upon the outward and superficial expression of Chinese 
mirth. Of its inner and deeper existence I have some private doubts. An audience 
that will view with a serious aspect the hero, after a frightful and agonising death, 
get up and quietly walk off the stage, cannot be said to have remarkable perceptions 
of the ludicrous. 

I have often been struck with the delicate pliability of the Chinese expression 
and taste, that might suggest a broader and deeper criticism than is becoming these 
pages. A Chinaman will adopt the American costume, and wear it with a taste of 
colour and detail that will surpass those ‘native, and to the manner born.’ To look 
at a Chinese slipper. one might imagine it impossible to shape the original foot to 
anything less cumbrous and roomy, yet a neater-fitting boot than that belonging to 
the Americanised Chinaman is rarely seen on this side of the Continent. When the 
loose sack or paletot takes the place of his brocade blouse, it is worn with a refine- 
ment and grace that might bring a jealous pang to the exquisite of our more refined 
civilisation. Pantaloons fall easily and naturally over legs that have known 
unlimited freedom and bagginess, and even garrote collars meet correctly around 
sun-tanned throats. The new expression seldom overflows in gaudy cravats. I will 
back my Americanised Chinaman against any neophyte of European birth in the 
choice of that article. While in our own state the Greaser resists one by one the 
garments of the northern invader, and even wears the livery of his conqueror with 
a wild and buttonless freedom, the Chinaman, abused and degraded as he is, changes 
by correctly graded transition to the garments of Christian civilisation. There is 
but one article of European wear that he avoids. These Bohemian eyes have 


never yet been pained by the spectacle of a tall hat on the head of an intelligent — 


Chinaman. 


My acquaintance with John has been made up of weekly interviews, involving the 


adjustment of the washing accounts, so that I have not been able to study his char- 
acter from a social view-point or observe him in the privacy of the domestic circle. I 
have gathered enough to justify me in believing him to be generally honest, faithful 

simple and painstaking. Of his simplicity let me record an instance where asad an 

civil young Chinaman brought me certain shirts with most of the buttons missing, 
and others hanging on delusively by a single thread. In a moment of un uarded 
irony I informed him that unity would at least have been preserved if the buttons 
were removed altogether. He smiled sadly and went away. I thought I had hurt 
his feelings, until the next week when he brought me my shirts with a look of intelli- 


ual 


; 
; 
’ 


se 


HARTE. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 335 — 


ence, and the buttons carefully and totally erased. At another time, to guard against 
1is general disposition to carry off anything as soiled clothes that he thought could 
hold water, I requested him to always wait until he saw me. Coming home late one 


_ evening, I found the household in great consternation, over an immovable celestial 


~who had remained seated on the front door-step during the day, sad und submissive, 
firm but also patient, and only betraying any animation or token of his mission when 
he saw me coming. This same Chinaman evinced some evidences of regard for a 
little girl in the family, who in her turn reposed such faith in his intellectual qualities 
as to present him with a preternaturally uninteresting Sunday-school book, her own 
property. This book John made a point of carrying ostentatiously with him in his 
weekly visits. It appeared usually on the top of the clean clothes, and was sometimes 
ea clasped outside of the big bundle of soiled linen. Whether John believed 
e unconsciously imbibed some spiritual life through its pasteboard cover, as the 
prince in the ‘ Arabian Nights’ imbibed the medicine through the handle of the mallet, 
or whether he wished to exhibit a due sense of gratitude, or whether he hadn’t any 
pockets, I have never been able to ascertain. In his turn he would sometimes cut 
marvellous imitation roses from carrots for his little friend. I am inclined to think 
that the few roses strewn in John’s path were such scentless imitations. The thorns 
only were real. From the persecutions of the young and old of a certain class, his 
life was a torment. I don’t know what was the exact philosophy that Confucius 
taught, but it is to be hoped that poor John in his persecution is still able to detect 
the conscious hate and fear with which inferiority always regards the possibility of 
even-handed justice, and which is the key-note to the vulgar clamour about servile 
and degraded races. 


WILLIAM BLACK 


WILLIAM BLACK, a native of Glasgow, born in 1841, has produced 
several original and highly successful novels. In 1868 appeared ‘In 
Silk Attire; in 1871, ‘A Daughter of Heth; in 1872, ‘The Strange 
Adventures of a Pheeton; in 1873, ‘Kilmeny’ and ‘Princess of 
Thule; in 1875, ‘The Maid of Killeena’ and ‘Three Feathers; in 
1876, ‘Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart, and other Stories;’ ‘Madcap 
Violet,’ &c. 


Scene in the Hebrides.— From ‘Princess of Thule.’ 


On a small headland of the distant island of Lewis, an old man stood looking out 
on a desolate waste of rain-beaten sea. It was a wild and a wet day. From out of 
the louring south-west, fierce gusts of wind were driving up volumes and flying rags 

-of cloud, and sweepirg onward at the same time the gathering waves that fell hissin 
and thundering on the shore. Far as the eye could reach, the sea and the air an 
the sky seemed to be ove indistinguishable mass of whirling and hurrying vapour— 
as if beyond this point there were no more land, but only wind and water, and the 
confused and awful voices of their strife. . 

The short, thick-set powerfully built man who stood on this solitary point, paid 
little attention to the rain that ran off the peak of his sailor’s cap, or to the gusts of 
wind that blew about his bushy gray beard. He was still following, with an eye ac- 
customed to pick out objects far at sea, one speck of purple that was now fading 
into the gray mist of the rain ; and the longer he looked the less it became, until the 
mingled sea and sky shewed only the smoke that the great steamer left in its wake. 
As he stood there, motionless and regardless of everything around him, did he cling 
to the fancy that he could still trace out the path of the vanished ship? A little while 
before, it had passed almost close to him. He had watched it steam out of Storno- 
way harbour. As the sound of the engines came nearer, and the big boat went by, 
so that he could have almost called to it, there was no sign of emotion on the hard 
and stern face—except, perhaps, that the lips were held firm, and a sort of frown ap- 

eared over the eyes. He saw a tiny white handkerchief being waved to him from 
he deck of the vessel; and he said, almost as though he were addressing some one 
there: ‘ My good little girl!’ 
- _ But in the midst of that roaring of the sea and the wind, how could any such 


~ { = he oy ete TC ee eee sizes * 
bo OS 


y* . “4 ? * er 
i i TE RO 
‘ ‘ < . 
4 + 


‘s + 


a 


336 GY.CLOPADTAVORE saa [ro 1876. 


message be delivered? And already the steamer was away from the land, standing 
out to the lonely plain of waters. and the sound of the engines had ceased, and the 
figures on the deck had grown faint and visionary. But still there was that one speck 
of white visible; and the man knew that a pair of eyes that had many a time looked 
into his own—as if with a faith that such intercommunion could never be broken— 
Were now trying through overflowing and blinding tears, to send him a last look of 
farewell. £3 

The gray mists of the rain gathered within their folds the big vessel, and all the 
beating hearts it contained; and the fluttering of that little token disappeared with 
it, All that remained was the sea whitened by the rushing of the wind, and the 
thund :r of waves on the beach, The man who had been gazing so long down into 
the south-east. turned his face landward, and set out to walk over a tract of wet 
grass and sand towards a road that ran near by. ‘There was a large wagonette of 
varnished oak, and a pair of simall powerful horses waiting for him there; and 
having dismissed the boy who had been in charge, he took the reins and got up. But 
even yet the fascination of the sea and of that sad farewell was upon him; and he 
turned once more as if, now that sight could yield him no further tidings, he would 
send her one more word of good-bye. ‘My poor little Sheila!’ that was all he said; 
and then he turned to the horses, and sent them on. with his head down to escape 
the rain, and a look on his face like that of a dead man. 

As he drove through the town of Stornoway, the children playing within the 
shelter of the cottage doors, called to each other in a whisper, and said: ‘That is 
the King of Borva.’” But the elderly people said to each other, with a shake of the 
head: ‘It is a bad day, this day, for Mr. Mackenzie, that he will be going home to an 
empty house. And it will be a ferry bad thing for the poor folk of Borva, and they 
will kaow a great difference, now that Miss Sheila is gone away, and there is nobody 
—not anybody at all—left in the island to tek the side of the poor folk.’ 

Ife looked neither to the right nor to the left, though he was known to many of 

he people—as he drove away from the town into the heart of the lonely and desolate 
land, The wind had so far died down, and the rain had considerably lessened; but 
the gloom of the sky was deepened by the drawing on of the afternoon, and lay heay- 
ily over the dreary wastes of moor and hill. What a wild and dismal country was 
that which lay before and all around him, now that the last traces of human occupa- ; 
tion were passed! There was not a cottage, not a stone wall, not a fence to break ) 
the monotony of the long undulations of moorland which, in the distance, rose into 

a series of hills that were black under the darkened sky. Down from these moun- 
tains. ages ago, glaciers had slowly crept to eat out hollows in the plains below ; and 
now in those hollows were lonely lakes, with not a tree to break the line of their 
Melancholy shores. Everywhere around were the traces of the glacier drift—great 
gray boulders of gneiss fixed fast into the black peat-moss, or set amid the browns 
and greens of the heather. Tue only sound to be heard in this wilderness of rock | 
and morass, was the rushing of various streams, rain-swollen and turbid, that plunged 
down their narrow channels to the sea. 

‘The rain now ceased altogether; but the mountains in the far south had grown 
still darker ; and to the fisherman passing by the coast, it must have seemed as though | 
the black peaks were holding converse with the louring clouds, and that the silent 
moorland beneath was waiting for the first roll of the thunder. The man who was 
driving along the lonely route sometimes cast.a glance down towards this threatening 
of astorin: but he paid little heed to it. ‘The reins lay loose on the backs of the 
horses; and at their own pace they followed, hour after hour, the rising and falling 
road that led throngh the moorland and past the gloomy lakes, He may have re- 
called mechanically the names of those stretchesof water—the Lake of the Sheiling, 
the Luke of the Oars, the Lake of the Fine Sand. and so forth—to measure the dis- 
tance .he had traversed ; but he seemed to pay little attention to the objects around 
him, and it was with a glance of surprise that he suddenly found himself overlook- 
ing that great sea-loch on the western side of the island in which was his home. 

He drove down the hill to the solitary little inn of Garra-na-hina. At the est 
muffled up in a warm woollen plaid, stood a young girl, fair-haired, blue-eyed, and 
diffident in look. ; 3 

‘Mr. Mackenzie,’ she said, with that peculiar and_pleasant intonation that marks 
the speech of the Hebridean who has been taught English in the schools; ‘it was 


rt 


4 


ir ° 
¥: 


BLACK.) ENGLISH LITERATURE ~, 337 


Miss Sheila wrote to me to Suainabost, and she said I might come down from Sua- 
inabost und sve if I can be of any help to you in the house.’ 

_— * Ay, ty good Juss,’ he said, putting his haud gently on her head, ‘ and it sas 
Sheila wrote to you?’ ‘ Yes, sir, und I hef come wown trom Suainabost. ‘It is a 
Jonely house you will be go.ng to,’ he said absently. * But Miss Sheila said I wass— 
T wass to’ but here the young girl failed in her effort to explain that Miss Sheila 
had asked her to go down to make tie Louse less loueiy. j 


Ldinburgh on a Summer Night.—From ‘Strange Adventures of @ 


Pheeton.’ 


In the gathering darkness we approach Edinburgh. How long the way seemed 
on this last night of our driving! ‘Lhe clear twilight taded away, and the skies over- 
head began to shew faint throbbings of the stars. A pale yellow glow on the horizon 
told us where the lights of Edinburgh were afire. The road grew almost indistin- 
guishalle; but overhead the great worlds became more visible in the deep vault of 
pdlue. In a perfect silence we drove along the still highway, between the dark 
hedges; and clearer and more clear became the white constellations trembling in the 
dark. ‘There lay King Charles’s wain as we had often regarded it from a boai at sea, 


as we lay idly on the lapping waves. The jewels on Cassiopeia’s chair glimmered 


faint and pale; and all the brilliant stars of the Dragon’s hide trembled in the dark. 
The one bright star of the Swan recalled many an evening in the olden times; and 
here, nearer at hand, Capella shone, and there Cepheus looked over the polar-star as 
from the distance of another universe. Somehow it seemed to us that, under the 
great and throbbing vault, the sea ouzht to be lyig clear and dark; but there were 
other masses we saw b-fore us, where the crags of Arthur’s Seat rose sharp and black 
into the sky. We ran in almost under the shadow of that silent mass of hill. We 
drew nearer to the town; and then we saw before us long and waving lines of red 
fire—the gas-lamps of a mighty street. We left ihe majesty of the night outside, 


and were soon in the heart of the great city. Our journey was at an end. 


We sat down at the window of a Princes Street hotel. What in all the journey 
was there to equal the magic sight that lay before us? Beyond a gulf of blacknegs 
the old town of Edinburgh rose with a thousand points of fire into the clear sky of 
asummer nigh. The tall houses with their eight or nine stories, had their innu- 
merable windows ablaze; and the points of orange light shone in the still blue 
shadow until they seemed to form part of some splendid and enchanted palace built 
on the slopes of a lofty hill. And then beyond that we could see the great crags of 
the castle looming dark in the starlight, and we knew, rather than saw, that there were 
walls and turrets up there. cold and distant. looking down on the yellow glare of the 
city beneath. What was Cologne. and the coloured lamps of its steamiers—as you see 
them cross the yellow waters of the Rhine when a full moon shines over the houses 
of Deutz—or what was Prague with its countless spires piercing the starlight, and its 
great bridge crossing over to the wooded heights of the Hradschin—compared to 


- this magnificent spectacle in the noblest city of the world? The lights of the dis- 


tant houses went out one by one. The streets became silent. Even the sturs grew 
paler, but why wasthat? <A faint light. golden and soft, began to steal along the 
Castle-hill; and the slow mild radiance touched the sharp slopes, the trees, and the 
great gray walls above, which were under the stars. 

*Oh, my dear,’ says Tita. quite gently to Bell, ‘we have seen nothing like that, 
not even in your own country of the Lakes!’ 


_ ANNE ISABELLA THACKERAY. 
Miss THACKERAY, eldest and only surviving daughter of the great 


novelist, has distinguished herself in the same department of litera- 


ture. Her principal works are—‘ The Story of Elizabeth,’ ‘The 


- Village on the Cliff,’ ‘Old Kensington,’ ‘Miss Angel; ‘To Esther, 


and other Sketches; ‘oilers and Spinsters,’ ‘Five Old Friends,’ 
‘Bluebeard’s Keys,’ &c. Miss Thackeray is a consummate artist. 


‘She makes no pretension to deep plot or sensation. Her novels are 


838 _. CYCLOPADIA OF -..___ + {10 1876. 


_— 


studies of character within rather confined limits, and with a certain — 
kind of teaching and moralising which may have been derived from 
her gifted father, but is modified in passing through a truly womanly 
temperament. She is a student; you see the influence of books, and 
can follow her methods and see them repeated so exactly that you 
can predict the results. “This was apparent in ‘ The Village on the 
Cliff,’ notwithstanding that Reine was original in conception; and it 
characterises her novel, ‘ Old Kensington,’ which is a resetting of 
the story of Angelica Kauffmann, the unfortunate painter, the friend 
of Reynolds and the rest of the distinguished people of that day, to 
many of whom we are here introduced. Miss Thackeray has 
succeeded remarkably in serious yet half-playful restorations of the 
old nursery tales, bringing out their purpose and moral by means of 
present-day characters skilfully chosen. | Some of these have been 
collected into a volume under the title of ‘ Five Old Friends with a 
New Face.’ As her first work, ‘The Story of Elizabeth,’ had 
appeared in the ‘Cornhill Magazine,’ and was republished in book 
form in 1863—the year of her father’s death—she may be said to 
have just made her advent in literature as he passed away from 
among us. The careful and exquisite finish of her works—even the 
slightest of them—is likely to render them lasting as well as popular. 


An English Country Sunday. 


The ideal Sunday should be spent at a country-house not many miles from Lon- 
don. We will call it Pleasance. You should come to it through fresh conntry lanes 
and commons and across broad fields where the cows are browsing. Pleasance 
should have a great hall through which the garden might shew, and from which the 
doors should lead into a library, a dining-room, a drawing-room, all with windows 
looking across the lawns and fields and green distant slopes and acres far away, 
gently rising and falling. There should be scattered here and there flocks and herds ~ 
to give life and animation to the green pastures andthe still waters, and close at hand 
a few great trees under which one or two people are strolling and enjoying the early 
spring. Allthe mists and shadows of London life are left behind, and lie in wait 
for them when they cross the river; here is only a bright winter’s morning, the song 
of birds piping among the bare branches and bushes, with sudden notes and cadences ~ 
of exceeding sweetness. In the ideal country-house there should be a farm-yard, 
with live toys for grown-up children: cocks that crow, hens sitting with their little 
bead-eyed yellow brood nestling round them. There should be cows that moo and 
shake their heads, and crop the grass with a pleasai:t crunch as you watch them in 
the meadow ; or stand meekly in their stalls when milking-time has come, with their ~ 
names, such as Cowslip, Daisy, Bluebell, painted over each pair of horns. ? 

In the morning, instead of hurrying through the streets and past the closed shops 
and gin-palaces, to a crowded church with high square pews and dingy windows and 
dust, and a fierce-looking pew-opener in a front, you wend your way quietly across — 
the fields, where the air is sweet with coming spring, and you pass by narrow swing- 
ing gates and under the elm-trees to the church door. As you enter, though it seems 
dim at first, and the stained glass windows temper the light, yet you have a sense of 
the pleasant sights and sounds beyond the walls of the great arch of the sky oyer-— 
head, of the birds joining in the chant, of the preacher without, telling in silent lan- 
guage of new hope, new life; of courage and endurance, of peace and beneficence 
_ and wisdom. There are still Sir Roger de Covyerleys, thanks be to Heaven! nowa- 
days, though perhaps they do not stand up and publicly rebuke the sleepy and inat- 
tentive; and as soon as Lady de Coverley sees you (for our Sir Roger is a married 
man), she finds room for you in her big pew, with a welcoming look, and makes you . 


‘ a & 
4 b. Det ’ 


_- . ~ 


MISS THACKERAY.} ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 339 


quite comfortable with hassocks and hymn-books, and psalters. Coming out of 
church, Lady de Coverley greets her acquaintance, and nods to the village children. 
There is a certain Amelia I know of, in little hobnailed shoes, who turus her back 
upon the congregation, and stands stock-still, tied up in a little flannel cape. Tuere 
is also a delightful little fat ploughboy in a smock, who smiles so pleasantly that we 
all begin to laugh in return. 

Youcross the fields again on your way back to Pleasance. The cows have scarcely 


‘moved. A huge pig that was grazing under a tree has shifted a little, and instead of 


a side-view now presents its tail. ihe farm-yard, as you pass on your way to the 
house, is all alive in the mid-day sunshine. ‘lhe Cochin-china cocks and hens, look- 
ing like enchanted princes and princesses, come ambling up to meet you, shaking 
out their soft golden plumage. The Spanish population, and the créve-cceurs, black 
robed, with crimson crests, are all in their respective countries, with beautiful sunset 
tints, purple, violet. green, and golden shewing among their feathers in the sunshine, 
There is great discussion going on among the Poles. Gallant generals, with spurs 
and cocked-hat and feathers, impatiently pace their confines; fiery young captains 
and aides-de-camp seem to be laying down the Jaw ; while the ladies, who also look 
very important, and are dressed in asemi-military costume, evidently join in the pro- 
ceedings with the keenest interest. As for the white ducks, what do they care for 
anything that is going on? Their Sunday is spent squatting on the grass in the field 
with the young Alderney calves. They see both sides of the world at once with their 
bright eyes, and do not trouble themselves for anybody. 

Some people like to go to church a second time; some go for a long walk in ths 
afternoon; they have only to choose. Park, and lawn, and common, hills, and dales, 
lie before them ; and though the distance begins to fade into the soft gray mist of an 
English March, yet even the mist is gentle and beautiful, and the air is moist and 


‘refreshing, and the brown turf yields under foot with a delightful spring. 


Old Kensington. 


A quarter of a century ago the shabby tide of progress had not spread to the 
quiet old suburb where Lady Sarah Francis’s brown house was standing, with its 
many windows dazzling as the sun travelled across the old-fashioned house-tops to 
set into a distant sea of tenements and echoing life. The-roar did not reach the old 
house. The children could listen to the cawing of the rooks. to the echo of the 
hours, as they struck on from one day to another, vibrating from the old brown 
tower of the church. At night the strokes seemed to ring more slowly than in the 


Gay. The church clock is silent now, but the rooks caw on undisturbed from one 


_8pring to another in the old Kensington suburb. There are tranquil corners still, 


and sunny silent nooks, andivy wreaths growing in the western sun ; and jessamines 
and vine-trees, planted by a former generation, spreading along the old garden walls. 
But every year the shabby stream of progress rises and engulfs one relic or another, 
carrying off many and many a landmark and memory. Last year only the old church 


_ Was standing in its iron cage at the junction of the thoroughfares. There was the 
old painting of the lion and the unicorn hanging from the gallery ; the light stream- 
_ Ing through the brown saints over the communion-table. In after-life, the children 


may have seen other saints more glorious in crimson and in purple, nobler piles and 
arches, but none of them have ever seemed so near to heaven as the old Queen Anne 
building; and the wooden pew with its high stools, through which elbows of straw 
were protruding, where they used to kneel on either side of their aunt, watching 
with awe-stricken faces the tears as they came falling from the widow’s sad eyes. 


~~. The sing-song of the hymn would flood the old church with its homely cadence: 


Prepare your glad voices ; 
Let Hisrael rejoice, 


sang the little charity children; poor little Israelites, with blue stockings and funny 
woollen knobs to their fustian caps, rejoicing though their pastures were not green as 
yet, nor was their land overflowing with milk and honey. However, they sang 
praises for others, as all people do at times, thanks be to the merciful dispensation 


that allows us to weep, to work, to be comforted, and to rejoice with one another’s 


hearts, consciously or unconsciously, as long as life exists, 


i 


340 CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876. 
Fishing Village in Normandy. 


We have all of us, in the course of life’s journeys, sometimes lived for a little 
while in places which were wearisome and monotonous to us at the time; which had 
little to attract or to interest; we may have left them w.thout regret, never even 
wishing to return. But yet, as we have travelled away, we may have found that, 
througu some subile and unconscious attraction, sigauts, sounds, and pecaliarines 
which we thought we had scarce y noticed, seem to be haunting us, as though un- 
williug to let us escape. Aud this peculiar distinctiveness and vividness does uot 
appear to wear out with time and distance. ‘the pictures are like those of a magic 
lantern, and come suddenly out of the dimness and darkness, staring into li.e when 
the lamp is lighted by some chance association; so clearly and sharply defined 
and coloured, that we can scarcely believe that they are only reflections from old 
slides which have been lying in our store for years past. 

Petiport in Normandy, a dull little fishing-town upon the coast, stands almost 
opposite to Ryde in tue Isle of Wight. The p.ace is quite uninteresting, the district 
is not beautiful, but broad and fertile, and sad and pleasant together. The country- 
folks are high-spirited and sometimes gay, but usually grave, as people are who live 
by the sea. They are a well-grown stately race, good-mannered, ready and shrewd 
in their talk and their dealings; they are willing to make friends, but they are at the 
same time reserved and careful of what they say. English people are little known at 
Petiport—one or two had stayed at the Chateau de ‘Tracy ‘dans le temps,’ they told 
me. But the strangers who come to lodge in the place for the sake of the sea-bath- 
ing and the fine sands, were froin Caen and Bayeux for the most part, and only re- 
mained during a week or two. 

Except just on féte-days and while the bathing time lasted, everything was very 


still at Petiport. Sometimes all the men would go away together in their boats, ~ 


leaving the women and children alone in the village. Iwas there after the bathing 
season was over, and before the first fishing fleet left. ‘lhe fishermen’s wives were 
all busy preparing provisions, making ready, sewing at war. clothes, and helping 
to mend the nets before their husbands’ departure. I could see them hard at work 
through the open doors, as I walked up the steep little village street. 

Five o’clock on a fine Sunday—western light streaming along the shore, low 
cliffs stretching away on either side, with tufted grasses and thin straggling flowers 


growing from the loose arid soil, far-away promontories, flashing and distant shores, 


which the tides have not yet overlapped, all shining in the sun. The waves swell 
steadily inwards. the foam sparkles when the rippl‘s meet the sands. The horizon 
is solemn dark blue. but a great streak of light crosses the sea; three white sails 
gleam, so do the white caps of the peasant women and the wings of the sea-gulls as 
they go swimming through the air. Holiday people are out in their Sunday clothes. 
They go strolling along the shore, or bathing and screaming to each other in the 
waters. The countrymen wear their blue smocks of a darker blue than the sea, and 
they walk by their wives and sweethearts in their gay-coloured Sunday petticoats. 
A priest goes by; a grand lady in frills, yellow shoes, red jacket. fly-away hat. and @ 
cane. Her husband is also in scarlet and yellow. Then come more women and Nor- 
seas caps flapping, gossipping together, and baskets, and babies, and huge ume 
rellas. 


MRS. MACQUOID—HESBA STRETTON, 


Mrs. KATHARINE 8. Macquorp has written many novels, but never 


surpassed her first, ‘ Hester Kirton,’ a story containing fine sketches 
of character. Her-other works are—‘ Diane,’ ‘ The Evil Kye,’ ‘ Petty.’ 
‘My Story,’ ‘ Lost Rose,’ &e. , also a pleasant volume, ‘Through Nor: 


mandy’ (1874).—Hesna Strerron is author of several tales—‘ The 


Doctor’s Dilemma,’ ‘ Hester Morley’s Promise,’ &c., and some excel- 
jent stories for children. A 


—- 


‘MRS. MACQUOID.] ENGLISI] LITERATURE. . 341 


FLORENCE MARRYAT—ELIZABETH WETHERELI—SARAH TYTLER— 
7 C. C, FRASER-TYTLER—MISS CRAIK—MRS. CHETWYND, &C. 


FLorRENcCE MARRYAT, daughter of the nautical novelist, has a coz 
pious list; ‘Mad Dumaresgq,’ ‘No Intentions,’ ‘Love's Conflict,’ 
~* Woman against Woman,’ ‘ Gerald Estcourt,’ ‘Too Good for Him,’ 
*Petronel,’ * Nelly Brooke,’ ‘ Veronique,’ ‘Her Lord and Master,’ 
‘Prey of the Gods,’ ‘'the Girls of Feversham,’ &c. ELizasperu 
WETHERELL has written a number of popular works of fiction— 
‘Daisy,’ ‘ Willow Brook,’ ‘ Sceptres and Crowns,’ ‘ Queechy,’ ‘ Wide 
Wide World,’ &c. A vivid and striking picture of the state of 
France in the time of the great Revolution is drawn in the novel en- 
titled ‘ Citoyene Jacqueline,’ by Saran TytLEerR. The violence and 
strife of that reign of terror is contrasted with the grace and delicacy 
of the inmates of a chateau, from which the heroine is taken to unite 
at last the higher and lower sections of the dramatis persone. Anoth- 
er semi-historical novel by the same author is entitled ‘ Lady Beil,’ 
Various other productions from her pen have enjoyed considerable 
popularity. Miss C. C. FRAser-TyYT er is author of ‘Mistress Ju- 
dith,’ ‘Jonathan,’ &c:; and Miss GrorGIANA CRAIK, ‘Sylvia’s 
Choice,’ ‘Teresa,’ &c. A novel evincing minute acquaintance with 
French domestic life, ‘The Hotel du Petit St. Jean,’ is by the Hon. 
_Mrs. Coetwynp, who is author of another tale, ‘ Vera.’ A younger 
aspirant, Marra M. Grant, has three novels—‘ Artiste,’ ‘ Bright 
- Siorning,’ ‘ Victor Lescar.’ 


-R. D. BLACKMORE—L. W. M. LOCKHART—JOHN SAUNDERS—JAMES 
; PAYN—R. FRANCILLON. 


Among the most successful portrayers of actual life is Mr. RrcHarpD 
DopprinGE BLAcKMoRE, author of ‘The Maid of Sker,’ ‘Lorna 
Doone,’ ‘ Alice Lorraine,’ ‘ Cripps the Carrier,’ &c. LAWRENCE W. 

M. Locxwanrt, late captain 92d Highlanders, has written two popular 
~novels—‘ Doubles and Quits ’ and ‘Fair to See.’ JOHN SAUNDERS 
is author of ‘Guy Waterman,’ ‘One Against the World,’ and ‘Israel 

Mort, Overman.’ The last has a rough strength and force which fixes 
the attention of the reader: Israel-Mort is a miner, who raises himself 
to be successively overman, manager, and owner of a mine. Mr. 

JAMES Payn has written several excellent works of fiction—‘ Lost Sir 
~Massingberd,’ ‘At Her Mercy,’ ‘The Best of Husbands,’ ‘ Walter’s 

Word,’ ‘Fallen Fortunes,’ ‘by Proxy,’ &c. Mr. R. FRANcILLon is 
“author of ‘ Olympia,’ ‘ Pearl and Emerald,’ ‘A Dog and his Shadow.’ 


SGEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA—EDWARD JENKINS—WALTER THORNBURY. 
One of the best imitators of Dickens was GEorcr AveuUSTUS SATA 
(born in London in 1828), whose contributions to ‘ Heasehold Words’ 
were highly amusing, and scarcely distinguishable from those of his 
. model. As special correspondent for the ‘ Daily Telegraph,’ Mr. Sala 


BY a 
x 
od 


342 ; CYCLOPEDIA OF. _ [ro 1876, 


has thrown off innumerable sketches of life and public events in 
foreign countries—in France, Italy, Spain, Russia, and America. A 
series of papers in the ‘ Cornhill Magazine’ (since published in one 
volume) on Hogarth, display familiarity with art as well as with his- 
tory and general literature, and constitute perhaps the most finished 
of Mr. Sala’s works. He is emphatically a ready writer and traveller, 
at home in most countries and most phases of life. 

Two stories by Mr. Epwarp JENKINS were written with a moral 
purpose—‘ Ginx’s Baby,’ 1870; and ‘ The Devil’s Chain,’ 1875. ‘I'he 
former exposes some of the defects in our social and charitable insti- 
tutions, while the latter assails the demon of intemperance, but is 
overcharged with horrors and painful incidents. Mr. Jenkins is the 
son of a clergyman who came to London from Canada about fifteen 
years ago. He is now oneof the members of parliament for Dun: 
dee—an active and liberal public man. 

One of the most versatile and indefatigable littérateurs—poet, 
novelist, art-critic, traveller, biographer, &c.—between 1845 and 1876, 
was Mr. WALTER THORNBURY (1823-1876), son of a London solicitor. 
His poetical works were—‘ Lays and Legends of the New World,’ 
1851; ‘Songs of Cavaliers and Roundheads,’ 1857; and ‘ Legendary - 
and Historic Ballads,’ 1875. His novels form a longer list: ‘ Every 
Man his own Trumpeter,’ 1858; ‘True as Steel,” 1863; ‘ Wildfire,’ 
1864; ‘Hauntéd London,’ 1865; ‘ Tales for the Marines,’ 1865; ‘ Great- 
heart,’ 1866; ‘The Vicar’s Courtship,’ 1869; and tales and sketches 
contributed to ‘Chambers’s Journal,’ ‘ Household Words,’ and ‘ All 
the Year Round.’ For some years Mr. Thornbury was art-critic to 
the ‘Atheneum, and he produced two volumes of sketches of 
‘ British Artists from Hogarth to Turner,’ besides a ‘ Life of Turner,’ — 
in two volumes, written under the supervision of Mr. Ruskin. His 
productions as a tourist and a traveller consist of two volumes en- 
titled ‘Art and Nature at Home and Abroad,’ ‘Life in Turkey,’ 
‘Life in Spain,’ and ‘ Experiences in the United States.’ In general 
literature, besides innumerable light articles, he wrote ‘ Monarchs of 
the Main,’ three volumes, being a history of the Buccaneers; ‘ Shaks-— 
pere’s England during the Reign of Elizabeth,’ &c. He worked on 
till within a few days of his death, which came suddenly; ‘the 
result,’ adds the ‘ Athenseum,’ ‘ of over-brainwork.’ 

Another victim to excessive literary labour and anxiety was Mr. 
Mortimer Coins, who died in 1876 at the early age of forty-nine. 
He was the author of several novels—‘ Sweet Anne Page,’ 1868; ‘ The 
Ivory Gate,’ 1869; ‘ Vivian Romance,’ 1870; ‘Marquis and Merchant,’ 
1871; &c. He published also a volume of ‘ Poems,’ and latterly was 
aregular and popular contributor to ‘ Punch,’ 


4] 


i 
‘a 
4 
ie 


HISTORIANS.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. r "B43 


eee ne ¥ 


HISTORIANS AND BIOGRAPHERS. 
SIR ARCHIBALD ALISON. 


At the close of the French revolutionary war, countless multitudes 
were drawn from every part of Europe to Paris to witness the meet- 
ing of the allied sovereigns in 1814. Among them was ‘one young 

man who had watched with intense interest the progress of the war 
from his earliest years, and who, having hurried from his paternal 
roof in Edinburgh on the first cessation of hostilities, then conceived 
the first idea of narrating its events, and amidst its wonders inhaled 
that ardent spirit, that deep enthusiasm which, sustaining him 
through fifteen subsequent years of travel and study, and fifteen 
‘more of composition, has at length realised itself in the present his- 
tory.’ The work thus characteristically referred to by its author, 
Mr. (afterwards Sir) ARCHIBALD ALISON, is ‘The History of Europe, 
from the Commencement of the French Revolution to the Restora- 
tion of the Bourbons,’ ten volumes, 1839-42, and which has since, in 
various forms, gone through nine editions. It has been translated 
into all European languages, and even into Arabic and Hindustani. 
A work so popular must have substantial merits, or must supply a 
want universally felt. Having visited most of the localities described, 
many interesting minute touches and graphic illustrations have been 
added by the historian from personal observation, or the statements 
of eye-witnesses on the spot; and he appears to have been diligent 
and conscientious in consulting written authorities. The.defects of 
the work are, however, considerable. The style is often careless, 
turgid, and obscure; and the high Tory prejudices of the author, 
‘with certain opinions on the currency question—the influence of 
which he greatly exaggerates—render him often a tedious as well as 
unsafe guide. His moral reflections and deductions are mostly super- 
-fluous, and quite unworthy of the author of the narrative portions of 
the history.* In a few instances he has been accused by his own 
Conservative friends of extracting military details from questionable 
sources, and forming rash judgments on questions of strategy. Thus 
he maintains that, in the great campaign of 1815, Napoleon ‘surprised, 
out-manceuyred, and out-generaled’ both Wellington and Blucher— 


*Mr. Disraeli touches scarcastically on these defects: ‘Finally, Mr. Rigby im- 
pressed on Coningsby to read the Quarterly Review with great attention; and to 
make himself master of Mr. Wordy’s History of the Late Warin twenty volumes, a 
capital work, which proves that Providence was on the side of the Tories.’—Con- 
frgsby, Book III. c. 2. 


-+ 


a 


B44 CYCLOPADIA OF  fro'1876, 


a pesition which does not seem well supported, but which at least - 
evii.ces the historian’s determination to think for himself, and not to 
sacrifice his convictions to party. In describing the causes which 
led to the French Revolution, he also enumerates fairly the enor- 
mou; wrongs and oppressions under which the people laboured; but - 
With singuiar inconsistency he adds, that the immediate source of the 
convulsion was the spirit of innovation which oversprcad France, 
Carlyle more correctly assigns famine as the ‘immediate’ cause—the 
unprecedented scarcity and dearness of provisions; but, of course, 
a variety of other elements entered into the formation of that great 
convulsion. Some of the features of the Revolution are well drawn 
by Alison. The small number of persons who perpetrated the atroci- _ 
ee ac onl and the apathy of the great body of the citizens, he thus _ 
escribes: 


The French Revolutionary Assassins. 


The small number of those who perpetrated these murders in the French capital 
under the eyes,of the legislature, is one of the most instructive facts in the history of — 
revolutions. Marat had long before said, that with two hundied assassins at a louis 
a day. he would govern France, and cause three huudred thousand heads to fall; and 
the events of the 2d September seemed to justify the opinion. The number of those 
actually engaged in the massacres did not exceed three hundred: and twice as many — 
more witnessed and encouraged their proceedings ; yrt this handful of men governed — 
Paris and France, with a despotism which three hundred thousand armed warriors — 
afterwards strove in vain to effect. The immense majority of the well-disposed citi- — 
zens, divided in opinion, irresolute in conduct, and dispersed in different quarters, - 
were incapable of arresting a band of assassins, engaged in the most atrocious cruel- — 
ties of which modern Europe has yet afforded an example—an important warning to the 
strenuous and the vood in every succeeding age, to combine for defence the nioment — 
that the aspiring and the desperate have begun to agitate the public mind, and never ~- 
to trust that mere smallness of numbers can be relied on for preventing reckless am- — 
bition fram destroying irresolute virtue. It is not less worthy of observation, that — 
these atrocious massacres took place in the heart of a city where above fifty thousand — 
men were enrolled in the National Guard, and had arms in their hands; a force spe- 
cifically destined to prevent insurrectionary movements, and support, under all — 
changes, 1he majesty of the law. They were so divided in opinion. and the revolu- — 
tionists composed so large a part of their number, that nothing whatever was done — 
by them, either on the 10th August, when the king was dethroned, or the 2d Septem- — 
ber. when vhe prisoners were massacred. This puts in a forcible point of view the © 
weakness cf such a force, which, being composed of citizens, is distracted by their — 
feelings, and actuated by their passions. In ordinary times, it may exhibit an ime — 
posing array, and be adequate to the repression of the smaller disorders: but it is ; 


paralysed by the events which throw society into convulsions, and generally fails at 
she decisive moment when its aid is most required. 


Another specimen of the author's style of summary and reflection _ 
may be given: | 
The Reign of Terror. i | 


Thus terminated the Reign of Terror. a period fraught with greater political in=_ 
struction thaa any of equal duration which has existed since the beginning of the » 
world, Jn no former period had the efforts of the people so completely triumphed, 
or the higher ord -rs been so thoroughly crushed by the lower. The throne had keen — 
overturned. the altar destroyed. the aristocracy levelled with the dust: the nobles — 
were in exile, the clergy in captivity. the gentry in affliction. A merciless sword had — 
waved over the state, destroying alike the dignity of rank, the splendour of talent, 
and the graces of Deauty. All that excelled the labouring classes in situation, for- 


; 


~~ 


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aN eehP nese sy Spe Se ee ate st >. - ma 


re. i Vets BR 4.) 4 ; Be ; 58 tee Weta: 


"ENGLISH LITERATURE, © 5: 82% 


tune or acquirement, had been removed; they had triumphed over their oppressors, 
‘seized their possessions, and risen into their stations. And what was the conse- 

quence? ‘The establishment of a more cruel and revolting tyranny than any which 
F mankind had yet witnessed ;-the destruction of all the charities and enjoyments of 
_ life ; the dreadful spectacle of streams of_blood flowing through every part of France, 
The éarliest friends, the warmest advocates, the firmest supporters of the people, 
were swept off indiscriminately with their bitterest enemies; in the unequal strug- 
gle virtue and philanthropy sunk under ambition and violence, and society returned 
_.toa state of chaos, when all the elements of private or public happiness were secat- 
- tered to the winds. Such are the results of unchaining the passions of the multi- 

tudes such the peril of suddenly admitting the light upon a _benighted people. 
_ The extent to which blood was shed in France during this melancholy period, will 
hardly be credited by future ages. The Republican Prudhomme, whose preposses- 
_ sions led him to anything rather than an exaggeration of the horrors of the popular 
_ party, has given the following appalling account of the victims of the Revolution: 


Nobles, saibuitd ta : ; : . ° : 4 - . 1,28 


Noble women, ; ° ° si ef nd bn pret eh? fa 750 
Wives of labourers and. artisans,™.- . . ‘. « « 1,467 
*« Religienses, . pie i Nero te ig tel a at as ye 350 
> . -Priests, pes Rieke. age aS Te le. Oak cet) «2d, LSD 
Ss Common Persons, not noble, 4 : 3 5 : ) = 18,623 
” Guillotined by sentence of the Revolutionary Tribunal, . . 18,603 18,603 
‘fe Women died of premature childbirth, Ses ht tte ee see 3,400 
Serer a OOuGairen sO Priel 2 Oe ee 348 
-- Women killed in La Vendée, eae of eave F ot Fike erties 15,000 
eee Gilden Killed in La-Vendée;. +. 6. ee es we 22,000 
: Men slain in La Vendée, é ‘ ° ‘ ° ete aah ae - 900,000 
Victims under Carrier at Nantes, .. tar the ns 32,000 
3 ---( Children shot, EY relde oes hme kay feet Sart ey 7s ff O00 


Childred drowned, . i : : 5 : : - 1,500 
Women shot, . 3 - goer = . P fs . 264 

Women drowned, . A A 4 sipiee 3 é 500 

Priests shot, . : ~ 5 » ‘ ° ; Z - 3800 

Priests drowned, oe eo RSET toe be a : 460 

Nobles drowned, . : : A : ~ : . - 1,400 

Artisans drowned, . : 3 * 5 5 5 . - 5,800 
-. . Victims at Lyon, . ° . e ° . . e . . . 31,000 


ULMER ee Beh ak Se eel (int a eG tay oti DOD ABE 


( In this enumeration are not comprehended the massacres at Versailles, at the 
Abbey, the Carmes, or other ~-isons on September 2, the victims of the Glaciare of 
Avignon, those shot at Toulon and Marseille, or the persons slain in the little town 
of Bedoin, of which the whole population perished. It is in an especial manner re 
markable in this dismal catalogue, how large a proportion of the victims of the 
__ Revolution were persons in the middling and lower ranks of life. The priests and 
nobles guillotined are only 2413, while the persons of plebeian origin exceed 13.000! 
’ The nobles and priests put to death at Nantes were only 2160; while the infants 
» drowned and’ shot are 2000, the women 764. and the artisans 5300! So rapidly in 
~ revolutionary convulsions does the career of crueity reach the lower orders, and so 

wide-spread is the carnage dealt out to them, compared with that which they have 
_ sought to inflict on their superiors. The facility with which a faction, composed of 

a few of the most audacious and reckless of the nation. triumphed over the immense 
_ mInajority of their feliow-citizens, and led them forth like victims to the sacrifice, is 
not the least extraordina: y or memorable part of that eventful period. The bloody 
_ faction at Paris never exceeded a few hundred men; their talents were by no means 
-of the highest order. nor their weight in society considerable; yet they trampled 
* under foot all the influential classes, ruled mighty armies with absolute sway, kept 
_ 200.000 of their fellow-citizens in captivity, and daily led out several hundred persons, 
- of the best blood in France, to execution. Such is the effect of the unity of action 


Bet te es 


Of whom . 


846 : CYCLOPEDIA OF oe _ [To 1876, 
which atrocious wickedness produces; such the ascendancy which in periods-of = 
anarchy is acquired by the most savage and lawless of the people. The peaceable 
and inoffensive citizens lived and wept in silence; terror crushed every attempt at ~ 
combination; the extremity of grief subdued even the firmest hearts. lu despair at 

- effecting any change in the general sufferings, apathy universally prevailed, the 
people sought to bury their sorrows in the delirium of present enjoyents, and the 
theatres w_re never fuller than during the whole duration of the Keign of Terror. - 
Tguorance of human nature can vAlone lead us to ascribe this to any pectiliarity in the. - 
French character; the same effects have been observed in. all parts and ages of 
the world, as invariably attending a state of extreme and long-continued distress. 

"i he death of Hebert ane the anarchists was that of guilty depr avity ; ; that ot Robes- 
pierre and the Decemvirs, of sanguinary fanaticism; that of Danton and his confed-— 
erates, of stoical infidelity; that of Madame Roland aud the Girondists, of deluded 
virtue; that of Louis and his family, of religious forgiveness. The moralist will 
contrast the different effects of virtue and wickedness in the last moments of life ; 
the Christian will mark with thankfulness the superiority in the supreme hour to the 
sublimest efforts of human virtue, which was evinced by the believers in his own 
faith. 


A continuation has been made to this work—‘The History of 
Europe from the fall of Napoleon in 1815 to the Accession of Louis 
Napoleon in 1852,’ eight volumes, 1852-59. The author, however, : 
had not exercised much care in this compilation. It is hastily and 
inaccurately written, and is disfigured by blunders, omissions, and in- _ 
consistencies. Some of the author’s vpinions or crotchets are pushed to — 
a ridiculous extreme, as his delusion that most of the political changes ~ 
of the previous thirty years—the abolition of the corn-laws, Catholic 
emancipation, and parliamentary reform—may all be traced to the act ~ 
of 1826 which interdicted the further issue of the £1 and £2 bank- 
notes! The diffuse style of narrative which was felt as a drawback 
on the earlier history, is still more conspicuous in this continuation— 
no doubt from want of time and care in the laborious work of condensa- 
tion. The other writings of our author—exclusive of pamphlets on ~ 
Free-trade and the Currency—are a ‘ Life of Marlborough,’ 1847 (after- 
wards greatly enlarged in the second edition, 1852), and ‘ Essays, Po- 
litical, Historical, and Miscellaneous,’ three volumes, 1850, These 
essays were originally published in ‘Blackwood’s Magazine,’ to which 
their author was a frequent contributor. The other works of Sir Archi-. 
bald are—‘ Principles of Population,’ 1840; ‘Free Trade and Protec-. 
tion,’ 1844 ‘ Engiand in 1815 and in 1845,’ &e. 

Srr ARCHIBALD ALISON was the eldest son of the Rev. Archibald ; 
Alison, author of the ‘ Essay on Taste,’ &c.. His mother was Doro- 


» 


eo ee 


ron 


. 


thea, daughter of Dr. John Gregory of Edinburgh. He was +. 
born at Kenley i in Shropshire in 1792. His father having i in 1800’re- 
moved to Edinburgh to officiate in the Episcopal Chapel in the Cow-- 5 
gate, Archibald studied at Edinburgh University, was admitted tothe 
bar in 1814, and in 1834 was appointed sheriff of Lanarkshire. He — 

ri 


had distinguished himself professionally by his ‘ Principles of the — 
Criminal Law of Scotland,’ 1832, and his ‘ Practice of the ‘ Criminal b | 
Law,’ 1833. He was successively Lord Rector of Marischal College, _ 
Aberdeen, and Glasgow RNs and subsequently the title oie 


Sa 


“a 


prescoTr} ENGLISH LITERATURE. 84: 


~_D.C.L. was conferred upon him by the university of Oxford. In 1853 
_ he was created a baronet by Lord Derby’s administration. He died 
onthe 28d of May 1867. . 

; | W. H. PRESCOTT. 


__. The celebrated American historian, WrLL1AM Hickimne PREscorT, 
~ was born at Salem, Massachusetis, May 4, 1796. His father was an 
—eminent judge and lawyer. While a student in Harvard College, a 
_ slight accident threatened to deprive the future historian of sight, and 
in the result proved a severe interruption to his studies. One of his 
_ fellow-collegians threw a crust of bread at him, which struck one of 
his eyes, and deprived it almost wholly of sight, while the other was 
sympathetically affected. He travelled partly for medical advice, 
and visited England, France, and Italy, remaining absent about two 
| ears. On his return to the United States, he married and settled in 
_ Boston. His first literary production was an essay on ‘ Italian Narrative 
~ Poetry,’ contributed in 1824 to the ‘North American Review,’ in 
~ which work many valuable papers from his pen afterwards appeared. 
_ Devoting himself to the literature and history of Spain, he fixed 
-_upon the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, and commenced his his- 
- tory of that period. He had only, however, commenced his task 
when his eye gave way, and he enjoyed no use of it again for read- 
_ ing for several years. His literary enthusiasm, however, was too 
strong to be subdued even by this calamity ; he engaged a reader, dic- 
tated copious notes, and from these notes constructed his composi. 
_ tion, making in his mind those corrections which are usually made 
inthe manuscript. Instead of dictating the work thus composed, 
he used a writing-case made for the blind, which he thus describes : 
 *TIt consists of a frame of the size of a piece of paper, traversed by 
brass wires as many as lines are wanted on the page, and with a sheet 
_ of carbonated paper, such as is used for getting duplicates, pasted on 
— the reverse side. With an ivory or agate stylus the writer traces his. 
characters between the wires on the carbonated sheet, making indel- 
ible marks which he cannot see on the white page below.’ In this 
way the historian proceeded with his task, finding, he says, his writ- 
_ ing-case his best friend in his lonely hours. Thesightof hiseye par- 
_ tially returned, but never sufficiently to enable him to use it by candle- 
light. 
= In 1887 appeared his history of ‘ Ferdinand and Isabella,’ in three 
- volumes, and the work was eminently successful on both sides of 
* the Atlantic. In 1843, ‘The Conquest of Mexico,’ three volumes, 
* and in 1847, ‘The Conquest of Peru,’ two volumes, still further 
~ extended Mr. Prescott’s reputation, and it is calculated that latterly 
he received from £4000 to £5000 a year from the sale of his writings. 
- The successful historian now made a visit to England, and was 
< received with the utmost distinction and favour, the university of 
_ Oxford conferring upon him the henorary degree of LL.D, In 
7 


a ee Te 


’ 
- 


343 : ~CYCLOPEDIA OF — , > [10 1676, | 


1854 his ‘ History of Philip Il.’ was ready for the press, and he was 
to receive £1000 for each volume of the work, which, it was sup- _ 
yosed, would extend to six volumes. A decision of the House of 
Lords, however, annulled this bargain. it was found that no 
American, not domiciled in England at the time of the publication 
of his book, could claim the benefit of our copyright laws. * If Mr. 
Prescott had thought proper to have resided in England during, and 
for a certain time before and atter the publication of the book, he ~ 
might have reaped the full benefit of its great success on both sides 
of the Atlantic. But he would not take this course. At a great 
pecuniary sacrifice, he preferred to present to the world one signal 
example more of the injustice to which the writers of England and 
America are exposed by the want of a reasonable system of interna-—— 
tional copyright—a want for which the American legislature 
appears to be wholly responsible.’** Two volumes of ‘Philip I.’ 
appeared in 1855, and the third volume in 1858. _1n the interval the 
author had experienced a shock of paralysis, and another shock on _ 
he 28th of January 1859 proved fatal. When sitting alone in his — 
library, the historian was struck down by this sudden and terrible — 
agent of death, and in less than two hours he expired. His remains — 
were followed to the grave by a vast concourse of citizens and 
mourners, ne 
As an historian, Prescott may rank with Robertson as a master of — 
the art of narrative, while he excels him in the variety and extent 
of his illustrative researches. He was happy in the choice of his’ — 
subjects. The very names of Castile and Arragon, Mexico and — 
Peru, possess a romantic charm, and the characters and scenes he ~— 
depicts have the interest and splendour of the most gorgeous fiction. 
To some extent the American historian fell into the error of Robert- 3 
son in palliating the enormous cruelties that marked the career of 
the Spanish conquerors; but he is more careful in citing his authori- — 
ties, in order, as he says, ‘ to put the reader in a position for judging — 
for himself, and thus for revising, and, if need be, for reversing the 
judgments of the historian.’ 


v 


a. 
¥ 


View of Mexico from the Summit of Ahualeo. 


Their progress was now comparatively easy, and: they marched forward witha 
buoyant step, as they felt they were treading the soil of Montezuma. a 
‘hey had not advanced far when, turning an angle of the sierra, they suddenly 
cane on a view which more than compensated the toils of the preceding day. Itavas 
that of the valley of Mexico, or ‘lenochtitlan, as more commonly called by the nas 
tives; which, with its picturesque assemblage cf water, woodland and cultivated 
plains, its shining cities und shadowy hills, was spread out like some gay and got- 
geous panorama before them. In the high!y rarefied atmosphere of these wpper re- 
gions even remote objects have a brilliancy of colouring and a distinctness of outline 
~ which seem to annihilate distance. Stretching far away at their feet were seen nc 
ble torests of oak, sycamore and cedar, and beyond yellow fields of maize, and th 
: Se 


~ 


fe 
: 
% 


| 
; 


* Memoir of Prescott, by Sir William Stirling Maxwell, in Encyclopedia Britanntea. 


+ 


i oP Ny? hy ype 


x + 


+ é Pe 
. : 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 349 


iowering maguey, intermingled with orchards and blooming gardens; for flowers, in 
such demand for their religious festivals, were even more abundant in this populous 
 yaliey than in other parts of Anahuac. Jn the centre of the great basin were beheld 
the lukes, occupying then a much larger portion of its surface than at present, their 
borders thickly studded with towns and tamiets; end m the midst—like some In- 
dian empress with her coronal of pearls—the fair city of Mexico, with her white~ 
towers und pyramidal temples, reposing, as it were, on the bosom of the waters— 
- the far-famed * Venus of the Aztecs.’ High over all rose the royal hill of Chapol- 
 tepec. the residence of the Mexican monarchs, crowned with the same grove of 
- gigantic cypresses which at this day fling their broad shadows over the land. In the 
distance, beyond the blue waters of the take, and nearly screened by intervening fo- 
 liage, was seen & shining speck, the rival capital of ‘Tezcuco; and still further on, the 
dark belt of porphyry, girdling the valley around, like a rich setting which nature had 
devised for the fairest of her Jewels. Such was the beautiful vision which broke on 
_ the eyes of the conquerors. Aud even now, when so sad a change has come over the 
scene; when the stately forests have been laid low, and the soil, unsheltered from 
the fieree radiance of a tropical sun, is in many places abandoned to sterility ; when 
__ the waters have retired, leaving a broad and ghastly margin white with the incrusta- 
~ tion of salts, while the cities and hamlets on their borders have mouldered into ruins, 
_ even now that desolation broods over the landscape, so indestructible are the lines of 
beauty which nature has traced on its features, that no traveller, however cold, can 
_ gaze on them with any other emotions than those of astonishment and rapture. 

; What, then, must have been the emotions of the Spaniards, when, after working 
their toilsome way into the upper air, the cloudy tabernacie parted before their eyes, 
~-and they beheld these fair scenes in al! their pristine magnificence and beauty! It 
was like the spectacle which greeted the eyes of Moses trom the summit of Pisgah, 
- audin the warm glow of their feelings they cried out: ‘It is the promised land!’ 


fee) 


Lene 


\ et 


lr om 


& 


Storming the Temple of Mexico, 


a _ Cortés, having cleared a way for the assault, sprung: up the lower stairway, fol- 
— lowed by Alvarado, Sandoval, Ordaz, and the other gallant cavaliers of his little 
i 


band, leaving a file of arquebusiers and a strong corps of Indian allies to hold the 
enemy in check at the foot of the monunient. On the first landing, as well as on the 
several galleries above, and on the summit, the Aztec warriors were drawn up to dis- 
pute his passage. From their elevated position they showered down volleys of 
ighter missiles, together with heavy stones, beams and burning rafters. which, 
thundering along the stairway, overturned the ascending Spaniards, and carried 
desolation through their ranks. The more fortunate, eluding or springing over 
these obstacle2, succeeded in gaining the first terrace, where, throwing themselves 
on their enemies, they compelled them, after a short resistance, to fall back. The 
assailants pressed on, effectually supported by a brisk fire of the musketeers from 
below, which so much galled the Mexicans in their exposed situation, that they were 
_ glad to take shelter on the broad summit of the teocalli. 
~~. Cortés and his comrades were close upon their rear, and the two parties soon 
found themselves face to face on_this aérial battle-field. engaged in mortal combat in 
— presence of the whole city, as well as of the troops in the courtyard, who paused, as 
- if by mutual consent, from their own hostilities, gazing in silent expectation on the 
issue of those above. The area, though somewhat smaller thanthe base of the teo- 
Galli, was large enough to afford a fair field of fight for a thousand combatants. It 
"was paved with broad flat stones, No impediment occurred over its surface, except 
the huge sacrificial block, and the temples of stone whieh rose to the height of forty 
~ feet, at the further extremity of the arena. One of these had been consecrated to the 
gross; the other was sti!l occupied by the Mexican war-god, The Christian and the 
_ Aztec contended fcr their religions under the very shadow of their respective shrines; 
 whilethe Indian priests, rmnning to and fro, with their hair wildly streaming over 
- their sable mantles, seemed hovering in mid-air, like so many demons of darkness 
urging on the work of slaughter. 

__ ‘Vke parties closed with the desperate fury of men who had no hope but in victory. 
_ Quarter was neither asked nor given; and to fly was impossible. The edge of the 
' area was unprotected by parapet or battlement. The least slip would be fatal; and 
_ the combatants, as they struggled in mortal agony, were sometimes seen to roll over 
-_ 


ee F : 


tte, 


Ra eRe te oe 


rah ats 


— 
i 


. ae 


*y 


or, 


4 


350  CYCLOPASDIA OF — 


on him, and were dragging him violently towards the brink of thy pyramid. Aware — 


_ from every obstacle, and singing songs of triumph as they came, ‘ which in our ears,’ 


=e ier” 


the sheer sides of the precipice together. Cortés himself is said t4 Lave had a nare 
row escape from this dreadful fate.. ‘Two warriors, of strong mus41'ur crames, seized 


of their intention, he struggled with all his force, and, before they could accomplish — 
their purpose, succeeded in tearing himself from their grasp, and hurling one of them _ 
over the walis with his own arm. ‘The story is not improbable in itself, for Cortés — 
was a man of uncommon agility and strength. It has been often repeated, but not — 
by contemporary history. > ay 
The battle lasted with unintermitting fury for three hours. The number of the ~ 
enemy was double that of the Christians ; and it seemd as if it were a contest which — 
must be determined by numbers and brute force, rather than superior science. Bnt~ 
it was notso. ‘he invulnerable armour of the Spaniard, his sword of matchless tem-+ — 
per, and his skill in the use of it, gave him advantages which far outweighed the odds — 
of physical strength and numbers. After doing all that the courage of despair cou!d — 
enable men to do, resistance grew fainter and fainter on the side of the Aztecs. One — 
after another they had failen. ‘Two or three priests only survived to be led away in ~ 
triumph by the victors. Every other combatant was stretched a corpse on the ~ 
bloody arena, or had been hurled from the giddy heights. Yet the loss of the Span= — 
jards was not inconsiderable: it amounted to forty-five of their best men ; and nearly 
all the remainder were more or less injured in the desperate conflict. ae 
The victorious cavaliers now rushed towards the sanctuaries. The lower story 
was of stone, the two upper were of wood. Penetrating into their recesses, they had — 
the mortification to find the image of the Virgin and Cross removed. But in the 
other edifice they still beheld the grim figure of Huitzilopotchli, with his censer of 
smoking hearts, and the walls of his oratory reeking with gore—not improbably of — 
their own countrymen. With shouts of triumph the Christians tore the uncouth 
monster from his niche, and tumbled him, in the presence.of the horror-struck — 
Aztecs, down the steps of the teocalli. They-then set fire to the accursed building. — 
The flame speedily ran up the slender towers, sending forth an ominous light over 
city, lake, and valley, to the remotest hut among the mountains. It was the funeral — 
Vhs of paganism, and proclaimed the fall of that sanguinary religion which had so ~ 
ong hung like a dark cloud over the fair regions of Anahuac. ae 


Fatal Visit of the Inca to Pizarro and his Followers in the City of Caxa-— 
malea. Cae ve, =f aa 


It was not long before sunset when the van of the royal procession entered the gate 3 
of the city. First came some hundreds of the menials, employed to clear the path 


"i 


says one of the conquerors, ‘sounded like the songs of hell!’ Then followed other 
bodies of different ranks, and dressed in different liveries. Some wore a showy stuff; 
checkered white and red, like the squares of a chess-board; others were clad in pure 
white, bearing hammers or maces of silver or copper; and the guards, together with” 
those in immediate attendance on the prince, were distinguished by arich azure livery 
and a profusion of gay ornaments, while the large pendants attached to the ears in=— 
dicated the Peruvian noble, Ja 
Elevated high above his vassals came the Inca Atahuallpa. borne on a sedan or 
open litter, on which was a sort of throne made of massive gold of inestimable value. 
The palanquin was lined with the richly coloured plumes of tropical birds, and stud= 
ded with shining plates of gold and silver. Round his neck was suspended a collar” 
of emeralds, of uncommon size and brilliancy. His short hair was decorated with” 
olden ornaments, and the imperial bor/a encircled his temples, The bearing of th 
nca was sedate and dignified ; aud from his lofty station he looked down on the multi-” 
tudes below with au air of composure, like one accustomed to command. oe | 
As the Jeading files of the procession entered the great square, larger says an ald 
chronicler, than any square in Spain, they opened to the right and left for the royal 
retinue to pass. Everything was conducted with admirable order. The monarch 
was permitted to traverse the plaza in silence, and not a Spaniard was to beseeD. 
When some five or six thousand of his people had entered the place, Atahuallpa 
nailed, and turning round with an inquiring look, demanded, ‘Where are the str. 
gers : i. 
», At this moment Fray Vicente de Valverde, a Dominican friar, Pizarro’s cha) 


‘ 


.]_- ENGLISH LITERATURE. pg OL 


d afterwards bishop of Cuzco, came forward with his- breviary, or, as other ac- 
‘counts say, 2 Bible, in one hand, and a crucifix in the other, and anproaching the 
Tnea, toid him that he came by order of his commander to expound to him the doc- 
frines of his true faith, for which purpose the Spaniards had come from a great dis- 
tance to his country. ‘The friar then explaiucd, as clearly as he could, the mysterious 
‘doctrine of the ‘irmity, and, ascending high in his account, began with the creation 
of man, thence passed to his fall, to his subsequent redemption by Jesus Christ, to 
he crucifixion, and the ascension, when the Saviour left the apostle Peter as his 
postle good and wise men. who, under the title of popes, held authority oyer all 
_ powers und potentates on earth. One of the last of these popes had commissioned 
the Spanish emperor, the most mighty monarch in the world, to conquer and convert 

the natives in this western hemisphere: and his general, Francisco Pizarro, had now 
‘come to execute this important mission. ‘lhe friar concluded with beseeching the 
Peruvian monarch to receive him kindly; to abjure the errors of his own faitii, and 
embrace that of the Christians now proffered to him, the only one by which he 
could hope for salvation ; and, furthermore, to acknowledge himself a tributary of 
the Emperor Charles the Fifth, who, in that event, would aid and protect him as his 
Joyal vassal.. 

_ Whether Atahuallpa possessed himself of every link in the curious chain of argu- 
ent by which the monk connected Pizarro with St. Peter, may be doubted. It is 
ertain, however, that he must have had very incorrect notions of the Trinity, if, as 
Garcilasso states, the interpreter Felipillo explained it by saying, that the Christians 
elieved in three Gods and one God, and that made four.’ But there is no doubt he 
erfectly comprehended that the drift of the discourse was to persuade him to resign 
is sceptre and acknowledge the supremacy of another. 
' The eyes of the {ndian monarch flashed fire, and his dark brow grew darker, as he 
plied : ‘I will be no man’s tributary! TI am greater than any prince upon earth. 


his subjects so far across the waters; and I am willing to hold him as a brother. As 
_ for the pope of whom you speak, he must be crazy_to talk of giving away countries 
-which do not belong to him. For my faith,’ he continued, ‘I will not change it. 
Your own God, as you say, was put to death by the very men whom he created. But 


mountains—‘ my god still lives in the heavens, and looks down ou his children.’ ~ 
~__ He then demanded of Valverde by what authority he had said these things. The 
Tiar pointed to the book which he held as his authority. Atahuallpa, taking 
t, turned over the pages a moment, then, as the insult he had received probably 
flashed across his mind, he threw it down with vehemence, and exclaimed: ‘ Teil 
our comrades that they shall give me an account of their doings in my land. I will 


- committed.’ . 
The friar, greatly scandalised by the indignity offered to the sacred volume, stayed 
nly to pick it up, and hastening to Pizarro, informed him of what had been done, 
exclaiming at the same time: ‘Do you not see that while we stand here wasting onr 
breath in talking with this dog, full of pride as he is, the fields are filling with In- 
“dinns? Seton at once; I absolve you.’ Pizarro saw that the hour had come. He 
“waved a white scarf in the air, the appointed signal. The fatal gun was fired from 
the fortress. Then springing into the square. the Spanish captain and his fo!lowers 
houted the old war-cry of ‘St. Jago and at them!’ It was answered by the battle- 
try of every Spaniard in the city, as. rushing from the avenues of the great halls in 
Which they were concealed. they poured into the plaza, horse and foot. each in his 
Own dark column, and threw themselves into the midst of the Indian crowd. The 
latter. taken by surprise, stunned by the report of artillery and muskets, the echoes 
‘of which reverberated like thunder from the surrounding buildings, and blinded by 
he smoke which rolled in sulphureous volumes along the square. were seized with a 
panic. They knew net whither to fly for refuge from the coming rnin. Nobles and 
~commoners—all were trampled down under the fierce charge of the cavalry. wha 
dealt their blows right and left. without sparing ; while their swords flashing through 
“the thick gloom, carried dismay into the hearts of the wretched natives, who now, 
the first time, saw the horse and his rider in all their terrors. They made no re- 


cegerent upon earth. ‘This power had been transmitted to the successors of ihe - 


our emperor may be a great prince; I do not doubt it, when I see that he has sent - 


ine,’ he concluded, pointing to his deity—then, alas! sinking in glory behind the ~ 


ot go from here till they have made me full satisfaction for all the wrongs they have 


ya 


, 


eh CYCLOPEDIA OF “~ ‘fro 1876, * 


sistance—as, indeed, they had no weapons with which to make it. Every avenue to | 
escape was closed, for the entrance to the square was choked up with the dead bodies — 
of men who had perished in vain efforts to fly ; and such was the agony Of the survivors — 
under the terrible pressure of their assailants, that a large body of Indians, by their 
convulsive struggles, burst through the wall of stone and dried clay which formed. 
part of the plaza! It fell, leaving an opening of more than a hundred paces. through — 
which multitudes now found their way into the couniry, still hotly pursued by the’ 
cavalry, who, leaping the falleu rubbish, hung on the rear of the fugitives, striking 
them down in all directions. Roe to 
Meanwhile the fight, or rather massacre, continued hot around. the Inca, 
whose person was the great object of the assault. His faithful nobles, rallying about 
him, threw themselves in the way of the assailants, and strove, by tearing them from. 
their saddles, or, at least, by offering their own bosoms as a mark for their vengence, 
to shield. their beloved master. It is said by some authorities that they carried 
weapons concealed under their clothes. If so, it availed them little, as itis not pre- — 
tended that they used them. But the most timid animal will defend itself when at 
bay. That they did not so in the present instance, is proof that they had no weapons 
to use. Yet they still continued to force back the cavaliers, clinging to their horses 
~ with dying grasp, and as one was cut down, another taking the place of his fallen 
comrade with a loyalty truly affecting. 

The Indian monarch, stunned and bewildered, saw his faithful subjects falling 
round him without hardly comprehending his situation. The litter on which he — 
rode heaved to and iro, as the mighty press swayed backwards and forwards; and — 
he gazed on the overwhelming ruin, like some forlorn mariner, who, tossed about in 
his bark by the furious elements, sees the lightning’s flash, and hears the thunder 
bursting around him, with the consciousness that he can do nothing to avert hisfate., 
At length, weary with the work of destruction, the Spaniards, as the shades of even- a 
ing grew deéper, felt afraid that the royal prize might, after all, elude them; and — 

‘some of the cayaliers made a desperate attempt to end the affray at once by taking z 
. 
2 


Atahuellpa’s life. But Pizarro, who was nearest his person, called out with sten- - 
torian voice: ‘Let no one, who values his life, strike at the Inca;’ and, stretching 
out his arm to shield him, received a wound on the hand from one of his own men— ~ 
the only wound received by a Spaniard in the action. ; 4 

The struggle now became fiercer than ever round the royal litter. It reeled more — 
and more, and at length, several of the nobles who supported it having been slain, — 
it was overturned, and the Indian prince would have come with violence to the © 
ground, had not his fall been broken by the efforts of Pizarro and some other of the © 
cavaliers, who caught him in their arms. The imperial bor/a was instantly snatched — 
from his temples by a soldier named Estete, and the unhappy monarch, strongly se- 
cured, was removed to a neighbouring building, where he was carefully guarded. __— 

All attempt at resistance now ceased. The fate of the Inca soon spread over town ~ 
and country. The charm which might have held the Peruvians together was dis-— 
solved.. Every man thought only of his own safety. Even the soldiery encamped — 
on the adjacent fields took the alarm, and, learning the fatal tidings, were seen fying = 
in every direction before their pursuers, who in the heat of triumph shewed no touch 
of mercy. At length night, more pitiful than man, threw her friendly mantle over 
the fugitives, and the scattered troops of Pizarro rallied once more at the sound of 


the trumpet in the bloody square of Caxamalca. | 


ie 

of 

asf 

DR. ARNOLD. ah 
T 


antiquary of the séventeenth century) was, that the commovly=re- — 
ceived history of the early centuries of Rome was in great part — 


I i / ¥ od 3 

ae - -ENGLISH LITERATURE. 353 
fabulous, founded on popular songs or lays chanted at the Roman 
_banquets. Greece had her rhapsodists, the Teutonic nations their 
bards, and Rome, he concluded, had also her poetical chroniclers. To 
eliminate whatever portion of truth was contained in the stories of the 
“mythic period—and Niebuhr believed that they did contain many au- 
_thentic facts—was the chosen task of the learned Prussian, and of all- 
those who adopted his ‘ ballad theory’ as a sound historical hypothe- 
sis. ~ One of the most enthusiastic of his admirers was Dr. THomas 
_ ARNOLD (1795-1842), the well-known and popular master of Rugby 
School. Arnold was a native of East Cowes, in the Isle of Wight, 
where his father resided as collector of customs. He was educated at 
Winchester, and afterwards at Oxford, being elected a fellow of Oriel 
College in 1815. He remained at Oxford four more years, employed 
‘in instructing pupils; and in his twenty-fifth year he settled at Lale- 
ham, near Staines, in Middlesex. At Laleham he took pupils as be- 
‘fore, married, and spent nine yearsof happinessand study. He took 
' priest’s orders in 1828, and in that year occurred the great turning-point 
of his life—he was appointed to Rugby School. He longed to ‘try 
whether our public school system has not in it some noble elements 
-which may produce fruit even to life eternal,’ and his exertions not 
only raised Rugby School to the highest popularity, but introduced a 
ct change and improvement into all the public schools in England. 
‘He trusted much to the ‘sixth form,’ or elder boys, who exercise a 
‘recognised authority over the junior pupils, and these he inspired 
with love, reverence, and confidence. His interest in his pupils was 
that of a parent, and it was unceasing. On Sunday he preached to 
them; ‘he was still the instructor and the schoolmaster, only teach- 
Ang and educating with increased solemnity and energy.’ All ‘un- 
“promising subjects,’ or pupils likely to taint others, he 1cmoved from 
‘the school. ‘It is not necessary,’ he said, ‘that this should be a 
‘school of three hundred, or one hundred, or of fifty boys; but it zs 
“necessary that it should be a school of Christian gentlemen.’ His 
firmness, his sympathy, his fine manly character, and devotion to 
duty, in time bound all good hearts to him. 

_ Out-of-doors, Arnold had also his battles to fight. He was a Lib- 
eral in politics, though not a partisan, and a keen church reformer. 
To the High Church party he was strenuously opposed. The Church, 
he said, naeant not the priesthood, but the body of believers. _ Chris- 
tianity recognized no priesthood—the whole body of believers were 
“equally brethren. Nothing, he conceived, could save the Church but 
“@ union with the Dissenters; and the civil power was more able than 
the clergy, not only to govern, but to fix the doctrines of the Church: | 
These Erastian views, propounded with his usual zeal and earnest- 
hess, offended and alarmed many of Arnold’s own friends, especially 
those of the clergy, and he also failed to conciliate the Dissenters. 
“The Whig government, in 1835, appointed him a Fellow in the 
Senate of the new university of London. Arnold, convinced that 
co 
n. 


cs ee CYCLOPEDIA OF | 


Christianity should be the basis and principle of all education in a 
Christian country, proposed that every candidate for a degree in the’ 


university should be examined on the Scriptures. This was resisted 


—at least to the extent that the examination should not be compul- — 
sory, but voluntary—and Arnold aiterwards resigned his appoint-— 
ment. In 1841, he obtained one more congenial to his tastes and — 
pursuits—he was nominated Regius Professor of Modern History at_ 
Oxford. His inaugural lecture was attended by a vast concourse of” 
students and friends, for the popular tide had now turned in bis— 
favour, and his robust health promised a long-succession of profess-— 
ional triumphs, as well as of general usefulness. He had purchased~ 
a small property in Westmoreland—Fox How, situated in one of 
the most beautiful portions of the Lake country, with the now classic — 
river Rotha, ‘ purior electro,’ winding round his fields. At Fox How 

he spent his vacations; and he was preparing to return thither in the — 
summer of 1842, when one night he was seized with spasms of 
the heart, and died ere eight o’clock next morning, June 12, 1842._ 
The works of Dr. Arnold give but a faint idea of what he accom-~ 
plished. He was emphatically a man of action. His writings, — 
however, are characteristic of the man—earnest, clear in conception — 
and style, and independent in thought. His ‘ History of Rome,” 
which he intended t6 carry down to the fall of the Western Empire, 
was completed only to the end of the Second Punic War, and is con-— 
tained in three volumes: he edited ‘Thucydides,’ and his ‘Intro-— 
ductory Lectures on Modern History ’—eight in number— were — 
published after his death, in one volume, 1843. Six volumes of his” 
‘Sermons,’ chiefly delivered to the Rugby boys, have also been pub-— 
lished, with a volume of tracts on social and political topics, collected 


oy 


> 


and republished by his pupil and biographer, the Rev. A, P. Stanley, 


\ 


now dean of Westminster. His ‘Roman History ’—in which he) 
closely follows Niebuhr—is striking and picturesque, rather than” 
philosophical. His strong moral feeling and hatred of tyranny in all | 
its shapes occasionally break forth, and he gave animation to his nar-_ 
rative by contrasting ancient with modern events—a mode of illustra= 


tion in which he has been followed by Macaulay and Grote. EI 
Character of Scipio. oa | 


A mind like Scipio’s, working its way under the peculiar influences of his time | 
and country, cannot but move irregularly—it cannot but be full of contradictions. Two 
hundred years later, the mind of the dictator, Cesar, acquiesced contentedly i |} 
epicureanism; he retained no more of enthusiasm than was inseparable from the © 
intensity of his intellectual power, and the fervour of his courage, even amidst his 
utter moral degradation. But Scipio could not be like Cesar. is mind rose above : 
the state of things around him; bis spirit was solitary and kingly; he was cramped 
by living among those as his equals whom he felt fitted to guide as from some ‘ 
higher sphere; and he retired at last to Liternum, fo breathe freely, to enjoy the ~ 
simplicity of his childhood, since he could not fulfil his natural calling to be a hero= — 
king. So far he stood apart from his countrymen—admired, reverenced, but not 
loved. But he could not shake off all the influences of his time; the virtue, na 1 


| 


~ aud private, which still existed at Rome—the reverence paid by the wisest au 


a - 
<a +4 
: ‘ 


men to the religion of their fathers—were elements too congenial to his nature not 
0 retain their hold onit: they cherished that nobleness of soul in him, and that 
faith in the invisible and divine, which two centuries of growing unbelief rendered 
almost impossible in the duys of Cesar. Yet how strange must the conflict be when 
faith is combined with the highest intellectual power, and its appointed object is no 
better than paganisin! Longiig to believe, yet repelled by palpable falsehood— 
crossed inevitably with snatcaes of unbelief, in which hypocrisy is ever close at 
the door—it breaks out desperately, as it may seem, into the region of dreams and 
sions, and mysterious communings with the invisible, as if longing to find that food 
its own creations which no outward objective truth offers to it. ‘the proportions of 
belief and unbelief in the human mind in such cases, no human judgment can dcter- 
“mine—they are the wonders of history ; characters inevitably misrepresented by the 
yulgar, and viewed even by those who, in some sense, have the key to them asa 
‘mystery not tully to be comprehended, and still less explained to others. ‘The genius 
‘which conceived the incomprehensible character of Hamlet would alone be able to 
describe with intuitive truth the character of Scipio or of Cromwell. With all his 
sreatness there was a waywardness in him which seems often to accompany genius; 
a self-idolatry, natural enough where there is so keen a consciousness of power and 
of lofty desigus; a self-dependence, which feels even the most sacred external rela- 
ions to be unessential to its own perfection. Such isthe Achilles of Homer—the 
highest conception of the individual hero relying on himself, and sufficient tv him- 
self. But the same poet who conceived the character of Achilles has also drawn that 
of Hector; of the truly noble, because unselfish hero—who subdues his genius to 
make it minister to the good of others—who lives for his reJations, his friends, and 
his country. And as Scipio lived in himself and for himself like Achilles, so the 
Virtue of Hector was worthily represented in the life of his great rival Hannibal, who, 

om his childhood to his latest hour, in war and in peace, through glory and through 
obloguy. amid victories and amid disappointments, ever remembered to what put- 
pose his father had devoted him, and withdrew no thought, or desire, or deed from 
their pledged service to his country. 


a . Character of Hannibal. 


_ Hannibal’s genius may be likened to the Homeric god, who, in his hatred of the 
ojans, rises from the deep to rally the fainting Greeks, and to lead them against — 

e enemy ; so the calm courage with which Hector met his more than human adver- 
sary in bis country’s cause, is no unworthy image of the unyielding magnanimity 
isplayed by the aristocracy of Rome. As Hannibal utterly eclipses Carthage, so, on 
e contrary, Fabius, Marcellus, Claudius, Nero, even Scipio himself, are as nothing 
“when compared to the spirit and wisdom and power of Rome. The senate, which 
ted its thanks to its political enemy, Varro, after his disastrous defeat, because he 
ad not despaired of the commonwealth, and which threatened either to solicit, er to 
pre, or to threaten, or in any way to notice the twelve colonies which had refused 
heir accustomed supplies of men for the army, is far more to be honoured than the 
“conguerer of Zama. This we should the more carefully bear in mind, because our 
tendency is to admire individual greatness far more than national ; and as no single 
Roman will bear comparison with Hannibal, we are apt to murmur at the event of the 
contest, and to think that the victory was awarded to the least worthy of the combat- 
ants. On the contrary, never was the wisdom of God’s providence more manifest 
than in the issue of the struggle betwcen Rome and:Carthage. It was clearly for the 
-good of mankind that Hannibal should be conquered ; his triumph would have stopped 
€ progress of the world. For great men can only act permanently by forming great 
Nations; and no one man, even though it were Hannibal himself, can in one genera- 
tion effect such awork. But where the nation has been merély enkindled for a while 
by a great man’s spirit, the Jight passes away with him who communicated it; and 
the nation, when he is gone, is like a dead body, to which magic power had for a 
moment given an unnatural life; when the charm has ceased, the body is cold and 
stiff as before. He who grieves over the battle of Zama should carry on his thoughts 
to 4 period thirty years later, when Hannibal must in the course of nature, have been 
‘dead, and consider how the isolated Pheenician city of Carthage was fitted to receive 
ud to- consolidate the civilisation of Greece, or by its laws and institutions to bind 
together barbarians of every race and language into an organized empire, and prepare 


a e 


8560 CYCLOP.EDIA OF ' ~~ [r0-1876. - 


monwealth of Christian Europe.  Seraget 


Sufferings during the Stege of Genoa. a 


In the autumn of 1799, the Austrians had driven the French out of Lombardy and 
Piedmont; their last victory of Fossano or Genola had won the fortress of Coni or 
Cuneo, close under the Alps, and at the very extremity of the plain of the Po; the — 
French clung to Italy only by their hold of the Riviera of Genoa, the narrow strip of 
coast between the Apennines and the sea, which extends from the frontiers of France 
almost to the mouth of the Arno. Hither the remains of the French force were col- ~ 
lected, commanded by General Massena, and the point of chief importance to his de- — 
tence was the city of Genoa. Napoleon had just returned from Egypt, and was be- » 
come First Consul; but he could not be expected to take the field till the following ~ 
spring, and till then, Massena was hopeless of relief from without—everything was ~ 
to depend on his own pertinacity. ‘The strength of his army made it impossible to’ — 
force it in such a position as Genoa; but its very numbers, added to the population of 
a great city, held out to the enemy the hope of reducing it by famine; and as Genoa — 
derives most of its supplies by sea, Lord Keith, the british naval commander-in- 
chief in the Mediterranean, lent the assistance of his naval force to the Austrians, © 
and by the vigilance of his cruisers, the whole coasting-trade right and left along the ~ 
Riviera was effectually cut off. It is not at once that the inhabitants of a great city, — 
accustomed to the daily sight of well-stored shops and an abundant market, begin to — 
realise the idea of scarcity; or that the wealthy classes of society, who have never 
known any other state than one of abundance and luxury, begin seriously to conceive 
of famine. But the shops were emptied, and the store-houses began to be drawn — 
upon, and no fresh supply or hope of supply appeared. Winter passed away, aud — 
spring returned, so early and so beautiful on that garden-like coast, sheltered as itis 
from the north winds by its belt of mountains, and open to the full range of the — 
southern sun. Spring returned. and clothed the hill-sides with its fresh verdure. But — 

hat verdure was no longer the mere delight of the careless eye of luxury, refreshing — 
the ¢c:tizens with its liveliness and softness when they rode or walked up thither from — 
the city to enjoy the surpassing beauty of the prospect. The green hill-sides were @ 
now visited for a very different object: ladies of the highest rank might be seen cut- 
ting up every plant which it was possible to turn to food, and bearing home the com~ ~ 
mon weeds Of our road-sides as a most precious treasure. he French general pitied ~ 
the distress of the people. but the lives and strength of his garrison seemed to him — 
more important than the lives‘of the Genoese ; and such provisions as remained were ~ 
reserved, in the first place, for the French army. Scarcity became utter want, and . 
want. became famine. In the most gorgeous palaces of that gorgeous city, no 
less th n in the humblest tenements of its humblest poor, death was busy; not — 
the momentary death of battle or massacre, nor the speedy death of pestilence, but | 
the lingering death of famine. Infants died before their parents’ eyes; ae | 


gam ; 
them for becoming, when that empire was dissolved, the free members of the com- — 


and wives lay down to expire together. A man whom IT saw at Genoa in 1825, told | 
me that his father and two of his brothers had been starved to death in this fatal 
siege. So it went on till, in the month of Juze, when Napoleon had already 

descended from the Alps into the plains of Lombardy, the misery became unendura-_ 
ble, and Massena surrendered. But before he did so, twenty thousazd innocent per=— 
sons. old and young, women and children, had died by the most horrible of deaths 

which humanity can endure! 


SIR JOHN GARDINER WILKINSON. 


. 
e i 
{ 
In the study of Egyptian antiquities, now cultivated with ardour: : 
Str JonN GARDINER WILKINSON (1797-1875) took a prominent part. | ‘ 
Early in life he made surveys of the topography of ‘Thebes and the 
Pyramids, and collections of the hieroglyphies. In 1828, he pub- 
lished at Malta ‘Materia Hierogliphica,’ four parts. But his great) 
work is his ‘Manners and Customs of the Ancient Egyptians,’ six . 
volumes, 1837-41. About nine hundred wood-cuts illustrate thi 


pe Ge aL ae ny] oer > >. Braet 
a ae # a Sil a : a a ~ 
i 9 «™* > 4 = % > 4 : x : 4 


Tepe ENGLISH LITERATURE. 857 

earliest descriptive illustrations of the manners and customs of any 
nation. Of this work, an abridgment was published by the author, 
‘a ‘Popular Account of the Ancient Egyptians,’ two volumes, 1854. 
Sir John truly remarks, that ‘the influence which Egypt had in early 
- times on Greece gives to every inquiry respecting it an additional in- 
terest; and the frequent mention of the Egyptians in the Bible con- 
- nects them with the Hebrew records, of which many satisfactory 
illustrations occur in the sculptures of Pharaonic times.’ Sir John 
-. was a son of the Rev. John Wilkinson of Haxendale, Westmoreland, 
_ and studied at Exeter College, Oxford. Amongst the latest of his lit- 
’ erary lahours was assisting Sir Henry Kawtimsvn in his edition of 
_ * Herodotus.’ . 


. 


‘ 
: 


Moral Superiority of the Ancient Egyptians. 


' £The early part of Egyptian monumental history is coeval with the arrivals of 
eS Abraham and of Joseph, and the exodus of the Israelites; and we know from the 
' Bible what was the state of the worldat that time. But then,and apparently long 
~ before, the habits of social life in Egypt were already what we find them to haye 
ee been during the most glorious period of their career; and as the people had already 
* aid aside their arms, and military men only carried them when on service, some no- 
_ -tion may be had of the very remote date of Egyptian civilization. In the treatment 
~ of women they seem to have been very far advanced beyond other wealthy commu- 
_ nities of the same eri, having usages very similar to those of modern Europe; ant 
~~ such was the respect shown to women, that precedence was given to them over men, © 
~ and the wives and daughters of kings succeeded to the throne like the male branches 
Of the royal family. Nor was this privilege rescinded, even though it had more 
a . than once entailed upon them the troubles of a contested succession ; foreign kings 
- often having claimed a right to the throne through marriage with an Egyptian 
princess. It was not aimere influence that they possessed, which women often ac- 
~~ quire in the most arbitrary eastern communities ; nora political importance accorded 
to a particular individual, like that of the Sultana Valideh, the queen-mother at 
-. Constantinople; it was a right acknowledged by law. both in public and private life. 


os 


i) 


_. They knew that unless women were treated with respect, and made to exercise an 
'  infinence over society, the public standard would soon be lowered, and the manners 
~ and morals of men would suffer; and in acknowledging this they pointed ont to 
~~ women the very responsible duties they had to perform to thecommunity. It has 
been said thatthe Egyptian priesta were only allowed to have one wife, while the 
__ rest of the community had as many as they chose; but. besides the improbability of 
- sucha license, the testimony of the monuments accords with Herodotus in disproy- 
a ing the statement, and each individual is represented in his tomb with a single con- 
sort. Their mutual affection is also indicated by the fond manner in which they are 
* seated together, and by the expressions of endearment they use to each other, as 
~ wellas to their children. And if further proof were wanting to show their respect 
for social ties, we may mention the conduct of Pharaoah, in the case of the supposed 


sister of Abraham, standing in remarkable contrast to the habits of most princes of 
~ those and many subsequent ages. 


+ Ancient Egyptian Repast. 


7, While the guests were entertained with music and the dance, dinner was pre- 
apd pared ; but as it consisted of a considerable number of dishes, and the meat was 
- }illed for the occasion, as at the present day in eastern and tropical climates, some 
time elapsed before it was put upon the table. An ox, kid, wild goat, gazelle, or an 
oryx, and a quantity of geese, ducks, teal, quails, and other birds, were generally 
selected; but mutton was excluded from a Theban table. Sheep were not killed for 
the altar or the table, but they abounded in Egypt, and even at Thebes ; and large 
- flocks were kept for their wool, particularly in the neighbourhood of Memphis. . 
Sometimes a flock consisted of more than two thousand; and in a tomb below the 
% - Pyramids, dating upwazds of four thousand years ago, nine hundred and seventy- 


Soe 7: 
ra : 


= ? ~ 


308 CYCLOPZDIA OF , [76%876; J 
four rams are brought to be registered by his scribes, as ‘part of the stock of the de- “ 
ceased; implying an equal number of ewes, independent of lambs. 

Beef and goose constituted the principal part of the animal food throughout 
Egypt; end by a prudent foresight in a country possessing neither extensive pasture. 
lands. nor great abundance of cattle, the cow was held sacred, and consequently for- 
bidden to be eaten, ‘Thus the risk of exhausting the stock was prevented, and a con- 3 
stant supply of oxen was kept for the table and for agricultural purposes. <A similar ~ 
fear of diminishing the number of sheep, so valuable for their wool, led to a prefer- 
euce for such meats as beef and goose; though they were much less light and whole-. 
some than mutton. 2 

A considerable quantity of meat was served up at those repasts, to which strangers _ 
were invited, as among people of the East at the present day. An endless succession 
of vegetables was also required on all occasions, and when dining in private, dishes 
composed chiefly of them were in greater request than joints even at the tables of the 
rich; and consequently the Israelites, who, by their long residence there, had ac- j 
quired similar habits, regretted them equally with the meat and fish of Egypt. (Num-  ¢ — 
bers, xi, 4, 5). 

Their mode of dining was very similar to that now adopted in Cairo, and throuch- 
out the East; each person sitting round a table, and dipping his bread into a dish 
placed in the centre, removed on a sign made by the host, and succeeded by others, = ~ 
whose rotation depends on established rule, and whose number is predetermined 
according to the size of the party, or the quality of the guests. igen 
: As is the custom in Egypt and other hot climates at the present day, they cooked 

the meat as soon as killed; with the same view of having it tender, which makes 
northern people keep it until decomposition is beginning ;, and this explains the order - 
of Joseph to ‘slay and make ready’ for his brethren to dine with him the same day~ 
atnoon. As soon, therefore, as this had been done and the joints were all ready, the 
~ kitchen presented an animated scene, and the cooks were busy in their different de- 
partments. Other servants took charge of the pastry which the bakers or confec- 
tioners had made for the dinner-table ; and this department appears evcn more varied 
than that of the cook. : ' 2 re 

That dinner was served up st mid-day, may be inferred from the invitation given = = 
by Joseph to his brethren; but it is probable-that, like the Romans, they also ate = 
supper in the evening, as is still the custom in the East. The table was much'the : 
same as that of the present day in Egypt—a small stool supporting a round tray, on — : 
which the dishes are placed; but.it differed from this in having its cireular summit 
fixed on a pillar, or Jeg, which was often in the form of a man, generally a eaptive, 
who supported the slab upon his head, the whole being of stone, or some hard wood. i. 
On this the dishes were placed. together with loaves of bread. It was not generally : 
covered with any linen, but, like the Greek table, was washed with a sponge or 
napkin after the dishes were removed. One ortwo guests generally sat at atable, ~ 


though from the mention of persons seated in rows according to rank, ithas been ~~ 
supposed the tables were occasionally of a long shape, as may have been the case ~ . 
when the brethren of Joseph ‘sat before him, the first-born according to his youth.’ ie 


Joseph eating alone at another table where ‘they set on for hinr by himself.’ But 
even if round, they might still sit according to rank, one place being always the post 
of honour, even at the present day, at the round table of Hzypt. re 
The guests sat on the ground, or on stools and chairs, and, baving neither knives 3 
and forks nor any substitute for them answering to the chopsticks of the Chinese, : 
they ate with their fingers. like the modern Asiatics, and invariably with the right q 
hand; nor did the Jews (1 Sam. ii, 14) and Etruscans, though they had forks tor other a 
purposes, use any at table. Spoons were introduced when required for soup orother ~~ 
liquids.. The Egyptian spoons were of various forms and sizes. ‘They were princi- 
pally of ivory, bone, wood, or bronze, and other metals—many were ornamented with 
the lotus flower. = 
The Egyptians washed after as well as before dinner, an invariable custom * 
throughout the East, as among the Greeks, Romans, Hebrews, and others. Itwae — 
also a custom of the Egyptians, during or after their repasts, to introduce a wooden  — 
image of Osiris, from one foot and a half to three feet in height, in the form of a hu-_ % 
man mummy, standing erect, or lying on a bier, and to shew it to each of the guests, 
warning him of his mortality, and the transitory nature of human pleasures. He was 
reminded that some day he would be like that figure; that men ought to ‘love one 


TAS 


“HARE.] 


i= rie oe é 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 859 


_ another, and avoid those evils which tend to make them consider life long, when in 


reality it was too short ;’ and while enjoying the blessings of this world, to bear in 
mind that their existence was precarious, and that death, which all ought to be pre- 
pared to meet, must eventually close their earthly career. Thus. while the guests 


_ were permitted, and even encouraged, to indulge in conviviality, the pleasures of the 
table, and the mirth so congenial to their lively disposition. they were exhorted to 

_ put a certain degree of restraint upon their conduct: and though this sentiment was _ 
perverted by other people, and used as an incentive to present excesses. it was per- 


fectly consistent with the ideas of the Egyptians to be reminded that this life was 


_ Only a lodging orinn on their way, and that their existence here was the preparation 
for a future state. 


After dinner, music and singing were resumed; hired men and women displayed 
feats of agility. The most usual games within-doors were odd and even, mora, and 


_ draughts. The game of mora was common in ancient as well as modern times, and 


was played by two persons, who each simultaneously threw out the fingers of one 


hand, while one party guessed the sum of both. They were said in Latin, micare 
_ digitis, and this game, stillso common among the lower order of Italians, existed 


_ about four thousand years ago in the reigns of the Osirtasens. 


; CHEVALIER BUNSEN—S. SHARPE. 
The learned CHEVALIER BunseN—lately Prussian ambassador in 


London, and a-native of Corbach, Germany, where he was:born in 


1790—commenced, in 1848, the publication of his historical investi- 


- gation, ‘ Egypt’s Place in Universal History.” A second volume was 


published in 1854, and the third in 1859. The work was translated ~ 


from the German, under the author’s superintendence, by Mr. C. H. 


Cottrell. The object of M. Bunsen was to establish, by means of the 
language and chronology of Egypt, as recently investigated, the posi- 


tion of. the Egyptians as a nation in primeval history, or before the 


period of historical records.. He gives them a vastly remote anti-~ 
quity, assigning the date of the first king of Egypt to an era four 
thousand years before the Christian era. The Egyptians, he says, 
were an Asiatic race, who emigrated from Chaldea, and settled in the 
valley of the Nile about the eleventh millennium B.c.; the historical 
Deluge, which took place in a considerable part of Central Asia, cannot 


_ ‘have occurred at a more recent period than the tenth millennium B.¢. ; 


and man existed on the earth about 20,000 years B.c., or even earlier. 
These antediluvian and prehistoric conclusions of the chevalier have 


been generally disputed. We have not yet sufficient materials to 
enable us to fix positively the dates of the earlier period of the 


Egyptian monarchy. In 1852, M. Bunsen published another historical 
investigation, ‘ Hippolytus and his Age, or the Doctrine and Practice 


of the Church of Rome under Commodus and Alexander Severus;’ 
and ‘ Ancient and Modern Christianity and Divinity Compared,’ four 


volumes, 1852. This work of Hippolytus is certainly a literary 
curiosity. In 1842, a Greek manuscript was discovered at Mount 
Athos. It was printed at Oxford in 1851, and aseribed to the cele- 


brated Origen. Chevalier Bunsen, however, clearly established that 


it was the composition of Hippolytus, and written about the year 2265. 
The document thus remarkably preserved for above sixteen centuries, 
is highly valuable, as shewing what was the real Christian creed and 
liturgical practice exactly one hundred years before the Council of: 


7 


360 hee CYCLOPAIDIAZ OF. ca) ae is eran. 4 
Nice. It gives no countenance to ‘ the prerogative of right claimed — 
by the Church of Rome over others, nor to any sacred Janguage in — 
preference to the vernacular, nor to any indelible character or celi- ~ 
bacy of the priesthood, nor to infant baptism, nor to any propitiatory 

sacrifice in the Eucharist, which Hippolytus considered to be an ~ 
offering purely of a spiritual nature, a sacrifice of praise and thanks.’ _ 
(‘ Atheneum,’ 1852). Chevalier Bunsen, who indulged in some ~ 
mystical hopes and visions of the ‘Church of the Future,’ eloquent — 
ly exclaimed: sf | - 


‘axe away ignorance, misunderstandings, and forgeries, and the naked truth re- 
mains—not a spectre, thank God! carefully to be veiled, but an image of divine 
beauty, radiant with eternal truth. Break down the bars which separate us fromthe 
communion of the primitive church—l mean, free yourselves from the letter of later 
canons, and conventional abstractions—and you move unshackled in the open ocean 
of faith. You hold fellowship with the spirits of the heroes of Christian antiquity, 
and you trace the stream of unity as it rolls uninterruptedly through eighteen cen-— — 
turies, in spite of rocks and quicksands. 


A great work by Bunsen, ‘ God in History,’ appeared in an English 
version, 1868-69. Its distinguished author had died previously in 
Germany, November 28, 1860. In 1868 was published ‘A Memoir 
of Baron Bunsen,’ drawn chiefly from family papers by his widow. 

Mr. SAMUEL SHARPE—a nephew of the late Mr. Samuel Rogers— ~ 
has written a ‘ History of Egypt,’ from the earliest times till che con- 
quest by the Arabs in 640 a.p. This is a clear, succinct history in 
two volumes, the third edition, 1857. Mr. Sharpe has also written 
‘Historic Notes on the. Books of the Old and New Testaments,’ and’ — 
an ‘ Historical Account of the Monuments of Egypt,’ in one of the 
Crystal Palace Hand-books. Various other historical treatises have — 
proceeded from his pen. 

SIR FRANCIS PALGRAVE. 


This distinguished archeologist, formerly deputy-keeper of the 
Public Records, was an indefatigable student of our early history. 
He was born in London in 1788. His father, Meyer Cohen, was a 
Jew; and the son, on the occasion of his marriage in 18238, changed 
his name to Palgrave, that being the maiden name of his wife’s 
mother. The year preceding this he was employed on the Record’ 
Commission, and all his tastes were historical and antiquarian. In 
1831 he published a ‘ History of the Anglo-Saxons ’—a popular work — 
contributed to Murray’s ‘Family Library.’ In the following year 
appeared his ‘ Rise and_ Progress of the English Commonwealth ’— 
the term ‘commonwealth’ being employed by the historian, as by 
Locke, to signify an independent community, not a democracy. 
This work contains a mass of information regarding the most 
obscure part of our annals, with original records, and details con- | 
cerning the political institutions of ancient Europe, Sir Francis | 
afterwards projected a more elaborate history, tracing the Normans - 
from the first establishment of the ‘ Terra Normannorum ’ as a settle: 


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\ ment on the coast of Gaul under the Danish chieftains, till their 
j} union with England by William the Conqueror. Of this work, 
entitled ‘The Hisiory of Normandy and of England,’ two volumes 
/ appeared—one in 1851 and the other in 1857. ~Some fanciful posi- 
» tions and generalisations have been adopted by Sir Francis Palgrave, 
_ but few have dug so deep in the dark mines of our early history, 
- and the nation owes him gratitude for the light he has thrown on the 
- origin of the British people and institutions. He thinks that the 
_ great truth on which the whole history of European society and 
- civilisation depends, is the influence of Rome, even when she had 
_ fallen, and was ‘tattered, sordid, and faded as was her imperial 
-robe.’ The chicftains of the barbarian dynasties’ each-assumed the 

semblance of the Caesars, and employed their titles and symbols. 
- To Charlemagne this infusion of the imperial principle into the leuto- 
» nism of the West is chiefly due. Sir Francis wrote several less im- 


- 
3 
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é 


- Italy,’ &c. He was also a contributor to the ‘Edinburgh’ and 
' ‘Quarterly Reviews.’ Sir Francis died in 1861. 


‘ 


es The Battle of Hastings, October 14, 1066. 


4 

3 William had been most actively employed. .As a preliminary to further proceed- 

_ ings, he had cansed all the vessels to be drawn on shore and rendered unserviceable. 

He told his men that they must prepare to conquer or to die—flight was impossfble. 

9 He had occupied the Roman castle of Pevensey, whose walls are yet existing, 
flanked by Anglo-Norman towers, and he had personally surveyed all the adjoining 
country, for he never trusted this part of a general’s duty to any eyes but his own. 


- train: An oriental monarch, at the present time, never engayves in battle without a 
_ previous horoscope ; and this superstition was universally adopted in Europe duving 

the middle axes. But William’s ‘clerk’ was not merely a star-gazer. He had gradu- 
— ated in all the occult sciences—he was a necromancer, or, as the word was often 
- spelled, in order to accommodate it to the supposed etymology, a nigro-mancer—a 
' ‘sortilegus’—and a soothsayer. These accomplishments in the sixteenth century 
_ would have assuredly brought the clerk to the stake ; but in the eleventh, although 
’ -they were highly illegal according to the strict letter of the ecclesiastical law, yet they 
' were studied as eagerly as any other branch of metaphysics, of which they were sup- 
- posed toform apart. The sorcerer or sortilegus, by casting sortes or lots, had ascer- 
_ tained that the duke would succeed, and that Harold would surrender without a 
battle, upon which assurance the Normans entirely relied. After the landing, 
~. William inquired for his conjurer. <A pilot came forward. and told him that the un- 
lucky wight had been drowned in the passage. William then immediately pointed 
- out the folly of trusting to the predictions of one who was utterly unable to tell 

what would happen unto himself. When William first set foot on shore, he had 
_ Shewn the same spirit. He stumbled, and fell forward on the palms of his hands. 

‘Mal sighe est ci!’ exclaimed his troops, affrighted at the omen. ‘No,’ answered 
~ Williain, as he rose: ‘I have taken seizin of the country,’ shewing the clod of earth 
_ which he had grasped. One of his soldiers, with the quickness of a modern French- 
- man, instantly followed up the idea; he ran to acottage. and pulled out a bundle of 
- reeds from the thatch, telling him to receive that symbol also, as the seizin of the 
_Yealm with which he was invested. These little anecdotes display the turn and 
_ temper of the Normans, and the alacrity by which tke army was pervaded. 


by 


362 CYCLOPEDIA OF 


Some fruitless attempts are said to have been made at ‘negotiation. . Harold de- 
spatched a monk to the enemies’ camp, who was to exhort William to abandon his — 
euterprise. he duke insisted on his right; but, as some historians relate, he offered — 
to submit his claim to a legal decision, to be pronounced by the pope, either accord- — 
ing to the law of Normandy, or according to the law of England; or if this mode of ~ 
adjustinent did not please Harold, that the question shouli be decided by single com- — 
bat, the crown becoming the meed of the victor. ‘The propositions of William are — 
stated, by other authorities, to have contained a proposition for a compromise—~ 
namely, that Haroid should take Northumbria, and William the rest-of the Anglo- 
Saxon dominions. All or any of these proposals are such as may very probably have 
been made; but they were not minuted down in formal protocols, or couched in di- — 
paces notes; they were verbal messages, sent to and fro on the eve of a bloody — 

attle. . MEL ee | 
_ Fear prevailed in both camps. The English, in addition to the apprehensions — 
which even the most stout-hearted fee! on the eve of a morrow whose close they may _ 
never see, dreaded the papal excommunicat on, the curse encountered in support of — 
the unlawful authority of ausurper. When they were informed that battle had been 
decided upon, they stormed and swore; and now the cowardice of conscience spurred 
them on to riot and revelry. The whole night was passed in debauch. Wes-heal — 
and Drink-heal resounded from the tents; the wine-cups passed gaily round and — 
round by the smoky blaze of the red watch-fires, while the ballad of ribald mirth was 
loudly sung by the carousers. > a $n 
In the Norman Leaguer, far otherwise had the dread of the approaching morn 
affected the hearts of William’s soldiery. No voice was heard excepting the solemn — 
response of the Litany and the chant of the psalm. The penitents confessed their — 
. sins, the masses were said, and the sense of the imminent peril of the morrow was ~ 
tranquillised by penance and prayer. Each of the nations, as we are told by one-of - 
our most trustworthy English historians, acted according to their ‘ national custom ;’> 
and severe is the censure which the English thus receive. +.) JG 
.The English were strongly fortified in their position by lines of trenches-and pal- — 
isades; and within these defences they were marshalled according to the Danish 
fashion—shi-ld against shield, presenting an impenetrable front to the enemy. “The. 
men of Kent formed the vanguard. for it was their privilege to be the first-in the” 
strife. The burgesses of London, in like manner, claimed and obtained the honour — 
of being the reyal body-guard. and they were drawn up aroundthe standard. At the ~ 
foot of this banner stood Harold, with his brothers, Leofwin and Gurth, and achosen 
body of the bravest thanes. ; 3 Bam Te 
Before the Normans began their march, and very early in the morning of the 
feast of St. Calixtus, William had assembled his barons around him, and exhorted ~ 
them to maintain his righteous Cause. Asthe invaders drew nigh, Harold saw a 
division advancing. composed of the volunteers from the county of Boulogne and 
from the Amiennois. under the command of William Fitz-Osbern and Roger) Mont- 
gomery. ‘It is the duke,’ exclaimed Harold, ‘and little shall I fear him. By my — 
forces will his be four times outnumbered!’ Gurth shook his head, and expatiated — 
on the strength of the Norman cavalry, as opposed to the foot-soldiers of England; ~ 
but their discourse was stopped by the appearance of the combined cohorts under 
Aimeric, Viscount of Thouars. and Alan Fergant of Brittany. Harold’s heart sunk ~ 
at the sight. and he broke out into passionate exclamations of fear anddismay. But ~ 
now the third and last division of the Norman army was drawing nigh. The con-~ 
secrated Gonfanon floats amidst the forest of spears. and Harold is now too well” 
aware that he beholds the ranks which are commanded in person by the Duke of © 
Normandy. ' : E> Ses Y ae 

Immediately before the duke rode Taillefer, the minstrel, singing, with a loud and 
clear voice, the lay of Charlemange and Roland, and the emprises of the Paladins — 
who bad fallen in the delorous pass of Romcevaux. -Taillefer, as his guerdon, had ~ 
craved permission to strike the first blow, for he was a valiant warrior emulating the 
deeds which he sung; his appellation, Taz//e-fer, is probably to be considered not as 
his real name, but as an epithet derived from his strength and prowess; and he fully 
justified his demand, by transfixing the first Englishman whom he attacked, and by — 
felling the second to the ground, ‘The battle now became general. and raged with 
greatest fury. The Normans advanced beyond the English lines; but they v 


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fearful confusion. More Normans were slain here than in any other part of the 
field. ‘The alarm spread; the light troops left in charge of the bagvageand the 
‘stores thought that all was lost, and were about to take flight; but. tie fierce Odo, 
Dishop of Bayeux, the duke’s half-brother, and who was better fitted for the shield 
- than for the mitre, succeeded in reassuriug them, and then, returning to the field, and 
 Tushing into that part where the battle was hottest, he fought as the stoutest of the 
warriors engaged in the conflict. 
From nine in the morning till three in the afternoon, the successes on either side 
were nearly balanced. ‘The charges of the Norman cavalry gave them great advan-~ 
tage, but the English phalanx repelled their enemies ;-and the soldiers were so well 
~ protected by their targets, that the artillery of the Normans was long disctarged in 
~vain. The bowmen, seeing that they had failed to make any impression, altered the 


riven back, and forced into a trench, where horses and riders fell upon each other 


Phe Normans sudde:ly wheeled about, aad a new and fiercer battle was urged. The 
field was covered with separate bands of 


spread dismay amongst the Frenchmen. He was cut down by Roger 
de Montgomery. The Normans have preserved the name of the Norman baron, but 
that of the Englishman is lost in oblivion. Some other English thanes are also 

i aving singly and by their personal prowess, delayed the ruin of their 


_< At one period of the battle, the Normans were near] y routed, The cry was raised 
that the duke was slain, and they began to fly in every direction. William threw off — 
is helmet, and galloping through the squadrons, rallied his barons, thongh not with- 
‘Out great difficulty. Harold, on his part, used every possible exertion, and was distin- 
guished as the most active and bravest among the soldiers in the host which he led on to 
Be sienction: A Norman arrow wounded him in the left eye; he dropped from his steed 
‘In agony, and was borne to the foot of the standard. The Enelish began to give way, 
or rather to retreat to the standard as their rallying-point.. The Normans encircled 
them, and fought desperately to reach this goal. Robert Fitz-Ernest had almost 
‘seized the banner, but he was killed in the attempt. William led his troops on with 
the intention, it is said, of measuring his sword with Harold. He did encounter an 
English horseman, from whom he received such a stroke upon his helmet, that he was 
nearly brought to the ground. The Normans flew to the aid of their sovereign. and 
the bold Englishman was pierced by their lances. About the same time the tide of 
battle took a momentary turn. The Kentish men and East Saxons rallied, and re- 

elled the Norman barons? but Harold was not amongst them; and Wilham led on 
his troops with desperate intrepidity. In the thick crowd of the assailants and the 
assailed, the hoofs of the horses were plunged deep into the gore of the dead and the 
dying. Gurth was at the foot of the standard, without hope, but without fear; he 
fell by the falchion of William. The English banner was cast down, and the Gonfa- 
non planted in its place announced that William of Normandy was the conqueror. It 
Was now late in the evening. The English troops were entirely broken, yet no Eng- 
‘ishman would surrender. The conflict continued in many parts of the bloody field 
Pad after dark. r 

_ By William’s orders, a spot close to the Gonfanon was cleared, and he caused his 
pavilion to be pitched among the corpses which were heaped around.- He there sup- 
ved with his barons; and they feasted among the dead; but when he contemplated 
‘he fearful slaughter, a natural feelin g of pity, perhaps allied to repentance, arose in his 
stern mind ; and the Abbey of Battie, in which the prayer was to be offered up perpetu- 
uly for the repose of the sou!s of all who had fallen in the conflict, was at once the 
nonument of his triumph and the token of his piety. The abbey was most richly en- 
lowed, and all the land for one league round about was annexed to the Battle franchise. 
(ke abbot was freed from the authority of the Metropolitan of Canterbury, and 
fvested with archiepiscopal jurisdiction. ‘The high-altar was erected on the very 
pot where Harold’s standard had waved; and the roll, deposited in the archives of 


thee ; ® 


— x 


7, a ria -CYCLOPEDIA OF * 


the monastery, recorded the names of those who had fought with the Conqueror, and 
amongst whom the lands of broad England were divided. But all this pomp and — 
solemnity has passed away like a dream. ‘The ‘perpetual prayer’ has ceased for 
ever—the rol! of Battle is rent. The shields of the Norman lineages are trodden in 

the dust—the abbey is levelied with the ground—and a dank and reedy pool fills the — 
spot where the foundations of the choir have been uncovered, merely for the gaze of — 
the idle visitor, or the instruction of the moping antiquary. ~ ¢ 


GEORGE TICKNOR. a 


America has been desirous, as was remarked by Lockhart, to dis- 
charge the debt due to Spain, her first discoverer : ‘the names of © 
Irving and Prescott are already associated with Columbus and Isa-_ 
bella; nor will Ticknor henceforward be forgotten when Cervantes | 
and his compeers are held in remembrance.’ ‘’The-History of Span-— 
ish Literature,’ three volumes, 1849, by GzoreE TrcKNoR (1791-1862), ~ 
is a work of great merit, full, minute, and accurate, the result of 
thirty years’ labour. ‘The Life, Letters, and Journals of George 
Ticknor’ were published in 1876, in two volumes. . He was a native © 
of Boston, born in 1791, son of a wealthy citizen who is described as " 
of the true New England type of character, energetic and cultivated, — 
and who was one of the first importers of Merino sheep into the United- 
States. The son was educated at Dartmouth College, and studied for 
the bar, but having practised for a twelvemonth, he satisfied himself 
that the life of a lawyer would not suit his simple ideas of usefulness” 
or happiness. He therefore turned his thoughts to plans of study and 
travel. He started for Europe in 1815, and for five years travelled 
over various countries, residing successively in London, Gottingen, | 
Paris, Geneva, Rome, Venice, Madrid, and Lisbon. In all’those capi+™ 
tals he seems to have been in the best society, and his journal is full” 
of the best sort of ‘interviewing.’ Mr. Ticknor afterwards became ™ 
Professor of the French and Spanish languages, and of the ‘ Belles” 
Lettres’ in Harvard University. He died January 26, 1871, in his’ 
eightieth year. Besides his ‘ History of Spanish Literature,’ Mr. Tick, 
nor wrote a ‘ Life of Lafayette,’ and amemoir of his friend and coun- 
tryman, Prescott, the historian. He also contributed various articles” 
to reviews-and literary journals. The following are extracts from 

letters and journals : 


Gethe ai Weimar in 1816. ; 2 


He is something above the middle size. large but not gross, with gray hair, a dark 
ruddy complexion, and full rich black eyes which, though dimmed by age, are sti 

very expressive. In manners he is simple. He received us without ceremony, but 
with care and elegance, and made no German compliments. The conversation, of 
course, rested in his hands, and was various. Of Lord Byron he spoke with interes 
and discrimination—said that his poetry shewed great knowledge of human nature, 
and great talent. in description. Once his genius kindled, and he grew almost fervent 
as he deplored the want of extemporary eloquence in Germany, and said, what IT 
never heard before, but which is eminently true, that the English is kept a much 
more living language by its influence. * Here.’ he said, ‘we have no eloquence, our 
preaching is a monotonous, middling declamation—public debate we have not at a 
ahd if a little inspiration comes to us in our lecture-rooms, it is out of place, for 
quence does not teach.” We remained with him nearly an hour, and when we c 


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qickNon} ~~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. — 360: 


‘ 

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a away he accompanied us as far as the parlour door with the same simplicity with 
4 whicirhe received us. 


f Sir Walter Scott. 


iy? ‘He is the lord of the ascendant now (1819) in Edinburgh, and weil! deserves to be, 
4 for I look upon him to be quite as remarkabie in intercourse and conversation as he 
isin any of his writings. even in his novels. His countenance, when at rest. is dull 
- and almost heavy, and even when in common conversation expresses Only a high de-. 
{ gree of good-nature ; but when he is excited, and especially when he is reciting po- 
_ eiry that he likes, his whole expression is changed, und his features kindle into a 
__ brightness of which there were no traces before. . .. One evening, after dinner, he 
: - told his daughter, Sophia Scott, to take her harp and play five or six ballads he men- 
-~ tioned to her, as a specimen of the different ages of Scottish music. I hardly ever 
72 ‘deard anything of the kind that moved me so much. And yet, I imagine, many 
] .sing better; but I never saw such an air and manner, such spirit and feeling, such 
decision and power. -I was so much excited that I turned round to Mr. Scott and said 
to him, probably with great emphasis: ‘I never heard anything so fine;’ and he, 
seeing how involuntarily I had said it, caught me by the hand, and replied very ear- 
_nestly: ‘* Everybody says so, sir;’ but added in an instant, blushing a little, ‘but I 
‘must not be too vain of her.’ I was struck, too. with another little trait in her char- 
acter and his that exhibited itself the same evening. Lady Hume asked her to play 
_ *Rob Koy,’ an old ballad. A good many persons were present, aud she felt a little 
~~ embarrassed by the recollection of how much her father’s name had been mentioned 
in connection with this strange Highlander’s. - (The authorship of the novels was not 
__ yet acknowledged, though generally believed) She ran across the room to her 
§ fatber, and, blushing pretty deeply, whispered to him. ‘ Yes, my dear,’ he ‘said, loud 
»* enough to-be heard, ‘play, to be sure, if you are asked, and ‘‘ Waverly,” and ‘The 
__ Antiquary ” too, if there be any such ballads.’ One afternoon, after I had become 
- more acquainted with them, he asked me to come and dine, and afterwards go to 
the theatre and hear ‘Rob Roy ’—a very good piece made out of his novel, and then 
playing in Edinburgh with remarkable success. It was a great treat. He did not 
- attempt to conceal his delight during the whole performance, and when it was over 
_ said to me: ‘That’s fine, sir; I think that is very fine ;’ and then looked up at me 
with one of his most comical expressions of face, half-way between cunning and 
humor, and added: ‘All I wish is that Jedediah Cleishbotham could be here to 
enjoy it! 


5 Sunday Dinner in Trinity Hall, Cambridge. 


The afternoon’s service at King’s College Chapel was very fine, especially the 
music; and everything produced its full effect in that magnificent and_solmn~hall, 
the finest of its sort, no doubt. in the world. Afterwards I went with W hewell and 
- Sedgewick to dine in the Hall of Trini‘y, a grand old place, vast, and a little gloomy 

and rude with its ancient rafters; but imposing. and worthy of the first cojlege in the 
world, for the number of great men it has produced. It is the fashion fora noble- 

man, when he comes here, to be furnished with a silver cover, forks, and spoons, 
- &c., and to leave them when he goes away. It chanced to-day that I had poor Lord 
_ Milton’s cover, with his name and arms on it. At our table there were several 
strangers, among whom were Sir Francis Forbes, just from India, and the famous 
Joseph Hume of radical notoriety. After dinner, according to ancient custom, a 
huge silver cup or pitcher was passed round. containing what is called Audit Ale, or 
very fine old ale, which is given to the tenants of the College when they come to 
_ audit their accounts and pay their rents. We all drank from it standing up, each, 
- as his turn came, wishing prosperity to the college. When this was Over, an en- 


; 


366 ~ = SC¥CLOPADIA OF "<= 2 Trasaeye: 


nary amount of health-drinking, but here we had it on a more serious and regular 
footing. At last the bell rang for evening prayers. The chapel was brilliantly 
lighted, and the Master _and Fellows, in their robes of ceremony, made a striking 
appearance. 

JOHN L. MOTLEY. 


An excellent history of the ‘ Rise of the Dutch Republic,’ three ~ 


volumes, 1856, has been written by Joun LotHrop Moruey, born at 
Dorchester, Massachusetts, in 1814, graduated at Harvard University 
in 1831, and sometime secretary to the United States Legation at St, 
Petersburg. -Returning to America he devoted himself to literary 
pursuits. He had early in life written two novels, which proved 
failures, and he afterwards applied himself to historical researches, 
residing for some years in Germany and the Netherlands for the bet- 
ter prosecution of his labours. His history embraces the period from 
the abdication of Charles V. in 1555 to the death of William the 
Silent, Prince of Orange in 1584. A continuation appeared in 1860, 
and a further portion in 1865, entitled ‘The History of the United 
Netherlands, from the Death of William the Silent to the Synod of 
Dort. In 1874 Mr. Motley added ‘The Life and Death of John of 
Barneveid, Advocate of Holland, with a View of the Primary Causes 
and Movements of the Thirty Years’ War,’ 2 vols. The greater 


part of Barneveld’s life had been previously told by Mr. Motley in ~ 


his ‘ History of the United Netherlands,’ but this later work describes 
the nine closing years of Barneveld’s career. These historical labours 
of Mr. Motley not only supply a desideratum in our historical litera- 
ture, but constitute a narrative of deep interest, clear, vivid and elo- 
quent in style and diction. Their author has been rewarded with 
the honorary titles of D.C.L, from the university of Oxford, and 
LL.D. from the universities of Cambridge and New York. He was 
six years (1861-1867) minister from the United States at the Court of - 
Vienna, and one year (1869-70) at the Court of St. James’s, London... 


The Image-breaking of Antwerp.—From ‘ The Rise of the Dutch Republic.” 


A very paltry old woman excited the 1mage-breaking of Antwerp (1566). She had 


for years been accustomed to sit before the door of the cathedral with wax tapers and 


wafers, earning a scanty subsistence from the profits of her meagre trade, and by 
the small coins which she sometimes received in charity. Some of the rabble began _ 
to chaffer with this ancient huckstress. They scoffed at her consecrated wares ; they » 
bandied with her ribald jests, of which her public position had furnished her with a 
supply; they assured her that the hour had come when her idolatrous traflic was to 
he for ever terminated, when she and her patroness Mary were to be given over to- 
destruction together. The old woman, enraged, answered threat with threat, and 
gibe with gibe. Passing from words to deeds, she began to catch from the ground 
every Offensive missile or weapon which she could find, and to lay about her in all 
directions. Her tormentors defended themselves as they could. Having destroyed 
her whole stock-in-trade, they provoked others to appear in her defence. The pas- 
sers-bv thronged to the scene; the cathedral was soon filled to overflowing; a furious 
tumult was already in progress. ° ; 
Many persons fied in alarm to the Town House, carrying information of this out- 


break to the magistrates. John van Immerzeel, Margrave of Antwerp, was then~ 


holding communication with the senate, and awaiting the arrival of the wardmasters, 


whom it had at last been thought expedient to summon. Upon intelligence of this 


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ENGLISH LITERATURE. 367 


AS ve rk 
_ MOTLEY, ] 
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riot, which the militia, if previously mustered, might have prevented, the senate de- 
‘termined to proceed to the cathedral in a body, with \he hope of quelling the mob by 
_ the dignity of their presence. The margrave, who was the high executive officer of 
the little commonwealth, marched down to the cathedral accordingly, attended by the 
two burgomasters and all the senators. At. first their authority, solicitations, and 
_ .personal influence produced a good effect. Some of those outside consented to retire 
and the tumult partially subsided within. As night, however, was fast approaching, 
_ many of the mob insisted upon remaining for evening service. ‘hey were informed« 
_ that there would be none that night, and that for once the people could certainly dis- 
pexse with their vespers. ‘ 

_ Several persons now manifesting an intention of leaving the cathedral, it was 
Suggested to the senators that if they should lead the way, the population would 
follow in their train, and so disperse to their homes. The excellent magistrates 
took the adyice, not caring perhaps to falfil auy longer the dangerous but not 
dignified functions of police-ofticers. Before departing, they adopted the precaution 
of closing all the doors of the church, leaving a single one open, that the rabble still 
remaining might have an opportunity to depart. It seemed not to occur to the 
senators that the same gate would as conveniently afford an entrance for those 
Without as an egress for those within. That unlooked-for event happened, however. 
No sooner had the magistrates retired than the rabble bu st through the single door 
which hid been left open, overpowered the margrave, who, with a few attendants, 
had remained behind, vainly endeavouring by threats and exhortations to appease 
-the tumult, drove him ignominiously from the church, and threw all the other portals 
wide open. Then the populace flowed in like an angry sea. The whole of the 
cathedral was at the mercy of the rioters, who were evidently bent on mischief. 
The wardens and treasurers of the church, after a vain attempt to secure afew of 
its most precious possessions, retired. They carried the news to the senators, who, 

~ accompanied by a few halberdmen, again ventured to approach the spot. It was 
but for a moment, however, for, appalled by the furious sounds which came from 
withia the church, as if invisible forces were preparing a catastrophe which no 
-human power could withstand, the magistrates fled precipitately from the scene. 
Fearing that the next attack would be upon the Town House, they hastened to 
is Meats at that point their available strength, and left vhe stately cathedral to 
its fate. ~ ; 
And now, as the shadows of night were deepening the perpetual twilight of the 
church, the work of destruction commenced. ‘Instead of vespers rose the fierce 
_ mnusic of a psalm yelled by a thousand angry voices. It seemed the preconcerted 
signal for a general attack. A band of marauders flew upon the image of ‘the 
Virgin. dragged it forth from its receptacle, plunged daggers into its inanimate body, 
tore off its jewelled and embroidered garments, broke the whole fignre into a thou- 
sand pieces, and scattered the fragments along the floor. A wild shout succeeded, 
and then the work, which seemed delegated to a comparatively small number of the 
assembled crowd, went on with incredible celerity. Some were armed with axes, 
some with bludgeons, some with sledge-hammers; others brought ladders, pulleys, 
ropes, and levers. Every statue was hurled from its niche, every picture torn from 
the wall, every painted window shivered to atoms, every ancient monument shat- 
tered, every sculptured decoration, however inaccessible in appearance, hurled to the 
“ground. Indefatigably, audaciously endowed, as it seemed, with preternatural 
strength and nimbleness, these furious iconoclasts clambered up-the dizzy heights, 
shrieking and chattering like malignant apes. as they tore off in triumph the slowly- 
matured fruit of centuries. in a space of time wonderfully brief they had accom- 
plished their task. } F 
A colossal and magnificent group of the Saviour crucified between two thieves 
_ adorned the principal altar. The statue of Christ was wrenched from its place with 
_ ropes and pulleys, while the malefactors, with bitter and blasphemexs irony, were 
left on high, the only representatives of the marble crowd which had bc. x destroyed. 
A very beautiful piece of architecture decorated the choir—the * repository,’ as it was 
called, in which the, body of Christ was figuratively enshrined. This much-admired 
- work rested upon a single column, but rose. arch upon arch, pillar upoz pillar, to the 
_ height of three hundred feet, till quite lost in the vault above. It was now shattered 
- into a million pieces. The statues, images, pictures, ornaments, as they lay upon the 


; =<s3 


368 CYCLOPADIA‘ OF = wo icy -E TOE Z6, 


ground, were broken with sledge-hammers, hewn with axes, trampled, torn, and 
beaten into shreds. <A troop of hariots, snatching waxen tapers from the altars, 
stood around the destroyers and lighted them at their work. Nothin escaped their 
omniverous rage. ‘Tuey desecrated seventy chapels, forced open all the chests of 
treasure, covered their own squalid attire with the gorgeous robes of the ecclesiastics, _ 
broke the sacred bread, poured out the sacramental wine into golden chalices, quaffing 
huge draughts to the Beggars’ health; burned all the splendid missals and manu- 
scripts, and smeared their shoes with the sacred oil, with which kings and prelates 
had been anointed. It seemed that each of these malicious creatures must have 
beén endowed with the strength of a hundred giants. How else in the few brief 
hours of a midsummer night, could such a monstrous desecration have been accom- 
plished by a troop, which, according to all accounts, was not more than one hundred - 
jnnumber! ‘There was a multitude of spectators, as upon all such occasions, but 
the actual spoilers were very few. 

The noblest and richest temple of the Netherlands was a wreck, but the fury of 
the spoilers was excited not appeased. Each seizing a burning torch, the whole 
herd rushed from the cathedral, and swept howling through the streets. ‘ Long live 
the Beggars !’ resounded through the sultry midnight air, as the ravenous pack flew 
to and fro, smiting every image of the Virgin, every crucifix, every sculptured saint, 
every Catholic symbol which they met with upon their path. All night long they 
roamed from one gacred edifice to another, thoroughly destroying as they went. 
Before morning they had sacked thirty churches within the city walls. They entered 
the monasteries, burned their invaluable Jibraries, destroyed their altars, statues, 
pictures, and, descending into the cellars, broached every cask which they found — 
there, pouring out in One great flood all the ancient wine and ale with which those 
holy men had been wont to solace their retirement from generation to generation. - 
They invaded the nunneries, whence the occupants, panic-stricken, fled for refuge 
to the houses of their friends and kindred. ‘The streets were filled with monks and ~ 
nuns, running this way and that, shrieking and fluttering, to escape the claws of 
these fiendish Calvinists.. The terror was imaginary, for not the least remarkable 
feature in these transactions was, that neither insult nor injury was offered to man _ 
or woman, and that not a farthing’s value of the immense amount of property de- 
stroyed was appropriated. Itwas a war, pot against the living but against graven 
images, nor was the sentiment which prompted the onslaught in the least com- 
mingled with a desire of plunder. The principal citizens of Antwerp, expecting 
every instant that the storm would be diverted from the ecclesiastical edifices to pri- 
vate dwellings, and that robbery, rape, and murder would follow sacrilege, remained 
all night expecting the attack, and prepared to defend their hearths, even if the 
altars were profaned. The precaution was needless. It was asserted by the Catho-> 
lics that the Confederates, and other opulent Protestants, had organised this 
company of profligates for the meagre pittance of ten stivers a day. On the other 
hand it was believed by many that the Catholics had themselves plotted the whole: 
outrage in order to bring odium upon the Reformers. Both statements were equally 
unfounded. The task was most thoroughly performed, but it was prompted by a 
furious fanaticism, not by baser motives. 

Pwo days and nights longer the havoc raged unchecked through all the churches 
of Antwerp and the neighbouring villages. Hardly a statue or picture escaped de- 
struction. Yet the rage was directed exclusively against stocks and stones. Not a~ 
man was wounded nor a woman outraged. Prisoners, indeed, who had been lan- — 
guishing hopelessly in dungeons were liberated. A monk who had been in the prison — 
of the barefoot monastery for twelve years, recovered his freedom. Art was trampled 
iu the dust, but humanity deplored no victims. 


s 


7 


Leh 


GEORGE BANCROFT. 


The history of the United States has been ably and copiously re- 
lated by a native historian, Mr. GeorcE Bancrort, This gentle — 
ian was born in 1800, at Worcester, in Massachusetts. His father, 


Dr. A. Bancroft, a Congregational or Unitarian minister, had written ~ 
a ‘Life of Washington,’ 1807, andthe paternal tastes and example — 


% 


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ENGLISH LITERATURE, 369 


be BANCROFT. | : 
~ had probably some effect in directing the literary labours of the son. 
Having graduated with distinction at Harvard College, he afterwards 


_ studied in Germany, and on his return entered the Church. <A love 


_ of literature, however, prevailed, and Mr. Bancroft commenced au-: 


“thor by publishing a volume of ‘Poems.’ Some translations from 
_ German, chiefly the historical manuals of Professor Heeren, next en- 
gaged Mr. Bancroft, and he added to these precarious literary gains 
_ by opening a school at Northampton. He seems next to have tried 

paie employment, and was successively collector at the port of 
oston and secretary of the navy. In 1846, he was appointed minis- 
ter plenipotentiary to England. The latter appointment may be 
_ considered as due -to the literary reputation of Mr. Bancroft, who 
_ had then entered on his great historical work. In 1884 appeared his 

_ ‘History of the Colonisation of the United States,’ volume I. A 

second volume was published in 1837, and a third in 1840. The suc- 

cess of this work induced the author to continue his researches, and 
he commenced the ‘ History of the American Revolution.’ From 

1852 to 1858, four volumes were published, making seven in all, de- 
voted to the history of the United States. There was much new 

information in these volumes, for manuscript and unpublished 

sources were thrown open to their author; his style was lively and 
energetic, and his democratic prejudices, though sometimes unneces- 
sarily brought forward, gave a warmth and individuality to the nar- 
rative. The historian was in earnest—a hearty lover of his country, 
and of the founders of its independence. At the same time, his nar- 


~ 


rative must be pronounced fair and candid, and free from any © 


_ attempt to awaken old animosities. 


2 Massacre of English Colonists by Indians. 


. Between the Indians and the English there had been quarrels, but no wars. From 
_ the first landing of colonists in Virginia, the power of the natives was despised; 
their strongest weapons were such arrows as they could shape without the 
use of iron, such hatchets as could be made from stone; and an English mastiff 
seemed to them a terrible adversary. Nor were theirnumbers considerable. Within 
sixty miles of Jamestown, it is computed, there were no ‘more than five thousand 
souls, or about fifteen hundred warriors. The whole territory of the clans, which 
listened to Powhatan as theirleader or their .conqueror, comprehended about eight 
thousand Square miles, thirty tribes. and twenty-four hundred warriors; so that the 
_ Indian population amounted to about one inhabitant toa square mile. The natives, 
naked and feeble compared with the Europeans, were nowhere concentrated in consid 
erable villages, but dweli dispersed in hamlets, with from forty to sixty in each com- 
pany. Few places had more than two hundred ; and many had less. It wasalso nnnsual 
for any large portion of these tribes to be assembled together. An idle tale of an 
ambuscade of three or four thousand is perhaps an error for three or four hundred ; 
Otherwise it is an extravagant fiction, wholly unworthy of belief. Smith once met a 
party that seemed to amount to seven hundred; and so complete was the superiority 
conferred by the use of firearms, that with fifteen men he was enabled to withstand 
them all. The savages were therefore regarded with contempt or compassion. No 
uniform care had been taken to conciliate their good will; although their condition 
had been improved by some of the arts of civilised life. The degree of their advance- 
ment may be judged by the intelligence of their chieftain. A house having been 
built for Opechancanough after the English fashion, he took such delight in the lock 


4 


vs 


870 CYCLOPEDIA OF ~~ “~.; [ro a : 


and key, that he would lock and unlock the door a hundred times a day, and thou ht 
the device IASON PATOD When Wyatt arrived, the natives expressed a fear lest his 
intentions should be hostile; he assured them of his wish to preserve inviolable 
peace; and the emigrants had no use for firearms except against a deer or a fowl. 
‘Confidence so far increased, that the old law, which made death the penalty for teach- 
ing ihe Indians to use a musket, was forgotten ; and they were now employed as 
fowlers and huntsmen. ‘The planiations of the English were widely extended in un- 
suspectitig confidence. along the James kiver and ‘towards the Potomac, wherever 
rich grounds invited to the culture of tobacco; nor were solitary places, remote from 
neighbours, avoided, since there would be less competition for the ownership of the 
soil 

Powhatan, the father of Pocahontas, remained, after the marriage of his daugh- 
ter, the firm friend of the English. He died in 1618 ; and his younger brother was 
now the heir to bisinfiuence. Should the native occhpants of the soil. consent to be 
driven from their ancient. patrimony? Should their feebleness submit patiently to- 
contempt, injury, and the loss of their lands? The desire of self-preservation, the 
necessity of self-defence, seemed to demand an active resistance; to preserve their 


dwelling-places, the English must be exterminated; in open battle the Indians» 


would be powerless ; conscious of their weakness, they could not hope to accom- 
plish_ their end except by a preconcerted surprise. The crime was one of savage 
ferocity ; but it was suggested by their situation. They were timorous and quick Of 
apprehension, and consequently treacherous ; for treachery and falsehood are the 
vices of cowardice. ‘he attack was prepared with impenetrable secrecy. To the 
very last hour the Indians preserved the language of friendship; they borrowed the 
boats of the English to attend their own assemblies; on the very morning of the 
massacre, they were in the houses and at the tables of those whose death they were 
plotting. ‘Sooner,’ said they, ‘shall the sky fall, than peace be violated on our part.’ 
At length, on the twenty-second of March (1 622). at midday, at one and the same in- 
stant of time, the Indians fell upon an unsuspecting population, which was scattered 
through distant villages, extending one hundred and forty miles on both sides of the 
river. The onset was so sudden, that the blow was not discerned till it fell. None 


were spared ; children and women, as well as men; the missionary, who had cher- _ 


ished the natives with untiring gentleness; the liberal benefactors, from whom they 
had received daily benefits, all were murdered with indiscriminate barbarity, and 
every aggravation of cruelty. ‘lhe savages fell upon the dead bodies, as if it had 
been possible to commit on them a fresh murder. - 
In one hour three hundred and forty-seven persons were cut off. Yet the carnage 
was not universal; and Virginia was saved from so disastrous a grave. The night 
before the execution of the conspiracy, it was revealed by a converted Indian to an 
Englishman, whom he wished to rescue; Jamestown and_the nearest settlements 
were well prepared against an attack ; and the savages, as timid as they were feroci- 
ous, fled with precipitation from the appearance of wakeful resistance. In this man- 
ner, the most considerable part of the colony was saved. 


The Town of Boston in the Last Century. 


The king set himself. and his ministry, and parliament, and all Great Britain, to E 


subdue to his will one stubb’rn little town on the sterile coast of the Massachusetts — 
Bay. ‘The odds against it were fearful; but it shewed a life inextinguishable, and 
had been cnosen ° keep guard over the liberties of mankind. 

The Old World had not its parallel. It counted about sixteen thousand inhabte- - 
tants of Europ:an origin, all of whom learned to read and write. Good publie schools ~ 
were the foundation of its political system; and Benjamin Franktin, one of their 
grateful pupils, in his vonth apprenticed to the art which makes knowledge the com- 
mon property of mankind, had gone forth from them to stand before the nations as 
the representative of the modern plebeian class. 


As its schools were for all its children,-so the great body of its male inhabitants 


of twenty-one years of age, when assembled in a hall which Faneuil, of Huguenot 
ancestry, had built for them, was the source of all municipal authority. n the 
meeting of the town, its taxes were voted. its affairs discussed and settled; its 
agents and public servants annually elected by ballot ; and abstract political princi- 


ples freely debated. A small property qualification was attached to the right ‘Oke 


<—- .- 5-3 ae 7 | eC) a. —. ae _— a te — ~ - > , 
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-_ BANCROFT.| ENGLISH LITERATURE. Te 371 
ee 3 * ; 

3 - suffrage, but did not exclude enough to change the character of the institution. 
' ‘There had never existed a considerable municipality approaching so nearly to a pure 
-— .democracy; and, for so populous a place, it was undoubtedly the most orderly and 
best governed in the world. - 

a Its ecclesiastical polity wasin like manner republican. The great mass were 
Congregationalists ; each church was an assembly formed by voluntary agreement; 
self-constituted, self-supported, and independent. They were clear that no person 
or church had power over another church. ‘There was not a Roiman Catholic altar 
in the places the usages of * papists * were looked upon as worn-out superstitions, fit 
only for the ignorant. But the people were not merely the fiercest enemies of . 
‘popery and siavery ;’ they were Protestants even against Protestantism ; and though 
the Engiish Church was tolerated, Boston kept up its exasperation against prelicy. 
Its ministers were still its prophets and its guides; its pulpit, in which, now that 
“Mayhew was no more, Cooper was admired above all others for eloquence and 
patriotism, by weekly appeals inflamed alike the fervour of piety and of liberty. In 
the ‘ Boston Gazette,’ it enjoyed a free press, which gave currency to its conclusions 
on the natural right of man to self-government. 

Its citizens were inquisitive ; seeking to know the causes of things, and to search _ 
for the reason of existing institutions in the laws of nature. Yet they controlled their 
speculative. turn by practical judgment, exhibiting the seeming contradiction of sus- 
ceptibility to entnusiasm, and calculating shrewdness. They were fond of gain. and 
adventurous, penetrating, and keen in their pursuit of it; yet their avidity was tem-. 
pered by a well-considered and continuing liberality. Nearly every man was strug- 
gling to make his own way in the world and his own fortune; and yet individually, 
and as a body, they were public-spirited. 


‘A Popular History of the United States,’ by WiLLtIAM CULLEN 
Bryant, the poet, and SypNey Howarp Gay, was commenced in 
1876, to be completed in four volumes. ‘This will be a very splendid 
work, finely iilustrated and printed, and written in a pleasing style. 


_ Three Periods in American History. 

The history of the United States (says Mr. Bryant) naturally divides itself into 
three periods, upon the third of which we lately, at the close of our civil war, entered 
as a people with congruous institutions in every part of our vast territory. ‘The first 
was the colonial period; the second includes the years which elapsed from the Decla- 
ration of Independence to the struggle which closed with the extinction of slavery. 
The colonial period was a time of tutelage, of struggle and dependence, the child- 
hood of the future nation. But our real growth, as a distinct member of the com- 
munity of nations, belongs to the second period, and began when we were strong 
enough to assert and maintain our independence. To this second period a large 
space has been allotted in the present work. Not that the mere military annals of 
our Revolutionary War would seem to require a large proportion of this space, but 
the various attendant circumstances, the previous controversies with the mother- 
country, in which all the colonies were more or less interested, and which grew into 
acommon cause; the consultations which followed; the defiance of the mother- 
country in which they all joined ; the service in an army which made all the colonists 
fellow-soldiers; the common danger, the common_privations, sufferings, and expedi- 
ents, the common sorrow at reverses-and rejoicing at victories, require to be fully set 
forth, that it may be seen by how natural a transifion these widely-scattered com- 
munities became united in a federal republic, which has rapidly risen to take its 
place ‘among the foremost nations of the world, with a population which has in- 
creased tenfold, and a sisterhood of States enlarged from thirteen to thirty-seven. 

So crowded with events and controversies is this second part of our history, and 
the few years which have elapsed of the third; so rapid has been the accumulation 
of wealth and the growth of trade; so great have been. the achievements of inven- 
tive art and the applied sciences; with such celerity has our population spread itself 
Over new regions, and sO vehement have been the struggles maintained against its 
abuses, moraland political, that it has not been easy to give due attention to all of 
them, without excecding the limits prescribed for this work.... 


372 - CYCLOPADIA OF 


‘We are not without the hope that thpse who read what we have written, will see in 
the past, with all its vicissitudes, the promise of a prosperous and honourable future, 
of concord at home, and peace and respect abroad; and that the same cheerful piety, — 
which leads the good man to put his personal trust in‘a kind Providence, will prompt ~ 
the good citizen to cherish an equal confidence in regard to the destiny reserved fo 
our beloved country. ott, 


DANIEL WEBSTER. | ; 


As we have noticed the popular forensic oratory of Erskine and — 
Brougham, the great American orator, DANIEL WEBSTER (1782-1852), — 
should not be overlooked. He was the Chatham of the New World, 
and Chatham could not have pronounced a more glowing eulogium 
on England than fell from the lips of this Western Republican.. 


Eloquent Apostrophe to England. pie 


Our fathers raised their flag against a power to which, for purposes of foreign 
conquest and subjugation, Roime, in the height of her glory, is not to be compared— _ 
a power which has dotted the surface of the whole globe with her possessions and _ 
military posts, whose 1norning drum-beat, following the sun in his course and keep- 
ing pace with the hours, circles the earth with one continuous and unbroken strain 
of the martial airs of England. 


The remarkable fact of the simultaneous death of Adams and Jef- _ 
ferson—the second and third presidents of the United States—hap- 
pening on the fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence ~ 
(July 4, 1826), could not but powerfully affect the mind of Webster, 
as it did that of the whole nation. Jefferson had written the Declara- — 
tion, and Adams had proclaimed it m congress. Daniel Webster, — 
speaking at Boston on the 2d of August following, thus characterized — 
the departed statesmen: 


~ 


Adams and Jefferson. 


Adams and Jefferson are no more; and we are assembled, fellow-citizens, the aged, _ 
the middie-aged, and the young, by the spontaneous impulse of all, under the — 
authority of the municipal government, with the presence of the chief magistrate 
of the Commonwealth, and others its official representatives, the University, and 
_the learned societies,to bear our part in those manifestations of respect and gratitude if 
which pervade the whole land. Adams and Jefferson are no more. On our fiftieth —~ 
anniversary, the great day of national jubilee, in the very hour of public rejoicing, in 
the midst of echoing and re-echoing voices of thanksgiving, while their own names _ 
were on all tongues. they took their flight together to the world of spirits. If it be 
true that no one can safely be pronounced happy while he lives. if that event which _ 
terminates life can alone crown its honours and its glory, what felicity is here! The — 
great epic of their lives. now happily concluded! Poetry itself has hardly terminated — 
illustrious lives, and finished the career of earthly renown, by such a consummation, ~ 
If we had the power, we conld not wish to reverse this dispensation of the Divine 
Providence. The great objects of life were accomplished, the drama was ready (a 
to be closed. _It has closed; our patriots have fallen; bnt so fallen, at snch age, »!) 
with such coincidence, on sucha day, that we cannot rationslly lament that the — 
end has come, which we knew could not be long deferred. Neither of these great 
- men, fellow-citizens, could. have died, at any time. without leaying an immense — 
void in our American society. They have been so intimately, and for so long. 
a tinie, blended with the history of the country. and especially so united. in our 
thoughts and recollections, with the events of the Revolution, that the death of 
either would have touched the chords of public sympathy. We should haye felt 
that one great link, connecting us with former times, was Lonbante that we had lost — 
something more, as it were, of the presence of the Revolution itself, and of the Act 


M 


ENGLISH LITERATURE, 873 


‘of Independence, and were driven on, by another great remove from the days of our 
country’s early distinction, to meet posterity, and to nix with the future. Like the 
mariner, whom the currents of the ocean and the winds carry along, till he sees the 
‘stars which have directed his course and lighted his pathless way descend, one by 
one, beneath the rising horizon, we should have felt that the stream of time had 
borne us onward till another great luminary. whose light had cheered us, and whose 
guidance we had followed, had sunk away from our sight. But the concurrence of 
their death on the anniversary of independence has naturally awakened stronger 
- emotions. Both had been presidents, both had lived to great age, both were early 
‘patriots, and both were distinguished and ever honoured by their immediate agency 
- the Act of Independence. It cannot but seem striking and extraordinary. that 
these two shonid live to see the fiftieth year from the date of that act; that they 
f shonld complete that year; and that then, on the day which had fast linked for ever 
_ their own fame with their country’s glory, the heavens should open to receive them 
both at once. As their lives themselves were the gifts of Providence, who is not 
willing to recognise in their happy termination, as well as in their long continuance, 
Beco that our country and its benefactors are objects of His care? Adams and 
_Jefferson, I have said, are no more... As human beings, indeed, they are no more. 
They are no more, as in 1776, bold and fearless advocates of independence ; no more, 
as at subsequent periods, the head of the government; no more, as we have recently 
seen them, aged and venerable objects of admiration and regard. ‘They are no more. 
"They are dead. But how little is there of the great and good which can die! To 
‘their country they yet live, and live for ever. They live in all that perpetuates the 
“remembrance of men on earth ; in the recorded proofs of their own actions, in the off- 
spring of their intellect, in the deep-engraved lines of public gratitude, and inthe re- 
spect and homage of mankind. ‘hey live in their example; and they live, emphati- 
cally, and will live, in the influence which their lives and efforts, their principles and 
opinions, now exercise, and will continue to exercise, on the affairs of men, not 
only in their own country, but throughout the civilised world. A superior and 
commanding human intellect, a truly great man, when Heaven vouchsafes. so 
,rare a gift, is not a temporary gift, is not a temporary flame, burning brightly 
for a while, and then giving place to returning darkness. It is rather a spark 
‘of fervent heat, as well as radiant light, with power to enkindle the common 
-mass of human mind; so that. when it glimmers in its own decay, and finally 
“goes out in death.no night follows, but it leaves the world all light, ali on fire, 
‘from the potent contact of its own spirit. Bacon died; but the human under- 
standing, roused by the touch of his miraculous wand to a perception of the true 
“philosophy and the just mode of inquiring after the truth. has kept on its course suc- 
cessfully and gloriously. Newton died; yet the courses of the spheres are still known, 
and they yet move on by the laws which he discovered. and in the orbits which he 
“saw, and described for them, in the infinity of space. No two men now live, fellow- 
‘citizens, perhaps it may be doubted whether any two men bave ever lived in one age, 
‘who more than those we how commemorate, have impressed on mankind their own 
“sentiments in-regard to politics and government, infused their own opinions more 
deeply into the opinions of others. or given a more lasting direction to the current of 
human thought. Their work doth not perish with them. ‘the tree which. they as- 
‘sisted to plant will fiourish, although they water it and protect it no lonyer ; forit has 
‘struck its roots deep, it kas sent them to the very centre; no storm. not of force to 
“burst the orb, can overturn it; its branches spread wide; they stretch their protect- 
‘ing arms broader and broader, and its top is destined to reach the heavens. We are 
not deceived. There is no delusion here. No age will come in which the American 
Reyolution will appear less than it is, one of the greatest events in human history. 
No age will come in which it shall cease to be seen and felt. on either continent, that 
a mighty step, a great advance, not only in American affairs, but in human affairs, 
was made on the 4th of J uly 1776. And no age will come, we trust, so ignorant or so 
“npjust as not to see and ncknowledge the efficient agency of those we now honour 1 
producing that momentous event. 


_ Another memorable day in the history of the United States was the 
centenary celebration of the birth of Washington, 


se: 


= 


~~ * 
aS 


mye pence ae CYCLOPADIA OF 
Washington. . 


That name (said Webster) was of power to rally a nation, in the hour of thick- 
throbbing public disasters and calamities ; that name shone, amid the storm of war, 
a beacon light, to cheer and guide the country’s friends; its flame, too, like a me=- 
teor, to repel hertoes. That name, in the days of peace, was a loadstone, attracting 
to itself a whole people’s confidence, a whole people’s love, and_ the whole world’s — 
respect ; that name, descending with all time, spread over the whole earth, and ute - 
tered in all the languages belonging to the tribes and races of men. will for ever be- 
pronounced with affectionate gratitude by every one in whose breast there shall arise 
an aspiration for human rights and human liberty. 4 

We perform this grateful duty, gentlemen, at the expiration of a hundred years— 
from his birth, near the place so cherished and beloved by him, where his dust now 
reposes, and in the capital which bears his own immortal name, » Ai ee 

_ All experience evinces that human sentiments are strongly affected by associa. 
tions. ‘The recurrence of anniversaries, or of longer periods of time, naturally - 
freshens the recollection, and deepens the impression of events with which they ara 


<S 


historically connected. Renowned places, also, have a power to awaken feeling, 
which all acknowledge. No American can pass by the fields of Bunker Hill, Mon, 
mouth, or Camden, as if they were ordinary spots on the earth’s surface. Whoever 
visits them feels the sentiment of love of country kindling anew, as if the spirit that 
belonged to the transactions which have rendered these places distinguished stilt 
hovered around, with power to moye and excite all who in future time may approach 
them. ara 
But neither of these sources of emotion equals the power with which great mora 
examples affect the.mind. When sublime virtues cease to be abstractions, when” 
they become embodied in human character and exemplified in human conduct, 
should be false to our own nature, if we did not indulge in the spontaneous effusions 
of our gratitude and our admiration. A true lover of the virtue of patriotism de- 
lights to contemplate its purest models; and that love of country may be well sus- 
pected which affects to soar so high into the regions of sentiment as to be lost and 


5 

absorbed in the abstract feeling, ard becomes too elevated, or too refined, to glow 
either with power in_the commendation or the love of individual benefaciors.. All” 
this is immaterial. It isas if one should be so enthusiastic a lover of poetry as to 
care nothing for Homer or Milton; so passionately attached to eloquence as to be- 
indifferent to Tully and Chatham; or such a devotee to the arts, in such an ecstasy 
with the elements of beauty, proportion, and expression, as to regard the master- 
pieces of Raphael and Michael Angelo with coldness or contempt. We may be as- 
sured. gentlemen, that he who really loves the thing itself, loves its finest exhibitions, 
A true friend of his country loves her friends and benefactors, and thinks it no de- 
gradation to commend and commemorate them... « Cee if 

Gentlemen, we are at the point of a century from the birth of Washington; and 
what a century-it has been! During its course the human mind has seemed to pro- 
ceed with a sort of geometric velocity, accomplishing more than had been done in 
fives or tens of centuries preceding. Washingion stands at the commencement of a& 
new-era, 28 well as at the head of the new world. A century from the birth of Wash- 
jneton has changed the world. ‘The country of Washington has been the theatre 0 
which a great part of that change has been wrought ; and Washington himself & 
principal agent by which it has been accomplished. His age and his country are 
equally fu'l of wonders, and of both he is the chief. a 

Washington had attained his manhood when that spark of liberty was struck out 
m bis own country, which has since kindled into a flame, and shot its beams Over 
the earth. firth flow of a century from his birth, the world has changed in science 
jn arts. in the extent of commerce, in the improvement of navigation, and in: 
that relates to the civilisation of man. But {ft is the spirit of human freedom, the 
new elevation of individual man. in his moral, social. and political character, leadin 
the whole long train of other improvements, which has most remarkably distin- 
guished the era. Society, in this century, has not made its progress like Chine: 
akill, by a greater acuteness of ingenuity in trifles ; it has not merely lashed itself 
an increased speed round the old circles of thonght and action, but it has assumed 
new character, it has raised itself from beneath overnments, to a participation — 


governments ; it has mixed moral and political objects with the daily pursuits of 1 


De i «ESN > 


VEBSTER. | - ENGLISH LITERATURE. : 875 
a9 7 alge aa ; fide 
ual men, and, with a freedom and strength before altogether unknown, i 
‘ ppied to these objects the whole power of the human understanding. It has been 
he era, in short, when the social principle has triumphed over the teudal principle ; 
when. society has maintained its right against military power and estabiisued, on 
“foundations never hereafter to be shaken, 1ts competency to govern itself. 


oF 4 ‘Southern States of North America,’ by Epwarp 
aM sas Sa of artists, spent most of the years 1yi3 and. 
—1874-on a tour of observation, will be found interesting and valuable. 
The party travelled more than twenty-tive thousand miles, Visiig — 
‘nearly every city and town of importance in the Se ee ae 
western States. The-artist-in-chief, My. Champney, eee fer 
than four hundred of the sketches which illustrate the wol all o 

which are well executed and constitute a gallery of pictures o Amer 

ican life, character, and scenery. 


is ~ Condition of the Southern States since the War. 
ifs There is (says Mr. King) much that is discouraging in the present condition of the 
south, but no one is more loth than the Southerner to admit the impossibility of its” 
thorough redemption. The growth of manufactures in the southern states, while 
-insiguificant as compared with the gigantic development in the north and west, is 
highly encouraging, and it is actually true that manufactured articles formerly sent 
“south from the north, are now made in the south to be shipped to northern buyers. 
__ There is at least good reason to hope that in a few years linmigration will pour 
into the fertile fields and noble valleys along the grand streams of the south, assuring 
-amighty growth. ‘UVhe southern people, however, will have to make more vigorous 
“efforis in soliciting immigration than they have thus far shewn themsel yes capable of, 
if they intend to compete with the robust assurance-of western agents in Europe. 
“Texas and Virginia do not need to exert themselves, for currents of Immigration are 
‘now flowing steadily to them; and as has been seen in the north-west, one immigrant 
always brings, sooner or later, ten in his weke. But the cotton states need able and 
efficient agents in Europe to explain thoroughly the nature and extent of their re- 
sources, and to counteract the effect of the political misrepresentation which 18 SO con- 
-spicuous during every heated campagn, and which never fails todo these states incalcu- 
lable harm. The mischief which the grinding of the outrage mill by cheap politi- 
cians, in the vain hope thatit might serve their party ends at the elections of 1874, - 
‘did such noble commonweulths as Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, can hardly be 
estimated. 


~ Mr. King’s work, it appears, was undertaken at the instance of >. 
the publishers of ‘Scribner's Monthly Magazine,’ and the British 
publishers (Blackie and Son) have brought it out in an attractive 
form. - v5 
= LORD MACAULAY. 


~ In 1842, as already stated, Lorp MacatLay produced his ‘Lays of 
Ancient Rome.’ In the following year, he published a selection of 
* Critical and--Historical Essays, contributed ~to the Edinburgh 

eview,’ which are still unrivalled among productions of this kind. 
In questions of classical learning and critieism—in English pbiloso- 
phy and history—in all the minutix of biography and literary 
anecdote—in the principles and details of government—in the revo- 
lutions of parties and opinions—in all these he seems equally versant. 
He enriched every subject with illustrations drawn from a vast 


a = 
a. 


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376 ‘20> CY CLOPADIALOR Gat seme ® [to 1870, 


- range of reading. He is most able and striking in: his historical 
articies, Which presents pictures ot the times of which he treats, | 
with portraits of the principal actors, and comparisons and contrasis 
draw irom contemporary events-aud Characters in other countries. — 
His reviews of Haliam’s ‘Constitutional iistory,’ Kankes * bilstory - 
of the Popes,’ and the Menioirs of Burleigh, tiampden, Sir boperi 
Walpole, Chatham, Sir William iempie, Clive, and Warren Hastings, 
form a series of brilliant and compiete historical retrospects or~ 
summaries unsurpassed in our literature. His eloquent papers on 
Bunyan, Horace Walpole, Boswell’s ‘ Johnson,’ Adaison, pouthey s 
‘Colloquies,’ byron, we., have equal literary value; and to these — 
must be added wis later works, the viographies in the * Encyclopedia 
Britannica,’ which exhibit Lis style as sobered and chastened, though. 

-not entfeebled. ; a ee 
In 1848 appeared the first two volumes of his ‘ History of England 
“ram the Accession of James IL.,’ of which it was said 18,000 copies — 
were sold in six months. In his opening chapter he explains the 
nature and scope of his work. poisar 


Exordium to History of FEngland.- 


I purpose to write the history of England from the accession of King James II. 
down to a time which is within the memory of men still living, I shall recount the 
errors which, in a few.-months, alienated a loyal gentry and priesthood from the — 
House of Stuart. I shall trace the course of that revolution which terminated the ~ 
long struggle between our sovereigns and their parliaments, and bound up together 
the rights of the people and the title of the reigning dynasty. I shall relate how — 
the new settlement was, during many troubled years, successfully defended against — 
foreign and domestic enemies; how, under that settlement, the authority of law and — 
the security of property were found to be compatible with a liberty of discussion 
and of individual action never before known; how, from the auspicious union of 
order and freedom, sprang a prosperity of which the annals of human affairs had — 
furnished no example; how our country, from a state of ignominious yassalage, 
rapidly rose to the place of umpire among European powers ; how her opulence and — 
her martial glory grew together; how, by wise and resolute good faith, was gradu- _ 
ally established a public credit fruitful of marvels, which, to the statesman of any — 
former age would have seemed incredible; how a gigantic commerce gave birth toa — 
maritime power compared with which every other maritime power, ancient or mod- — 
ern, sinks into insignificance; how Scotland, after ages of enmity, was at length — 
united to England, not merely by legal bonds, but bv indissoluble ties of interest and 
affection; how in America, the British colonies rapidly became far mightier and 
wealthier than the realms which Cortes and Pizarro had added to the dominions of» 
Charles V.; how in Asia, British adventurers founded an empire not less splendid ~ 
and more durable than that of Alexander. ; ie 

Nor will it be less my duty faithfully to record disasters mingled with triumphs. ~ 
with great national crimes and follies far more humiliating than any disaster. It will | 
%¢ seen that what we justly account our chief blessings were not without alloy. It _ 
Whi be seen that the system which effectually secured our liberties against the en-— 
crouchments of kingly power, gave birth to a new cliss of abuses from which abso. 
lute monarchies are exempt. It will be scen that in consequence partly of unwise 
interference, and partly of unwise neglect the increase of wealth and the extension of 
trade produced, together with immense good, some evils from which poor and rude 
societies are free. It will be seen how, in two important dependencies of the crown, 
wrong was followed by just retribution; how imprudence and obstinacy broke the- 
ties which bound the North American cojonies to the parent state; ow Ireland, — 

~ 2ursed by the domination of race over race, and of religion over religion, remaine 
indeed a member of the empire, but a withered and distorted member, adding 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 377 


_ Strength to the body politic, and reproachfully pointed at by all who feared or envied 
- the greatness of Huyiand.. 

; Let, uniess I greatiy deceive myself, the general effect of this checkered narrative 
 Wili be to excite Lnankruimess im ali reuigious minds, and hope in tie Licuets of all 
patdots. Wor the nistory of our country during the last hunured anu sixty years is 
eminently the history 0] piysicul, of moral, anu of intellectual improvement. ‘hose 
who compare the age OL wich their loo has fallen with a goidcu age which exists 
only in wuaginatiou, may talk Of degeneracy and decay ; but pO wan who is correctiy 
—inturmed a to the past, wii be disposed Lo take a morose or desponding view ot the 

present. 5 : 

. L should very imperfectiy execute the task which I have undertaken, if I were 
_ merely to treat of buitles and sieges, of the rise and fall of administrations; of in- 
_ trigues in the palace, aud of deba.es in the parliament. It will be my endeavour to 
_ relate the history of tuc peopie as weil us the history of the government, to trace the 
- progress of useit and ornamental aris, to describe the rise of religious sects and the 
_ changes Ot lite.ary taste, lo portray the manners of successive geucrations, aud not 


_ to pass by with neglect even the revolutions which have tuken piace in dress, furni- © 


ture, repusts, and public entcriainments. J shall cheertuuly bear the reproach of 
having aescended beiow the dignity of history, if I can succeed in placing before the 
. Englisn of the nineteenth century w tiue picture of the life of their ancestors, 


Volumes III. and IV. appeared in 1855, and it soon became mani- 

fest that it was hopeless to expect that the historian would live to 
realise his intention of bringing down his History to ‘a time within 
_the memory of men still living, or living in 1848. The anticipated 
period we may assume to be the close of the last century; and be- 
tween 1685—the date of the accession of James I].—and 1800, we 
_have one hundred and fifteen years, of which Lord Macaulay had then 
only travelled over twelve. “His fourth volume concludes with the 
Peace of Ryswick in 1697. Part of a fifth volume was written, 
bringing down the History to the general election in 1701, but not 
published until after the death of the author. No historical work in 
modern times has excited the same amount of interest and anxiety, 
or, we may add, of admiration, as Lord Macaulay’s History. Rob- 
-ertson and Gibbon were astonished at their own success; it greatly 
exceeded their most daring and sanguine hopes; but the number of 
readers was then limited, and quarto volumes travelled slowly. Com- 
-pared with Macaulay, it was as the old mail-coach drawn up with 
‘the railway express. Before the second portion of Macaulay’s History 


was ready, eleven large editions of the first had been disposed of. 1t. 


had been read with the eagerness and avidity of a romance. The 
colouring might at times appear too high, almost coarse, but there 
were no obscure or misty passages... Highly embellished as was the 
style, it was as clear and intelligible as that of Swift or Defoe. It 
was the pre-Raphaelite painting without its littheness. Whether 
‘drawing a landscape or portrait, evolving the nice distinctions and 
subtle traits of character cr motives, stating a legal argument, or dis- 
‘entangling a complicated party question, this virtue of perspicacity 
“never forsakes the historian. It is no doubt a homely virtue, but 
here it is united to vivid imagination and rhetorical brilliance. &e@ 
“much ornament with so much strong sense, logical clearness, and easy 
< E.L, v. %—13 


878 CYCLOPADIA OF ~~ fro 1876, 


adaptation of style to every purpose of the historian, was never be’ 
fore seen in combination. eg 
In producing his distinct and striking impressions, the historian 
is charged with painting too strongly and exaggerating his portraits. 
He has his likes and dislikes—his moral sympathies and antipathies. 
His sympathies were all with the Whigs, and his History has been 
called an epic poem with King Wiiliam for its hero, Marlborough 
is portrayed in too dark colours, and William Penn also suffers in: ~ 
justice. The outline of each case is correct. Marlborough was 
treacherous and avaricious, and Penn was too much of a courtier in’ 
a bad court.* But the historian magnifies their defects. He does ~ 
not make allowance for the character and habits of the times in | 
which they lived, and he seizes upon doubtful and obscure ineidents — 
_or Statements by unscrupulous adversaries as pregnant and infaflible. 
proofs of guilt. In his pictures of social life and manners there is. \ 
also a tendency to caricature ; exceptional and accidental cases are 
made general ; and the vivid fancy of the historian sports amon 
startling contrasts and moral incongruities. . Blemishes of this Kin 
have been pointed out by laborious critics and political opponents ;. 
the ‘eritical telescope’ has been incessantly levelled at the great 
luminary, yet nearly all will subseribe to the opinion that ‘a writer — 
of more passionless and judicial mind would not have produced a; — 
work of half so intense and deep an interest ; that if Macaulay had 
been more minutely scrupulous,-he would not have been nearly as — 
picturesque ; and that, if he had been less picturesque, we should not — 
have retained nearly so much of his delineations, and should, there-: ~ 
fore, have been losersof so much knowledge which is substantially, — 
if not always circumstantially correct.’+ His History is altogether-— 
one of the glories of our country and literature. . 


The Battle of Sedgemoor, July 6, 1685. Shes Jai 
The night was not ill suited for such an enterprise. The moon was indeed atthe — 
full, and the northern streamers were shining brilliantly. But the marsh fog lay so 
thick on Sedgemoor that no abject could be diseerned there at the distance of fifty 
paces. ‘The clock struck eleven ; and the Duke (of Monmouth) with his body-guard 
rode out of the castle. He was not in the frame of mind whieh befits one whois 
about to strike a decisive blow. The very children who pressed to see him pass 
observed, and long remembered, that his look was sad and full of evifangury. His — 
army marched by a circuitous path, near six miles in length. towards the royal — 
encampment on Sedgemoor. Part of the route is to this day called War Lane. The — 
foot were led by Monmouth himself. The horse were confided to Grey, in spite of 
the remonstrances af same who remembered the mishap at Bridport. Orders were — 


* <T wrote the History of four years during which he (Penn) was exposed to great 
temptations—during which he was the favourite of a bad king, and an active solic- — 
itor in a ost corrupt court. His character was Tajured by his associations. Ten 

_ years before or ten years later he would have made a much better figure. But wasI — 
to begin my book ten years earlier or ten years later for William Penn’s sake?’— 
Life of Macaulay, ii. 252. It is clear, however, that, misled by Sir James Mackin= 
tosh’s notes, he ymputed to William Penn corrupt practices chargeable against wit 
worthless contemporary, George Penne, ‘ ieee 


+ North British Review, No. 49. - 


— 


— 


" MACAULAY.} ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ “379 


given that strict silence should be preserved, that no drum should be, beaten, and no 
- shot fired. he word by which the insurgents were to recognise one another in the 
- darkness was Soho. It had doubtiess been selected in allusion to Soho Fields in 
_ London; where their leader’s palace stood. 

5 At about one in the morning of Monday the sixth of July, the rebels were on the 
_ Open moor. But between them and the enemy lay three broad rhines filled with 
_ Water and soft mud. ‘Two of these, called the Black Ditch and the Langmoor Rhine, 
Monmonth knew that he must puss. But, strange to say, the existence of a trench, 
_ called the Bussex Rhine, which immediately covered the royal encampment, had not 
been mentioned to him by any of his scouts..- 

‘The waius which carried the ammunition remained at the entrance of the moor, 
‘The horse and foot, in a long narrow column, passed the Black Ditch by a causeway. 
 ‘vhere was a similar causeway across the Langmoor Rhine; but the guide, in the fog, 
_ ihissed his way. ‘There was some delay and some tumult before the error could be 
rectified. At length the passage was effected; but, in the confusion, a pistol went 
off. Some men of the Horse Guards, who were on watch, heard the report, and per- 
_ Ceived that a great multitude was advancing through the mist. They fired their car- 
— bines,; and gallopéd off in different directions to give the alarm. Some hastened to 
_ Weston Zoyland, where the cavalry lay.. One trooper spurred to the encampment of 
_ the infantry, and cried out vehemently that the enemy was at jiand. The drums of 
_ Dumbarton’s regiment beat to arms; and the men got fast into their ranks. It was 
_ *me; for Monmouth was already drawing up his army for action. He ordered Grey 
_ tc lead the way with the cavalry, and followed himeelf at the head of the infantry. 
_ Grey pushed on tiil his progress was nnexpeciedly arrested by the Bussex Rhine. On 
_ the opposite side of the ditch the king’s foot were hastily forming in order of battle. 
__ ‘For wnom are you?’ called out an officer of the Foot Guards.  ‘Forthe king,’ 
_ replied a voice from the ranks of the rebel cavalry. *For which king?’ was then 
_ demanded. The answer was a shout of ‘King Monmouth,’ mingled with the war 
_ try, which forty years before had been inscribed on the colours of the parliamentary 
_ regiments, ‘God with us.’ The royal troops instantly fired suck a volley of musketry 
_ as sent the rebel horse flying in all directions. The world agreed to ascribe this igno- 
' minious rout to Grey’s pusillanimity. Yet it is by no means clear that Churchill 
- would have succeeded better at the head of men who had never before handied arms 
_ On horseback, and whose horses were nuused, not only to stand fire, but to obey the 
- A few minutes after the duke’s horse had dispersed themselves over the moor, his 
- infantry came up running fast, and guided through the gloom by the lighted matches 
_ of Duisbarton’s regiment. 

- _ Monmouth was startled by finding that a broad and profound trench lay between 
_ him and the camp whick he had hoped te surprise. The insurgents halted on the 
_ edge of the rhine, and fired. Part of the royal infantry on the opposite bank returned. 
_ the fire. During three-quarters of am hour the roar of the musketry was incessant. 
_ The Somersetshire peasants behaved themselves as if they had been veteran soldiers, 
_ Save only that they levelled their pieces too high. 
But now the other divisions of the royal army werein motion. The Life Guards 
_ and Blues came pricking fast from Westen Zoyland, and scattered im an instant 
_ some of Grey’s horse, who had attempted to rally. The fngitives spread a panic 
among their comrades in the rear, who had charge of the ammunition. ‘The wagon- 
ers drove off at full speed, and never stopped till they were many miles from the 
_ field of battle. Monmouth had hitherto done his part like a stout and able warrior, 
_ He had been seen on foot, pike in hand, encouraging his infantry by voice and by 
example. But he was too well acquainted with military affairs not to know that all 
- ‘was over. His men had lost the advantage which surprise and darkness had 
_ giventhem. ‘They were deserted by the horse and by the ammunition wagons. The 
ing’s forces were now united and in good order. Feversham had been awakened 
_ by the firing, had got out-of bed, had adjusted his cravat, had looked at himself well 
in the giass, and had come to see what his men were doing. Meanwhile, what was 
of much more importance, Churchill had rapidly made an entirely new disposition of 
_ the roval infantry. The day was about to break. he effect of a conflict on an oper 
plain, by broad sunlight, could not be doubtful. Yet Monmouth should have felt 
that it was not for him to fly, while thousands whom affection for him had hurried 
 todestruction were still fighting manfully in his cayse.. But vain hopes and the in-< 


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380 :  CYCLOPEDIA OF =———~—sé[ro 1876, 


tense love of life prevailed. He saw that if he tarried the royal cavalry would soon - 
intereept his retreat. He mounted and rode from the field. es 
Yet his foot, though deserted, made a gallant stand. The Life Guards attacked 
them on the right, the Blues on the left; but the Somersetshire clowns, with their 
scythes and the butt-ends of their muskets, faced the royal horse like old soldiers. - 
Oglethorpe made a vigo ous attempt to break them, and was manfully repulsed. 
Sarsfield, a brave Irish officer, whose name afterwards obtained a melancholy cele- 
brity, charged on the other flank. His men were beaten back. He was himself 
struck to the ground, and lay for a time as one dead. But the struggle of the hardy 
rustics could not last. Their powder and ball were spent. Cries were heard of 
‘ Ammunition! for God’s sake, ammunition! But no ammunition was at hand. 
And now the King’s artillery came up. It had been posted haif a mile off, on the 
high road from Weston Zoyland to Bridgewater. So defective were then the ap- — 
pointments of an’ English army that there would have been much difficulty in drag- 
gig the great guns to the place where the battle was raging, had not the Bishop of — 
Winchester offered his coach horses and traces for the purpose. This interference 
of a Christian prelate in a matter of blood has, with strange inconsistency, been con- 
demned by some Whig writers who can see nothing criminal in the conduct of the © 
numerous Puritan ministers then in arms against the government. Even when the 
guns had arrived, there was such a want of gunners that a sergeant of Dumbarton’s 
regiment was forced to take on himself the management of several pieces. The can- 
non, however, though ill served, brought the engagement to a speedy close. The ~ 
pikes of the rebel battalions began to shake; the ranks broke; the king’s cavalry 
charged again, and bore down everything before them; the king’s infantry came ~ 
pouring across the ditch, Even in that extremity the Mendip miners stood bravely 
to their arms, and sold their lives dearly. But the rout was in a few minutes com- 
plete. Three hundred of the soldiers had been killed or wounded. Of the rebels 
more than a thousand lay dead on the moor. So ended the last ficht, deserving the 
name of battle, that has been fought on English ground. 1-9 


Eeecution of Monmouth. 


It was ten o’elock. The coach of the Lieutenant of the Tower was ready.. Mon- 
mouth requested his spiritual advisers to accompany him-~to the place of execntion ; 
and they consented: but they told him that, in their judgment, he was about to — 
die in a perilous state of mind, and that, if they attended him, it would be ~ 
their duty to exhort him to the Jast. As he passed a!ong the ranks of the guards he ~ 
saluted them with a smile, and he mounted the scaffold with a firm tread. ower — 
Hill was covered upto the chimney tops with an innumerable multitude of gazers, 
who, in awful silence, broken only by sighs and the noise of weeping, listened for 
the last accents of the darling of the people. ‘ I shall say little, he began. ‘I come 
here, not to speak, but to die. I die a Protestant of the Church of England,” The 
bishops interrupted him, and'told him that, unless he acknowledged resistance to be 
sinful, he was no member of their church. He went on to speak of his Henrietta. — 
She was, he said, a young lady of virtue and honour. He loved her to the last, and 
he could not die without giving utterance to his feelings. The bishops again intcr- 
fered, and begged him not to use such language. Some altercation followed. The 
divines have been accused of dealing harshly with the dying man. But they 

ppear to have only discharged what, in their view, was a sacred duty. Mon- 
inonth knew their principles, and, if he wished to avoid their importunity, should 
have dispensed with their aitendance. ‘Their general arguments against resist-_ 
ance had no effect on him. But when they reminded him of the ruin — 
which he had brought on his brave aud loving followers, of the blood — 
which had been shed, of the souls which had been sent unprepared to the great ac- — 
count, he was touched, and said, in a softened voice: ‘1do own that. I am sorry 
that it ever happened.’ They prayed with him long and. fervently; and he joined in 
their petitions till they invoked a blessing on the king. He remained silent. ‘Sir? 
said one of the bishops, ‘do you not pray forthe king with us 2? Monmouth paused 2. 
some time, and, after an internal struggle, exclaimed ‘Amen.’ But it was in a : 
that. the prelates implored him to address to the soldiers and to the peoplea few _ 
words on the duty of obedience tothe government. ‘Iwill make no speeches,’ he 
exclaimed. ‘Only ten words, my lord.’ He turned away, called his servant, and put 
into the man’s hand a toothpick case, the last token of ill-starred love, ‘Give it,” he 


oe 


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See .* P x 


5 


MACAULAY.) __ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 381 


said, ‘to that person.’ He then accosted John Ketch the executioner, a wretch who 
_had butchered many brave and noble victims,.and whose name has, during a centur 
anda half, been vulgarly given to all who have succeeded him in his odious office. 
‘Here,’ said the duke, ‘are six guineas for you. Do not hack me as you did my Lord 
- Russell. I have heard that you struck him three or four times. My servant will give 
you some more gold if you do the work well.’ He then undressed, felt the edge of the 
axe, expressed some fear that it was not sharp enough, and laid his head on the block. 
~ The divines in the meantime continued to cjaculate with great energy: ‘ God accept 
yourtepeutance! God accept your imperfect repentance!’ : 
- ‘The hangman addressed himself to his office. But he had been disconcerted by 
what the duke had said. he first blow only inflicted a slight wound. The duke 
- struggled, rose from the block, and looked reproachfully at the executioner. The head 
sank down once more. The stroke was repeated again and again ; but still the neck was 
not severed, and the body continued to move. Yells of rage and horror rose from 
the crowd. Ketch flung down the axe with a curse. ‘I cannot do it,’ he said; ‘my 
heart fails me.’ ‘ake up the axe, man,’ cried the sheriff. ‘Fling him over the 
rails,’ roared th> mob. At length the axe was taken up. ‘l'wo more blows extin- 
guished the last remains of life; but a knife was used to separate the head from the 
shoulders. The crowd was wrought up to such an ecstasy of rage that the execu- 
:: Boner was in danger of being torn in pieces, and was conveyed away under a strong 
4 Tr ‘os 
- Inthe meantime many handkerchiefs were dipped in the duke’s blood; for by a 
large part of the multitude he was regarded as a martyr who had died for the Pro- 
testant religion. The head and body were placed in a coffin covered with black 
' velvet, and were laid privately under the communion table of St. Peter’s Chapel in 
the Tower. Within four years the pavement of the chancel was again disturbed, 
~ and hard by the remains of Monmouth were laid the remains of Jeffreys, In truth 
_ there is no sadder spot on the earth than that little cemetery. Death is there associ- 
ated, not, as in Westininster Abbey and St. Paul’s, with genius and virtue, with 
_ public veneration and imperishabl> renown; not, as in our humblest churches and 
_ ehurchyards, with everything that is most endearing in social and domestic Charities ; 
_ but with whatever is darkest in human nature and in human destiny, with the 
 Bayage triumph of implacable enemies, with the inconstancy, the ingratitude, the 
cowardice of friends, with all the miseries of fallen greatness and of blighted fame. 
 Thither have been carried, through successive ages, by the rude hands of gaolers, 
~ without one mourner following, the bleeding relics of men who had been the captains 
» of armies, the leaders of parties, the oracles of senates, and the ornaments of courts. 
_ Thither was borne, before the window where Jane Grey was praying, the mangled 
corpse of Guildford Dudley. Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, and Protector of 
_ the realm, reposes there by the brother whom he murdered. There has moulded 
_ away the headless trunk of John Fisher, bishop of Rochester and cardinal of St. 
_ Vitalis, a man worthy to have lived in a better age, and to have died in a better 
cause. There are laid John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, Lord High Admiral, 
and Thomas Cromwell, Earl of Essex, Lord High Treasurer. There, too, is another 
_ Essex, on whom nature and fortune had lavished all their bounties in vain, and 
whom vulour, grace, genius, royal favour, popular applause, conducted to an early 
and ignominious doom. Not far off sleep two chiefs of the great house of Howard 
—Thomas, fourth Duke of Norfolk, and Philip, eleventh Earl of Arundel. Here 
- and there, among the thick graves of unquiet and aspiring statesmen, lie more deli- 
_ tate sufferers—Margaret of Salisbury, the last of the proud name of Plantagenet, 
- and those two fair queens who perished by the jealous rage of Henry. Such was 
the dust with which the dust of Monmouth mingled. 
: Yet a few months, and the quiet village of Toddington, in Bedfordshire, witnessed 
a still sadder funeral. Near that viHage stood an ancient and stately hall, the seat of 
the Wentworths. The transept of the parish church had long been their burial-place, 
- Yo that burial-place, in the spring which fo!lowed the death of Monmouth, was borne 
th» coffin of the young Baroness of Nettlestede. Her family reared a sumptuous 
mausolenm over her remains; but a less costly memorial of her was long contem- 
lated with far deeper interest. Her name, carved by the hand of him whom she 
_ loved too well, was, a few years ago, still discernible on a tree in the adjoining park. 


ote 
. 


ony 
7 ee 


382 CYCLOP.EDIA OF > - “fro 1876, 


The Revolution of 1683-9. as 


On the morning of Wednesday the 13th of February {1389], the court of Whitehall 
gnd all the neighbouring streets were filled with tn The magnificent Banquet- 
jng House, the masterpiece of Inigo, embellished by masterpieces of Rubens, had 
been prepared for a great ceremony. ‘The walls were lined by the yeomen of the 
guard. Near the northern door, on the right hand, a large number of peers had as-. 
seinbled. On the left were the Commons with their Speaker, attended 4! the mace, 
The southern door opened; aud the Prince and Priucess of Orange, side by side, en- ~ 
tered, and took their place under the canopy of state. 

Both Houses approached, bowing low. William and Mary advanced a few steps. 
Halifax on the right, and Powle cn_the left, stood forth, and Halifax spoke. The 
Convention, he said, had agreed to a resolution which he prayed their highnesses to 
hear. _ They signified their assent; and the clerk of the House of Lords read, in a. 
loud voice, the Declaration of Right. When he had concluded, Halifax, in the name 
-of all the estates of the realm, requested the prince and princess to acceptthe crown. ~ 

William, in his own name, and in that of his wife, answered that the crown was, ~ 
in their estimation, the more valuable because it was presented to them as a token 
of the confidence of the nation. ‘ We thankfully accept,’ he said, ‘what you have 
offered us.’ Then, for himself, he assured them that the laws of England, which he — 
had once already vindicated, should be the rules of his conduct; that it should be his 
study to promote the welfare of the kingdom ; and that, as to the means of doing so, 
he should constantly recur to the advice of the Houses, and should be disposed to’ 
trust their judgment rather than his own. These words were received with a shout 
of joy which was heard in the streets below, and was instantly answered by huzzas 
from many thousands of voices. The Lords and Commons then reverently retired 
from the Banqueting House, and went in procession to the great gate of Whitehall, 
where the heralds 4nd pursuivants were waiting in their gorgeous tabards. All the 
space as far as Charing Cross was one sea of heads. The kettle-drums struck up, 
the trumpets pealed, and Garter King at Arms, in a loud voice, proclaimed the Prince _ 
and Princess of Orange king and queen of England; charged all Englishmen to pay, — 
from that moment, faith and true allegiance to the new sovereigns; and besought~ — 
God, who had already wrought so signal a deliverance for our church and nation, to. — 
bless William and Mary with a long and happy reign. Ssue : 

Thus was consummated the English Revo.ution. When we compare it with — 
those revolutions which have during the last sixty years overthrown so many 
ancient governments, we cannot but be struck by its peculiar character. The — 
continental revolutions of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries took place in — 
countries where all trace of the limited monarchy of the middle ages had long been 
effaced. The right of the prince to make laws and to levy money, had during many — 

enerations been undisputed. His throne was guarded by a great regular army. 

is administration could not, without extreme peril, be blamed even in the mildest — 
terms. , His subjects held their personal liberty by no other tenure than his pleasure. — 
Nota single institution was left which had, within the memory of the oldest’ man, 
afforded efficient protection to the subject against the utmo-t excess of tyranny. 
Those great councils which had once curbed the regal power had sunk into oblivion, . 
Their composition and their privileges were known only to antiquaries. We cannot 
wonder, therefore, that, when men who had been thus ruled succeeded in wresting — 
supreme power from a government which they had long in secret hated, they shoal 7 
have been impatient to demolish and unable to construct; that they should haye ~ 
been fascinated by every specious novelty; that they should have proscribed every — 
title, cereinony, and phrase associated with the old system; and that, turning away 
with disgust from their own national precedents and traditions, they should have — 
sought for principles of government in the writings of theorists. or aped, with — 
ignorant and ungraceful affectation, the patriots of Athens and Rome. As little © 
can we wonder that the violent action of the revolutionary spirit should have been 
followed by reaction equally violent, and that confusion should speedily have 
engendered despotism sterner than that from which it had sprung. 3's 

Had we been in the same situation; had Strafford succeeded in his favourite 
scheme of Thorough; had he formed an army as numerous and as well disciplined as 
that which, a few years later, was formed by Cromwell; bad a series of judicial de- ~ 
cisions similar to that which, a few years later, was pronounced by the Exchequer — 


“macautay.} ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 383 


_ Chamber in the case of ship-money, transferred to the crown the rignt of taxing the 
_ people ; had the Star Chamber and the High Commission continued to fine, mutilate, 
and imprison every man who dared to raise his voice against the government; had 
_ the press been as completely enslaved here as at Vienna or Naples; had our kings 
_ gradually drawn to themselves the whole legislative power; had six generations of 
_ Englishmen passed away without a single session of parliament; and had we then at 
length risen up in some moment of wild excitement against onr masters, what an 
outbreak would that have been! With what a crash, heard and felt to the furthest 
ends of the world, would the whole vast fabric of society have fallen! How many 
_ thonsands of exiles, once the most prosperous and the most refined members of this 

‘great community, would have begged their bread in continental cities, or have shel- 
- tered their heads under huts of bark in the uncleared forests of America! How 
_ often should we have seen the pavement of London piled up in barricades, the houses 
- dinted with bullets, the gutters foaming with blood! How many times should we 
_ have rushed wildly from extreme to extreme, sought refuge from anarchy in despot- 
ism, and been again driven by despotism into anarchy ! 


Bats The Valley of Glencoe. 


~ Mac Ian dwelt in the mouth of a ravine situated not far from the southern chore 
of Lochleven, an arm of the sea which deeply indents the western coast of Scotland, 
- and separates Argyleshire from Inverness-shire. Near his house were two or three 
small hamlets inhabited by his tribe. The whole population which he governed was 
_ Dot supposed to exceed two hundred souls. In the neighbourhood of the little clus- 
~ ter of villages was some copsewood and some pasture-land ; but a little further up 
the defile, no sign of population or of fruitfu‘ness was to be seen. In the Gaelic 
_ tongue, Glencoe signifies the Glen of Weeping; and in truth that pass is the most 
- dreary and melancholy of all the Scottish passes—the very Valley of the Shadow of 
_ Death. Mists and storms brood over it through the greater part of the finest sum- 
_ mer; and even on those rare days when the sun is bright, and when there is no 
- cloud in the sky, the impression made by the landscape is sad and awful. The path 
lies along a stream which issues from the most sullen and gloomy of mountatn- 
pools. Huge precipices of naked sione frown on both sides. Even in Jwiy the 
_ streaks of snow may often be discerned in the rifts near thesummits. . All down the 
_ sides of the crags heaps of ruin mark the headlong paths of thetorrents. Muic aftcr 
--mile the traveller looks in vain for the smoke of one hut, or for one: human form 
_ wrapped in a plaid, and listens in vain for the bark of a shepherd’s dog, or the bli at 
of alamb. Mile after mile the only sound that indica‘es life is the faint cry of a 
- bird of prey from some storm-beaten pinnacle of rock. The progress of civilisation, 
which has turned so many wastes into fields yellow with harvests, or gay with apple- 
_ blossoms, has only made Glencoe more desolate. All the science and Industry of a 
ay pepoetul age can extract nothing valuable from that wilderness ; but in an xege of vio- 
lence and rapine, the wilderness itself was valued on account of the shelter it 
_ afforded to the plunderer and his plunder. 


The English Country Gentleman of 1688. 


-_A country gentleman who witnessed the Revolution was probably in the receipt 
Of about the fourth part of the rent which his acres now yield to his posterity; he 
~ was, therefore, as compared with his posterity, a poor man, and was generally under 
' the necessity of residing, with little interruption, on his estate. To travel on the 

continent, to maintain an establishment in London. or even to visit London frequent- 
_ ly, were pleasures in which only the great proprietors could indulge. It may be con- 
-fidently affirmed that of the squires whose names were in King Charles’s commissions 

of peace and lieutenancy, not one in twenty went to town once in five years, or had 
- éver in-his life wandered so far as Paris. Many lords of manors had received an 
_ education differing little from that of their menial servants. ‘The heir of an estate 
often passed his boyhood and youth at the seat of his family with no better tntors 
‘than groome and gamekeepers, and scarce attained learning enough to sign his name 
_to a mittimus. If he wentto school and to college, he generally returned before he 
“Was twenty to the seclusion of the old hall; and there, unless his mind were very 
happily constituted by nature, soon forgot his academical pursuiis in rural 
‘business and pleasures. His chief serious employment was the care of his property. 


x 


ene 
+ 


7 - J 7 x= 


r ‘Som c a et SSS ie me Perret ie a SP Oe 4 oo 

os i ‘ FOS. ~s y ah 4 a ae ee - $Pr, Sg cy ee SP 
J Ae ar | Fm ip rat ee Nae eels 

3 ‘ areas, ee. ee 

+ ym. Si a 


384 | -CYCLOPADIA OF ~~: [ro. 1876, 


,He examined samples of grain, handled pigs, and on market-days made bar- 
Pains over a tankard with drovers and hop-merchants. His chief pleasures 
were commonly derived- from field-sports and from an unrefined sensua- 
lity. His language and pronunciation were such as we should now expect to hear 
only from the most ignorant clowns. His oaths, coarse jests, and scurrilous terms 
of abuse, were uttered with the broadest accent of his province. It was easy to dis- 
cern, from the first words which he spoke, whether he came from Somersetshire or 
Yorkshire.. He tronbled himself little about decorating his abode, and if he attempt- 
ed decoration, seldom produced anything but deformity. The litter of a farmyard 
gathered under the windows of his bedchamber, and the cabbages and gooseberry 
bushes grew close to his hall door. His table was loaded with coarse plenty, and 
guests were cordially welcome to it; but as the habit of drinking to excess was gene- — 
ral in the class to which he belonged, and as his fortune did not enable him to intoxi- 
cate large assemblies daily with claret or canary, strong beer was the ordinary beve= 
rage. The quantity of beer consumed in those days was indeed enormous; for beer ~ 
then was to the middle and lower classes not only all that beer now is, but all that 
wine, tea, and ardent spirits now are; it was only at great houses, or on great occa- — 
sions, that foreign drink was placed on the board. The ladies of the house, whose 
business it had commonly been to cook the repast, retired as soon as the dishes had — 
been devoured, and left the gentlemen to their ale and tobacco. The coarse jollity — 
of the afternoon was often prolonged till the revellers were laid under the table. 
From this description it might be supposed that the Enghsh esquire of the Seven- 
teenth century did not materially differ from a rustic miller or ale-house keeper of 
our time. There are, however, some important parts of his character still to be — 
noted, which will greatly modify this estimate. Unlettered as he was and umpol- 
ished, he was still in some important points a gentleman. He was a member of a 
proud and .powerful aristocracy, and was distinguished by many both of the good ~ 
and of the bad qualities which belong to aristocrats. His family pride was beyond — 
that of a Talbot ora Howard. He knew the genealogies and coats-of-arms of all his — 
neighbours, and could tell which of them had assumed supporters without any right, — 
and which of them were so unfortunate as to be great-grandsons of aldermen. He — 
was a magistrate, and as such administered gratuitously to those who dwelt around ~ 
him arude patriarchal justice, which, in spite of innumerable blunders and of occa- — 
sional acts of tyranny, was yet better than no justice at all. He was an officer of the ~ 
train-bands; and his military dignity, though it might move the mirth of gallants _ 
who had served a campaign in Flanders, raised his character in his own eyes and in 
the eyes of his neighbors. Nor, indeed, was his soldiership justly a subject of de- — 
rision. In every county there were elderly gentlemen who had seen service which — 
was no child’s play. One had been knighted by Charles I. after the battle of Edge- — 
hill; another still wore a patch over the scar which he had received at Nase- — 
by; a third had defended his old house till Fairfax had blown in the ~ 
door with a petard. The presence of these old Cavaliers, with their old 
swords and holsters, and with their old stories about Goring and Lunsford, gave — 
to the musters of militia an earnest and warlike aspect which would otherwise haye — 
been wanting. ~ Even those country gentlemen who were too young to haye them- 
selves exchanged blows with the cuirassiers of the Parliament, had, from childhood, — 
been surrounded by the traces of recent war, and fed with stories of the martial ex-— 
ploits of their fathers and uncles. Thus the character of the English esquire of the — 
seventeenth century was compounded of two elements which we are not accustomed — 
to find united. His ignorance and uncouthness, his low tastes and gross_phrases, | 
would, in our time, be considered as indicating a nature and-a breeding thoroughly — 
plebeian. Yet he was essentially a patrician, and had, in large measure, both the — 
virtues and the vices which flourish among men set from their birth in high places, ~ 
and accustomed to authority, to observance, and to self-respect. It is not easy for 
& generation which is accustomed to find chivalrous sentiments only in compan : 
with liberal studies and polished manners to image to itself a man with the denna { 
ment, the vocabulary, and the accent of a carter. yet punctilious on matters of gene-— 
alogy and precedence, and yet ready to risk his life rather than see a stain cast on the 
honou" of his house, It is only, however, by thus joini g together things seldom or 
never fonnd together in our own experience, that we can form a just idea of that 
ristis aviatocracy which constituted the main strength of the armies of Charles L, 
and w.ich long supported with strange fidelity the interest of his descendants. “e 


ee 
Fai gi 


¢ 


pte OS Fae, ei ae i ao” 
“ee ae Lo he * ss * 
ee eed << s 3 

ni ay as ‘ ‘ , 
/ ; 

a oe . ¢ ; 


es s , cok , Fe : 
_ MACAULAY. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 385 


+ When the lord of Lincolnshire or Shropshire manor appeared in Fleet Street, he 
was as easily distinguished from the resident population as a ‘{urk ora Lascar. His 
_ dress, his gait, his accent, the manner in which he stared at the shops, stumbled into 
the gutters, ran against the porters, and stood under the water-spouts, marked him 
out as an excellent subject for the operations of swindlers and banterers. Bullies 
_ jostled him into the kennel. Ifackney-coachmen splashed him from head to foot. 
. Thieves explored, with perfect security, the huge pockets of his horseman’s coat, 
while he stood entranced by the splendour of the lord-inayor’s show. Money-drop- 
“pers, sore from the cart’s tail, introduced themselves to him, and appeared to him the 
~ most friendly gentlemen he had ever seen. Painted women, the refuse of Lewkner 
Lane and Whatstone Park, passed themselves on him for countesses and maids of 
honour. If he asked nis way to St. James’s, his informant sent him to Mile End. If 
_ he went into a shop, he was instantly discerned to be a purchaser of everything that 
- nobody else would buy—of second-hand embroidery, copper rings, and watches that 
_ would not go. If he rambled into any fashionable coffee-house, he became a mark 
_ for the insolent derision of fops and the grave waggery of ‘'emplars. Enraged and 
mortified, he soon returned to his mansion; and there, in the homage of his tenants, 
_ and tbe conversation of his boon companions, found consolation for the vexations 
and humiliations he had undergone. ‘There he once more found himself a great man ; 
_ and he saw nothing above him, except when at the assizes he took his seat on the 
_ bench near the judge, or when at the muster of the militia he saluted the lord-lieu- 
_ tenant. 
- The Roman Catholic Church.—From the review of Ranke’s ‘History of 
ae ; the Popes.’ 
pF _ There is not, and there never was on this earth, a work of human policy so well 
' deserving of examination as the Roman Catholic Church. The history of that 
_ Church joins together the two great ages of human civilisation. No other institution 
is left standing which carries the mind back to the times when the smoke of sacrifice 
- rose from the Pantheon, and when camelopards and tigers bounded in the Flavinian 
_ amphitheatre. The proudest royal houses are but of yesterday, when compared with 
- the line of the Supreme Pontiffs. That line we trace back in an unbroken series, 


_ from the pope who crowned Napoleon in the nineteenth century, to the pope who- 


- crowned Pepin in the eighth; and far beyond the time of Pepin the august dynasty 
extends, till it is lost in the twilight of fable. The republic of Venice came next in 
- antiquity. But the republic of Venice was modern when compared with the Papacy ; 
“and the republic of Venice is gone, and the Papacy remains. The Papacy remains, 
not in decay, not a mere antique, but full of life and youthful vigour. The Catholic 
_ Church is still sending forth to the farthest ends of the world missionaries as zealous 
as those who landed in Kent with Augustine, and still confronting hostile kings 
with the same spirit with which she confronted Attila. The number of her children 
“ee greater than in any former age. Her acquisitions in the New World have more 
than compensated for what she has lost in the Old. Her spiritual ascendency ex~ 
‘ tends over the yast countries which lie between the plains of the Missouri and Cape 
‘Horn, countries which, a century hence, may not improbably contain a population 
as large as that which now inbabits Europe. The members of her communion are 
_ certainly not fewer than a hundred and fifty millions; and it will. be difficult to shew 
that ali other Christian sects united amount to a hundred and twenty millions. Nor 
do we see any sign which indicates that the term of her long dominion is approach- 
Ing. She saw the commencement of all the governments and of all the ecclesiastical 
establishments that now exist in the world; and we feel no assurance that she is 
hot destined to see the end of them all. She was great and respected before the 
_ Saxon had set foot on Britain, before the Frank had passed the Rhine. when Grecian 
eloquence still flourished at Antioch, when idols were still worshipped in the temple 
of Mecca. And she may still exist in undiminished vigour when some traveller from 
New Zealand shall, in the midst of a vast solitude. take his stand on ggbroken arch 
of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St. Paul’s.* 
a iin teks Ore 8 Jo ET iy 
- * Tkis poetical figure has become almost familiar as a household word. Itis not origi- 
mal. as has often-been pointed out. Horace Walpole. ina letter to Sir H. Mann. says: 
_ * At last some curious native of Lima will visit London, and give a sketch of the ruins 
es ae 


; 
~ 


.. 


386 - CYCLOPADIA OF ~ [ro 1876, 


On the success of the History and other works of Lord Macauley, — 
information will be found in the life of the historian by his nephew, 
Mr. Trevelyan. ‘Within a generation of its first appearance, up- 
wards of 140,000 copies of the History will have been printed and ~ 
sold in the United Kingdom alone. It has been translated into — 
nearly all European lat guages, and been unprecedentedly. popular.’ 
In a journal kept by the historian we read, under date of March 
7, 1856: ° 

‘Longman came, with a very pleasant announcement. He and 
his partners find that they are overflowing with money, and think 
that they cannot invest it better than by advancing to me, on the 
usual terms of course, part of what will be due to me in December. — 
We agreed that they shall pay twenty thousand pounds into Wil- 
liams’s Bank next week. What a sum to be gained by one edition of 
a book! I may say, gained in one day. But that was harvest day. — 
The work had been near seven years in hand.’ The cheque is still — 
preserved as a curiosity among the archives of Messrs. Longman’s ~ 
firm. ‘The transaction,’ says Macaulay, ‘is quite unparalleled in — 
the history of the book-trade.’ * a 

We have referred to Macaulay’s wonderful memory and stores of | 
knowledge (see ante). . On this subject we may quote a passage — 
from a journal kept by his sister, Margaret Macaulay: a 

‘JI said that I was surprised at the great accuracy of his informa- — 
tion, considering how desultory his reading had been. “‘ My accuracy — 


~ 


of Westminster and St. Paul’s.’ Volney. in his Ruin’ of Empires, had written: *Re- — 
flecting thatif the places before me had once exhibited this animated picture. who. said ¥ 
Itomyself. can assure me that their present desolation will not one day be the lot of our — 
own country? Who knows but that hereafter some traveller like myself will sitdown — 
upon the banks of the Seine the Thames, orthe Zuyder Zee. where now. in the tumult — 
of enjoyment, the heart and the eyes are too slow to take in the multitude of sensations 
—who knows but that he will sit down solitary amid silent ruins, and weep @ people — 
jnurned. and their greatness changed into an empty name?’ . e 
See also Henry Kirke White. ante, ; i 
Mrs. Barbauld had shadowed forth the same idea: ~ a 
* With duteous zeal their pilgrimage shall take, : aa 
From the blue mountaius on Ontario’s lake, % 
With fond adoring steps to press the sod, ~ 
By statesmen. sages, poets. heroes trod. 3 
Pensive and thoughtful shall the wanderers greet 
Each splendid square and still, untrodden street ; ; Om 
Or of some crumbling turret. mined by time, 7 7 
The broken stairs with perilous step may climb. 
And when ’midst fallen London, they survey 
The stone where Alexander’s ashes lay, . 3250 am | 
Shall own with humble pride the lesson just, ae | 
By time’s slow finger written in the dust.’ =e 
Shelley, in the preface to Peter Bell the Third addressed to Moore. has a similar ile 
lustration: ‘In the firm expectation. that when London shall be a habitation of bitterns, — 
when St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey shall stand shapeless and nameless ruins, in ~ 
the midst of an unpeopled marsh; when the piers of Westminster Bridge shall become 
the muclei of islets of reeds and osiers. and cast the jagged shadows of their broken 
arches on the solitary stream; some transatlantic commentator will be weighing in the 
scales of some new and now unimagined system of criticism the respective merits of the 
Bells, and the Fudges, and their historians.’ <9 < 
‘ a> 


* The Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay, by his nephew, George Otto Trevel 
M. P. (1867), vol. ii, page 410, 


-MAcAULAY.] = ENGLISH LITERATURE. ae ceat ys 


ae 


as to facts,” he said, ‘‘ ] owe to a cause which many men would not 


- confess. It is due to my love of castle-building. The past is in my 


mind soon constructed into a romance. With a person of my turn, 
the minute touches are of as great interest, and perhaps greater than 
the most important events. Spending so much time as I do in soli- 
tude, my mind would have rusted by gazing vacantly at the shop 


- windows. — As it is, lam no sooner in the streets than I am in Greece, 


om 


¢ 


t 


in Rome, in the midst of the French Revolution. Precision in dates, 


__ the day or hour in which a man was born or died, becomes absolutely 


necessary. A slight fact, a sentence, a word, are of importance in 


-my romance. Pepys’s Diary formed almost inexhaustible food for 


my fancy. I seem to know every inch of Whitehall. I go in at 
Hans Holbein’s Gate, and come out through the matted gallery. The 
conversations which I compose between great people of the time are 
Jong, and sufficiently animated; in the style, if not with the merits, 


-of Sir Walter Scott’s. The old parts-of London, which you are 
sometimes surprised at my knowing so well, those old gates and 


houses down by the river, have all played their part in my stories.” 
He spoke, too, of the manner in which he used to wander about 
Paris, we iving tales of the Revolution, and he thought that he owed 


his command of language greatly to this habit.’ 


His biographer, Mr. Trevelyan, notices another help to memory— 


- the ‘extraordinary faculty of assimilating printed matter at first 
_ sight. To the end of his life, Macaulay read books faster than 


other people skimmed them, and skimmed them as fast as anyone 


else could turn the leaves.’ His vast erudition, his painstaking care 


te 
- 


‘his support of his parents, and his generous self-sacrificing character 


_as a literary workman; and his hatred of all cant, affectation, and 


7 


‘injustice, have been depicted by his biographer. His journals and 


letters disclose his true nobility of soul, his affection for: his sisters, 


- and independence of spirit, equally conspicuous in adversity and 


aa 


prosperity. 
: HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE. 


The ‘History of Civilisation,’ by Henry THomas Buck LE (1822- 
1862), was a portion of a great work designed by its author to extend _ 
to fourteen volumes! Four were published between 1857 and 1864. 
They were the result of twenty years’ study—the fruit of a specu- 


lative genius of no common order, but containing many rash gener- 


alisations and doctrinaire views. The public opinion concerning 
them seems to-have subsided into Macaulay’s estimate: ‘ Buckle, a 


* man of talent and of a great deal of reading, but paradoxical and 


: said. He wants to makea system before he has got the materials, 
-and he has not the excuse which Aristotle had of having an eminently 


incoherent. He is eminently an anticipator, as Bacon would have 


systematising mind.’ The book reminded Macaulay of the ‘ Divine 


- Legation’ of Warburton (see ante)—that huge structure of pa- 


; 
Sd 
td 
Fa 
wae 


¥. 


oy Sagi 


888. | 3 CYCLOP-EDIA OF — fro 1876, 


radox and learning. Mr. Buckle wasthe son of a London merchant, 4 
and was born at Lee in Kent. He was an amiable enthusiastic — 


student. 


Proximate Causes of the French Revolution. 


Looking at the state of France immediately after the death of Louis XIV., we 
have seen that his policy having reduced the country to the brink of ruin, and having 
destroyed every vestige of free inquiry, a reaction became necessary ;. but that the 
materials for the reaction could not be found among a nation whica for fifty years” 
had been exposed to so debilitating a system. This deficiency at home caused the 
most eminent Frenchmen to turn their attention abroad. and gave rise to a sudden 
admiration for the English literature, and for those habits of thought which were 
then peculiar to the English people. New life being thus breathed into the wasted 
frame of French society, an eager and inquisitive spirit was generated, such as had 
not been seen since the time of Descartes. 'The upper classes, taking offence 
at this unexpected movement, attempted to stifle it, and made strenuous efforts to 
destroy that love of inquiry which was daily gaining ground. To effect their object, 
they persecuted literary men with such bitterness as to have made it evident that — 
the intellect of France must either relapse into its former servility, or else boldly as- 
sume the defensive. Happily for the interests of civilisation, the latter alternative 
was adopted ; and in or about 1750, a deadly struggle began, in which those puneinise 
of liberty which France borrowed from England, and which had hitherto been sup- 
posed only applicable to the church. were for the first time applied to the state. Coin-. _ 
ciding with this movement, and indeed forming part of it, other circumstances occur- 
red of the same character. Now it was that the political economists succeeded 
in proving that the interference of the governing classes had inflicted great mischief __ 
even upon the material interests of the country; and had by their protective — 
measures injured what they were believed to be benefiting. This remarkable dis- 
covery in favour of general freedom put a fresh weapon into the hands of the ; 
democratic party ; whose strength was still further increased by the unrivalled elo- —_ 
quence with which Rousseau assailed the existing fabric. Precisely the same ten- _ 
dency was exhibited in the extraordinary impulse given to every branch of physica i. 
science, which familiarised men with ideas of progress, and brought them into col-  ~ 
lision with the stationary and conservative ideas natural to government. The 
discoveries made respecting the external world, encouraged a restlessness and 
excitement of mind. hostile to the spirit of routine. and therefore full of danger — 
for the institutions only recommended by their antiquity. This eagerness for 
Ns knowledge also effected a change in education: and the ancient languages — 

eing neglected, another link was severed which connected the present with the past. 
The church, the legitimate protector of old opinions, was unable to resist the pas- 
sion for novelty. because she was weakened by treason in her own camp. For, by 
this time, Calvinism had spread so much among the French clergy, as to break them 
into two hostile parties, and render it impossible to rally them against their common ; 
foe. The growth of this heresy was also important, because Calvinism being essen- 
tially democratic, a revolutionary spirit appeared even in the ecclesiastical profession, ~ 
so that the feud in the church was accompanied by another feud between the govern- 
ment and the church. These were tne leading symptoms of that vast movement 
which culminated in the French Revolution; and all of them indicated a state of 
socivty so anarchical and so thoroughly disorganised, as to make it certain that — 
2 


- 


some great catastrophe was impending. At length, and when everything wasready — 
for explosion, the news of the American Rebellion fell like a spark on the inflam- — 
matory mass, and ign ted a flame which never ceased its ravages until it had de: _ 
stroyed all that Frenchmen once held dear, and had left for the instruction of man: _ 
kind an awful lesson of the crimes into-which long-continued oppression may hurry 
a genexous and long-suffering people. co 


The Three Great Movers of Society. ra | 


In a great and comprehensive view, the changes in every civilised people are, 15 . 
their aggregate, dependent on three things: first on the amount of knowledges 


ae ee —< b - 

Cth ek hee, 2 as, < al | Cp ee 

er es : ~ ~ 
— 


, ie 


: 
ie 


© BUCKLE. _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 389° 


possessed by their ablest men; secondly, on the direction which that knowledge 


_takes—that is to say, the sort of subjects to whichit refers; thirdly, and above all, 
onthe extent to which the knowledge is diffused, and the freedom with which it 


pervades allclasses of society. 


se 


- reason to think that any permanent change has been effected in the proportion which * 
_ those who naturally possess good intentions bearto those in whom bad ones seem to 
' be inherent. In what may be called the innate and original morals of mankind there 
_ig, so far as we are aware, no progress. 


These are the three great movers of every civilised country ; and although their ope- 
ration is frequentiy disturbed by the vices or the virtues of powerful individuals, 


‘such moral feelings correct each other, and the average of long pericds remains un- 


affected. Owing to causes of which we are ignorant, the moral qualities do, no 
doubt, constantly vary, so that in one man, or perhaps even in one generation, there will 
be an exce=s of good intentions, in another an excess of bad ones.. But we have no 


The desolation of countries and the slaughter of men are losses which never fail 
to be repaired, and atthe distance of a few centuries: every vestige of them is 


effaced. The egeone crimes of Alexander or Napoleon become after a time void of 


effect, and the affairs of the world return to their former level. This is the ebb and 
flow of history—the perpetual flux to which the laws of our nature are subject. 


Above all this there is a far higher movement; and as the tide rolls on, now ad- 


yancing, now receding, there is amidst its endless fluctuations one thing, and one 


alone, which endures for ever. The actions of bad men produce only temporary evil, 


the actions of good men only temporary good ; and eventually the good and the evil 
altogether subside, are neutralised by subsequent generations, absolved by the inces- 


“sant movement of future ages. But the discoveries of great men never leave us; 
- they are immortal, they contafm those eternal truths which survive the shock of em- 
-pires, outlive the struggles of rival creeds, and witness the decay of successive relig- 
jions. Aljl these have their different measures and different standards; one set 
_of opinions for one age, another set for another. They pass away like a dream; they 


are.as the fabric of a vision which leaves not a rack behind. The discoveries of 
genius alone. remain; it is to them we owe all that we now have; they are for all 
ages and all times; never young and never old, they bear the seeds of their own life: 


‘they flow on in a perennial and undying stream ; they are essentially cumulative, and 


giving birth to the additions which they subsequently receive, they thus influence the 
most distant posterity, and after the lapse of centuries produce more effect than they 


were able to do even at the moment of their promulgation. . 


THOMAS CARLYLE. 


The writings of Mr. CarLy1e are so various, that he may be char- 


acterised as historian, biographer, translator, moralist, or satirist. 


_ His greatest and most splendid successes, however, have been won in 


the departments of biography and history. The chief interest and 


charm of his works consist in the individual portraits they contain 


_ and the strong personal sympathies or antipathies they describe. He 


has a clear and penetrating insight into human nature; he notes 
every fact and circumstance-that can elucidate character, and having 
selected his subject, he works with passionate earnestness till he re- 
produces the individual or scene before:the reader, exact in outline 


according to his preconceived notion, and with marvellous force and 


_ vividness of colouring. Even as a landseape-painter 


a character he 
by no means affects—Mr. Carlyle has rarely been surpassed. A. 
Scotch shipping town, an English fen, a wild mountain solitude, or a 


- Welsh valley, is depicted by him in a few words with the distinct- 


nesss and reality of a photograph. 
Mr. Carlyle is a native of the south of Scotland—born December 4, 


“ 


. . *y at he o a A 
; Fak oa Tee ee oes 


= 


390. CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876, _ 


1795, in the village of Ecclefechan, in Annandale—a fine pastoral — 
district, famous in Border story, and rich in ancient castles and Ro- ~— 
main remains. His father, a farmer, is spoken of as a man of great ~~ 
moral worth and sagacity; his mother as affectionate, pious, and — 
more than ordinarily intelligent; and thus, accepting his own theory 
that ‘the history of a man’s childhood is the description of his 
parents and environment,’ Mr. Carlyle entered upon ‘the mystery of 
life’ under happy and enviable circumstances. As a school-boys he 
became acquainted with Edward Irving, the once celebrated preacher, 
whom he has commemorated as a man of the noblest nature.* —~ 

From the grammar-school of Annan, Carlyle went to Edinburgh, 
and studied at the university for the church; but before he had com- — 
pleted his academical course, his views changed. He hadexcelledin 
mathematics; and afterwards, for about four years, he was a teacher | 
of mathematics—first in Annan, and afterwards in Kirkcaldy, Fife- 
shire, where Edward Irving also resided as a teacher. In 1818 he — 
proceeded to Edinburgh, where he had the range of the University ~ 
Library, and where he wrote a number of short biographies and — 
other articles for the ‘Edinburgh Hncyclopexdia,’ conducted by — 
Brewster. In 1821 he became tutor to Mr. Charles Buller, whose — 
honourable public career was prematurely terminated by his death, in ~ 
his forty-second year, in 1843. ‘ His light airy brilliancy,’ ‘said Car-_ 
lyle, ‘has suddenly become solemn, fixed in the earnest stillness of — 
eternity.’ 

Mr. ‘Gari vie in 1823 contributed to the ‘London Magazine’ in — 
monthly portions his ‘ Life of Schiller,” which he enlar. ed and pub- — 
lished in a separate form in 1825. He was also peas in translat- 
ing Legendre’s ‘Geometry,’ to which he prefixed an essay on Pro- ~ 
portion ; and in the same busy year (1824) he translated the ‘Wil- 
helm Meister’ of Goethe. Mr. Carlyle’s translation appeared with- — 
out his name. Its merits were too palpable to be overlooked, though 
some critics objected to the strong infusion of German phraseology ~ 
which the translator had imported into his English version. This — 
never left Mr. Carlyle even in his original works; but the ‘ Life of — 
Schiller’ has none of the peculiarity. How finely, for example, does # 
the piesraphen expatiate on that literary life which he had now fairly 
adopted: ied 


ef 


¥ 


4 


f 
we 


. | ¥ 

Men of Genius. ee 
Atnong these men are to bo found the brightest specimens and the chief benefac- 
tors of mankind. It is they that keep awake the finer parts of our souls; that give 
CO —  T , 


hd 
‘ 
* 
- 
s 


* 


eo 


The first time I saw Irving was six-and-twenty years ago (19091, in his native town 

Annan. He was tresh trom Edinburgh. with college prizes. high character, and promise: _ 
he had come to see our schoolmaster. who had a!so been his. We heard of famed profes- 
sors. of high matters classical, mathematical—a whole wonderland of knowledge: 


+. 
ay | 


nothing-but joy. health. hopefulness without end looked out from the blooming youug 
min. The last time I saw him was three months ago. in London. Friendliness still 
beamed in his eyes. but now from amid unquiet fire; his face was flaccid. wasted, une 3 
sound: hoary as with extreme age: he was trembling over the brink of the grave, 
-\dieu. thou first friend—adien while this confused twilight of existence lasts! Mizht 
we ineet where twilight has become day!’~—CARLYLE’s Miscellanies, 2 


rt ee z xs 5 
peer ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 891 


- us better aims than power or pleasure, and withstand the total sovereignty of Mam- 
- mon inthis earth. They are the vanguard in the march of mind; the intellectual 
backwoodsmen, reclaiming from the idle wilderness new territories for the thought 
- andthe activity of their happier brethren. Pity that, from all their conquests, so 
_ fich in benefit to others, themselves should reap so little! But it is vain to murmur. 
“They are volunteers in this cause; they weighed the charms of it against the perils; 
_- and they must abide the results of their decision, as all must. The hardships of the 
course they follow are formidable, but not at all inevitable; and to such as pursue it 
rightly, it is not without its great rewards. If an author’s life is more agitated and 
more painful than that of others, it may also be made more spirit-stirring and ex- 
_ alted; fortune may render him unhappy, it is only himself that can make him despi- 
cable. The history of genius has, in fact, its bright side as well as its dark. And if 
it is distressing to survey the misery, and what is worse, the debasement, of so many 
gifted men, it is doubly cheering. on the other hand. to reflect on the few who, amid 
_ the temptations and sorrows to which life in all its provinces, and most in theirs, is 
liable, have travelled through it in calm and virtuous majesty, and are now hallowed 
-_ in-our memories not less for their conduct than their writings: Such men are the 
- flower of this lower world: to such alone can the epithet of great be applied with its 
_~true emphasis. ‘There is a congruity in their proceedings which one loves to con- 
_ template: he who would write heroic poems, should make his whole life a heroic 
~~ poem. 


____In 1825, marriage lessened the anxieties attendant on a literary life, 
while it added permanently to Mr. Carlyle’s happiness. The lady to 

_ whom he was united was a lineal descendant of John Knox—Miss 

Jane Welsh, daughter of Dr. Welsh, Haddington. Mrs, Carlyle had 

a smail property, Craigenputtoch, in Dumfriesshire, to which, after 

_ about three years’ residence in Edinburgh, the Jady and her husband 

_.Yetired. In Edinburgh, Carlyle had published four volumes of 
* Specimens of German Romance’ (1827), and written for the ‘ Edin- 
burgh Review’ essays on. ‘Jean Paul’ and ‘German Literature,’ 
His Dumfriesshire retreat he has described in a letter to Goethe: 


aaa Picture of a Retired, Happy Literary Life. 
CRAIGENPUTTOCH, 25th September 1823. 


A You inquire with such warm interest respecting our present abode and occupa- 
tions, that [am obliged to say a few words about both, while there is still room 
_ . left. Dumfries is a pleasant town, containing about. fifteen thousand inhabitants, 
- and to be considered the centre of the trade and judicial system of a district 
which possesses some importance in the sphere of Scottish activity. Our residence 

_ is not in the town itself, but fifteen miles to the north-west of it, among the granite 
~ hills and the black mcrasses which-stretch westward through Galloway, almost to 
_ the Trish sea. In this wilderness of heath and rock, our estate stands forth a green 
oasis, a tract of ploughed, partly inclosed and planted ground, where corn ripens, 
‘and trees afford a shade, although surrounded by sea-mews and rough-woolled 
sheep. Here, with no small effort, have we built and furnished a neat, substantial 
dwelling; here, in the absence of a professional or other office, we live to cul- 
tivate literature according to our strength, and in our own peculiar way. Wa 

_- wish a joyful growth to the roses and flowers of our garden; we hope for health 
and peaceful thoughts to further our aims. The roses, indeed, are still in part to 
be planted, but they blossom already in anticipation. Two ponies, which carry us 
everywhere. and the mountain air, are the best medicines for weak nerves. ‘Ihis 
daily exercise, to which I am much devoted, is my only recreation ; for this nook of 
burs isthe loneliest in Britain—six miles removed from any one likely to visit me. 
Here Rousseau would have been as"happy as on his island of St. Pierre. My town 

__ friends, indeed, ascribe my sojourn here to asimilar disposition, and forebode me no 
good result. But I came hither solely with the design to simplify my way of life, 
and to secure the independence through which I could be enabled to remain true to 
myself. This bit of earth is our own; here we can live, write and think, as best 


892 = SSGYGEOPADIASOFR Sie a rede 


pleases ourselves, even though Zoilus himself were to be crowned the monarch of — 


literature. Nor is the solitude of such great importance; for a stage-coach takes us 
speedily to Edinburgh, which we look upon as our British Weimar. And have I 


not, too, at this moment, piled upon the table of my little library, a whole cart-load — 


of French, German, ‘American and English journals and periodicals—whatever may 
be their worth ? 2 Of Antiquarian studies, too, there is no lack. From some of our 
heights J can descry, about a day’s journey to the west, the hill where Agricola and 
his Romans left a camp behind them. At the foot of it I was born. and there both 
father and mother still live to love me. And so one must let time work. But 
whither am I wandering? Let me contess to you, I am uncertain about my future 
literary activity, and would gladly learn your opinion respecting it; at least pray 
write to me again, and speedily, that Imay ever feel myself united to you. .... The 

only piece of any importance that I haye written since I came here is an ‘ Essay on 
Burns.’ Perhaps you never heard of him, and yet he is a man of the most decided 
genius; but born in the lowest rank of peasant life, and through the entanglements 
of his peculiar position, was at length mournfully wrecked, so that what he effected 
is comparatively unimportant. He died in the middle of his career, in the year 1796. 
We English, especially we Scotch, love Burns more than any poet that lived for cen- 
turies. I have often been struck by the fact that he was born a few months before 
Schiller, in the year 1759, and that neither of them ever heard the other’s name. 


a 


They shone like stars in opposite be ee og or, if you will, the thick mist of earth ~ 


intercepted their reciprocal light. 


In this country residence Mr. Carlyle wrote papers for the ‘For-— 
eign Review,’ and his ‘Sartor Resartus,’ which, after being rejected — 
by several publishers, appeared in ‘ Fraser’s Magazine,’ 1838-384. 


The book might. well have puzzled the ‘book tasters’ who decide 


for publishers cn works submitted to them in manuscript. ‘Sartor’ — 


professes to be a review of a German treatise on dress, and the hero, 
Diogenes Teufelsdréckh, is made to illustrate by his life and char- 


acter the transcendental ‘philosophy of Fichte, adopted by Mr. Car-. — 


lyle, which is thus explained : ‘That all things which we see or 


work with in this earth, especially we ourselves and all persons, are 


as a kind of vesture of sensuous appearance : that.under all these © 
lies, as the essence of them, what he calls the ‘‘ Divine Idea of the 
World; ” this is the reality which lies at the bottom of all appear- — 


ance. To the mass of men no such divine idea is recognisable in the 
world. They live merely, says Fichte, among the superticialities, 
practicalities, and shows of the world, not dreaming that there is 


anything divine under them.’—(‘ Hero Worship. ’) Mr. Carlyle works 
out this theory—the clothes-philosophy—and finds the world false 


and hollow, our institutions mere worn-out rags or disguises, and that 
our only safety lies in flying from falsehood to truth, and becoming 
in harmony with the ‘divine idea.’ There is much fanciful, gro- 
tesque description in ‘Sartor,’ but also deep thought and beautiful 


imagery. The hearty love of-truth seems to constitute the germ of — 
Mr. Carlyle’s philosophy, as Milton said it was the foundation of — 
eloquence. And with this he unites the ‘gospel of work,’ duty and - 
obedience. ‘ Laborare est orare—work is worship.’ In 1834 Mr. Car- 


lyle left the ‘ever-silent whinstones of Nithsdale’ for a suburb of 


- 
4g 


~~ 


Pi 


London—a house in the ‘remnant of genuine old Dutch-looking 
® 


ee clsea’—the now famous No. 5 Cheyne Row, in which he still. ae 
sides. 


RN IS patina tr a er ee Ve ar. Se cas “¥ 


cartyir.] “ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 393 


oy @ 
% In 1837 he delivered lectures on ‘German Literature’ in Willis’s 
Rooms; and in the following year another course in Edward Street, 
- Portman Square, on the ‘ History of Literature. or the Successive 
~ Periods of European Culture.’ ‘i wo other courses of Lectures—one 
on the ‘ Revolutions of Modern Europe,’ 1889, and the other on 
_ ‘Heroes and Hero Worship,’ 1840—added to the popularity of Mr. 
_ Carlyle. ‘It appeared,’ said Leigh Hunt, ‘as if some Puritan had 
- come to life again, liberalised by German philosophy and his own in- 
__tense reflections and experience.’ This vein of Puritanism running 
_ through the speculations of the lecturer and moral censor, has been 
- claimed as peculiarly northern. ‘That earnestness,’ says Mr. Hannay, 
_ ‘that grim humour—that queer, half-sarcastic, half-sympathetic fun 
- —is quite Scotch. It appears in Knox and Buchanan, and it appears 
in Burns. I was not surprised when a school-fellow of Carlyle’s told 
~ me that his favourite poem as a boy was ‘ Death and Dr. Hornbook.’ 
_ And if I were asked to explain this originality, I should say that he 
* was a Covenanter coming in the wake of the eighteenth century and 
~ the transcendental philosophy. He has gone into the hills against 
“shams,” as they did against Prelacy, Erastianism, and so forth. 
__But he lives in a quieter age and in a literary position. So he can 
_ give play to tne humour which existed in them as well, and he over- 
- flows with arange of reading and speculation to which they were 
“necessarily strangers.’ But at least one-half the originality here 
_ sketched, style as well as sentiment, must be placed to the account 
of German studies. In 1837 appeared ‘The French Revolution, a 
_ History, by Thomas Carlyle.’ This is the ablest of all the author’s 
* works, and is indeed one of the most remarkable books of the age, 
- The first perusal of it forms a sort of era in a man's life, and fixes 
_ for ever in his memory the ghastly panorama of the Revolution, its 
scenes and actors. 
_- Jn 1828 Mr. Carlyle collected his contributions to the Reviews, 
and published them under the title of ‘ Miscellanies,’ extending to 
five volumes. The biographical portion of these volumes—essays on 
_ Voltaire, Mirabeau, Johnson and Boswell, Burns, Sir Walter Scott, 
~&c.—is admirably executed. ‘They are compact, complete, and at 
~onee highly picturesque and suggestive. The character and history 
of Burns he has drawn with a degree of insight, true wisdom, and 
pathos not surpassed in any biographical or critical production of 
the present century. Mr. Thackeray’s essay on Swift resembles it in 
power, but it is more of a sketch. ~The next two appearances of Mr. 
-» Carlyle were political, and on this ground he seems shorn of his 
Strensth. ‘ Chartism,’ 1839, and ‘Past and Present,’ 18438, contain 
Many weighty truths and shrewd observations, directed against all 
Shams, cant, formulas, speciosities, &c.; but when we look for a 
remedy for existing evils, and ask how we are to replace the forms 
and institutions which Mr. Carlyle would have extinguished, we find 
little to guide us in our author’s prelections. The only tangible 


ie 


~ 


‘ Ce a ek {pe SSE a ee ce oe ee es 
ne ~ ; jp re roe . he ot ee ee 
ath, . i FS 7) aye -5 eae 


~~ < 


394 CYCLOPADIA OF . vy fTo:1876.; 3 
measures he proposes are education and emigration, with a strict en- — 
forcement of the penal laws. We would earnestly desire to extend - 
still more the benefits of education; but when Mr. Carlyle vituper- 
ates the present. age in comparison with the past, he should recollect 
how much has been done of late years to promote the instruction of 
the people. The next work of our author was a special service to 
history and to the memory of one of England’s historical worthies. 
His collection of ‘Oliver Cromwell’s Letters and Speeches, with 
Elucidations,’ two volumes, 1845, is a go d work well done. ‘The 
authentic utterances of the man Oliver himself,’ he says, ‘I have 
gathered them from far and near; fished them up from the foul 
Lethean quagmires where they lay buried ; I have washed or en- — 
deavoured to wash them clean from foreign stupidities—such a job — 
of buck-washing as I do not long to repeat—and the world shall now _ 
see them in their own shape.’ The world was thankful for the ser- — 
vice, and the book, though large and expensive, had a rapid sale. — 
The speeches and letters of Cromwell thus presented, the spelling — 
and punctuation rectified, and a few words occasionally added for — 
the sake of perspicuity, were first made intelligible and effective by 
Mr.-Carlyle; while his editorial ‘elucidations,’ descriptive and his- — 
torical, are often felicitous. Here is his picture of Oliver in 1653: - 


Personal Appearance of Cromavell. = 


‘His Highness,’ says Whitclocke, ‘was in a rich but plain suit—black velvet, with 
cloak of the same; about his hat a broad band of gold.’ Does the reader see him ? 
A rather likely figure, 1 think. Stands some five feet ten or more; a man of strong, - 
solid stature, and dignified, now partly military carriage: the expression of him 
valour and devout intelligence—energy and delicacy on a basis of simplicity. Fifty- — 
four years old, gone April last; brown hair and moustache are getting gray. A 
figure of sufficient impressiveness—not lovely to the man-milliner species, not pre- — 
tending to be so. Massive stature; big, massive head, of somewhat leonine aspect; ~ 
wart above the right eyebrow ; nose of considerable blunt-aquiline proportions; strict 
yet copious lips, full of all tremulous sensibilities, and also, if need were, of all — 
fiercenesses and rigours; deep, !oving eyes—call them grave, call them stern—look- — 
ing from under those craggy brows as if in life-long sorrow, and yet not thinking it _ 
sorrow, thinking it only Jabour and endeavour: on the whole, a right noble lion-face 
and Fero-face ; and to me royal enough. = z 


Another series of political tracts, entitled ‘Latter-day Pamphlets,’ — 
1850, formed Mr. Carlyle’s next work. In these the censor appeared ~ 
in his most irate and uncompromising mood, and with his peculiari- ; 
ties of style and expression in greater growth and deformity. He | 
seemed to be the worshipper of mere brute-force, the advocate of all 
harsh, coercive measures. Model prisons and schools for the reform _ 
of criminals, poor-laws, churches, as at present constituted, the aris: 
tocracy, parliament, and other institutions, were assailed and ridiculed 
in unmeasured terms, and, generally, the English public was set down 
as composed of sham-heroes and a valet or jflunkey world. On some 
political questions and administrative abuses, bold truths and merited _ 
satire appear in the Pamphlets; but, on the whole, they must be con- 


sidered, whether viewed as literary or philosophical productions ia 


¥ 


. 


__ as Poe iO Tepe arenes 
~ “CARLYLE.J ENGLISH LITERATURE. 895 
- unworthy of their author. The ‘Life of John Sterling,’ 1851, was 
_ an affectionate tribute by Mr. Carlyle to the memory of afriend. Mr. 
Sterling, son of Captain Sterling, the ‘ Thunderer of the ‘‘Times,”’ 
had written some few volumes in prose and verse, which cannot be 
said to have possessed any feature of originality; but he was amiable, 
- accomplished, and brilliant in conversation. His friends were strongly 
_ attached to him, and among those friends,were Archdeacon Hare and 
___ Mr. Carlyle. The former, after Sterling's death in 1844 (in his thirty- 
eighth year), published a selection of his ‘Tales and Essays’ with a 
Life of their author. 
___ Mr. Carlyle was dissatisfied with this Life of Sterling. The arch- 
’ deacon had considered the deceased too exclusively as a clergyman, 
_ -whereas Sterling had been a curate for only eight’ months, and lat- 
- terly had lapsed into sceptciism, or at least into a belief different 
_ from that of the church. ‘Truc,’ says Mr. Carlyle, ‘he had his re- 
3 gugion to seek, and painfully shape together for himself, out of the 
_~ abysses of conflicting disbelief and sham-belief and bedlam delusion, 
- now filling the world, as all men of reflection have;,and in this re- 
spect too—more especially as his lot in the battle appointed for us all 
was, if you can understand it, victory and not defeat—he is an expres- 
_ sive emblem of his time, and an instruction and possession to his 
-~ contemporaries.’ The tone adopted by the biographer in treating of 
_ Sterling’s religious lapse, exposed him to considerable censure. Even 
- the mild and liberal George Brimley, in reviewing Mr. Carlyle’s 
_ _ book, judged it necessary to put in a disclaimer against the tendency 
_ it was likely to have: ‘Mr. Carlyle has no right, no man has any 
‘right, to weaken or destroy a faith which he cannot or will not. re- 
place with a loftier. He ought to have said nothing, or said more. 
Scraps of verse from Goethe, and declamations, however brilliantly 
‘they may be phrased, are but a poor compensation for the slightest 
_ obscuring of the hope of immortality brought to light by the gospel, 
and by it conveyed to the hut of the poorest man, to awaken his 
- crushed intelligence and lighten the load of his misery.’ As a literary 
_- work, the ‘ Life of Sterling’ is a finished, artistic performance. There 
was little in the hero of the piece to demand skilful portrait-paint- 
* ing; but we have the great Coleridge and the ‘Times’ Thunderer 
_ placed before us with the clearness of a daguerreotype—the former, 
perhaps, a little caricatured. 


: i Portrait of Coleridge. 
Coleridge sat on the brow of Highgate Hill, in those years, looking down on 
- London and its smoke-tumult, like a sage escaped from the inanity of life’s battle; 
* attracting towards him the thoughts of innumerable brave souls still engaged there. 
_ His express contributions to poetry, philosophy, or any specific province of humau 
- literature or enlightenment, had- been small and sadly intermittent; but he had, 
_ especially among young inquiring men, a higher than literary, a kind of prophetie or 
- magician character. He was thought to hold, he alone in England, the key of German 
and other trancendentalisms; knew the sublime secret of believing by ‘the reason’ 
what ‘the understanding’ had been obliged to fling out as incredible; and could 


- 
i ~ 


re 


EG on Nn Ra Eee’ 
(896 ~CYCLOPEDIA OF - [ro 1876. 


‘still, after Hume and Voltaire had done their best.and worst with him, profess him- 
self an orthodox Christian, and say and print to the Church of England, with its 
singular old rubrics and surplices at Allhallowtide, Esto perpetua. A sublime man ; 
who, alone in those dark days, had saved his crown of spiritual manhood; escaping 
from the black materialisms, and revolutionary deluges, with ‘God, Freedom, 
Immortality ’ still his: a king of men. ‘The practical intellects of the world did not 
‘much heed him, or carelessly reckoned him a metaphysical dreamer: but to the rising 
spirits of the young generation he had this dusky sublime character; and sat there 
as a kind of Magus, girt in mystery and enigma; his Dodona oak-grove—Mr. Gilman’s 
house at Highgate—whispering strange things, uncertain whether oracles or jargon. - 
The Gilmans did not encourage much company. or excitation of any sort, round 
their sage; nevertheless, access to him, if a youth did reverently wish it, was not 
difficult. He would stroll about the pleasant garden with you, sit in the pleasant ~ 
rooms of the place—perhaps take you to his own peculiar room, high up, with 
a rearward view, which was the chief view of all. A really charming outlook, 
in fine weather. Close at hand, wide sweep of. flowery leafy gardens, their few 
houses mostly hidden, the very chimney-pots veiled under blossomy umbrage, 
flowed gloriously down hill; gloriously issuing in wide-tufted undulating plain- 
country, rich in all charms of field and town. Waving blooming country. of the 
brightest green; dotted all over with handsome villas, handsome groves; crossed by 
roads and human traffic, here inaudible or heard only as a musical hum; and behind 
all swam, under olive-tinted haze, the illimitab!e limitary ocean of London,-with its 
domes and steeples definite in the sun, big Paul’s and the many memories attached to 
it hanging high over all. Nowhere, of its kind, could you see a grander prospect on 
a bright summer day, with the set of the air going southward—southward, and so 
draping with the city-smoke not you but the city. Here for hours would Coleridge 
talk concerning all conceivable or inconceivabie things; and liked nothing better 
than to have an intelligent. or failing that, even a silent and patient human listener. 
He distinguished himself to all that ever heard him as at least the most surprising 
talker extant in this world—and to some small minority, by no means to all, as the _ 
most excellent. ... Brow and head were round. and of massive weight, but the 
face was flabby and irresolute. The deep eyes of.a light hazel were as full of sorrow - 
as of inspiration ; confused pain looked mildly from them, as in a kind of mild as-_ 
tonishment. The whole figure und air, good and amiable otherwise, might be called 
flabby and irresolute ; expressive of weakness under possibility of strength. He hung 
loosely on his limbs, with knees bent, and stooping attitude ; in walking, he rather 
shuffled than decisively stepped; and a lady once remarked, he never could fix which 
side of the garden-walk would suit him best, but continually shifted, in corkscrew 
fashion, and kept trying both. A heavy laden, high-aspiring, and surely much-suf-~ 
fering man. _ His voice, naturally soft and good. had contracted itself into a‘plaintive — 
spuffiie and sing-sovg; he spoke as if preaching—you would have said preaching — 
earnestly and also hopelessly the weightiest things. I still recollect his ‘object’ and _ 
and ‘subject,’ terms of continual recurrence in the Kantean province: and how he — 
sung and snuffled them into ‘om-m-mject’ and ‘sum-m-miject,’ with a kind of solemn _ 
shake or quaver, as he rolled along. No talk in his century, or in any other, could — 
be more surprising. ar 
In 1858 appeared the first portion of Mr. Carlyle’s long-expected — 
work, the ‘ History of Friedrich II., called ‘Frederick the Great,’ vo- ; 
lumes i. and ii. The third and fourth volumes were published in — 
1862, and the fifth and sixth, completing the work, in 1865. A con- — 
siderable part of the first volume is devoted to ‘clearing the way” — 
for the approach of the hero, and tracing the Houses of Branden- — 
burg and Hohenzollern. Frederick, as Mr. Carlyle admits, was — 
rather a questionable hero. But he was a reality, and had ‘ nothing — 
whatever of the hypocrite or phantasm.’ This was the biographer’s — 
inducement and encouragement to study his life. ‘How this man, — 
officially a king withal, comported himself in the eighteenth century, 
and managed not to be a liar and charlatan as his century was, de 


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es 
_ serves to be seen a little by men and kings, ‘and may silently have 
_ didactic meanings in it.’ And the eighteenth century is cordially 
_ abused as a period of worthlessnessand inanity. ‘What little it dd, 
we must call Friedrich; what little it thought, Voltaire.’ But as the 
- eighteenth century had also David Hume, Adam Smith, Samuel 
_ Johnson, Henry Fielding, and Robert Burns—to say nothing of 
~ Chatham and Burke, we must demur to such extravagant and whole- 
- sale condemnation. These idiosyncrasies and prejudices of Mr. 
~ Carlyle must be taken, like his peculiar style, because they are ac- 
_ companied by better things—by patient historical research, by ‘ vivid 
glances across the mists of history,’ by humour, pathos, and 
- eloquence. 
‘Shortly after the completion of this laborious History, Mr. Carlyle 
_ was elected Lord Rector of Edinburgh University, and on April 2, 
- 1866, he ‘delivered his installation address—an extemporaneous ef- 
_ fusion, or at least spoken without notes, and quite equal, in literary 
_ power, to his published works. His triumph on this occasion was 
- followed by a heavy calamity, the loss of his wife, who died before 
_ his return to England. ‘For forty years she was the true and loving 
_ helpmate of her husband, and by act and word unweariedly for- 
warded him as none else could, in all of worthy that he did or at- 
tempted. She died at London, 2ist April 1866, suddenly snatched 
- away from him, and the light of his life as if gone out.’ Such is 
_ part of the inscription on the tomb of this excellent woman. 
_. The subsequent publications of Mr. Carlyle have been short ad- 
dresses on the topics of the day. In 1867 an article in ‘ Macmillan’s 
_ Magazine’ entitled ‘Shooting Niagara,’ in the style of the ‘ Latter- 
day Pamphlets,’ predicted a series of evils and disasters from the 
_ Reform Act; another occasional utterance was in favour of emigra- 
_ tion; and a third, on the war between France and Germany (1870), 
expressed the joy of the writer over the defext of France. The 
fame of Mr. Carlyle has been gradually extending, and a cheap 
edition of his works has reached the great sale of 30,000 copies. 
- A brother of Mr. Carlyle—Dr. J. A. CARLYLE, an accomplished 
-physician—has published an admirable prose translation of the 
. ‘Inferno’ of Dante. 


' Frederick the Great. 


2 


_. About fourscore years ago, there used to be seen sauntering on the terraces of 
Sans-Souci, for a short time in the afternoon, or you might have met him elsewhere 
_at an earlier hour, riding or driving in a rapid. business manner, on the open 
roads or through the scraggy woods and avenues of that intricate amphibious Pots- 
dam region, a highly interesting lean little old man. of alert though slightly stooping 
figure ; whose name among strangers was King ‘ Friedrich the Second’ or Freder- 
ick the Great of Prussia, and at home among the common people, who much loved 
and esteemed him, was ‘ Vater Fritz ’—Father Fred—a name of familiarity which had 
not bred contempt in that instance. He is a king every inch of him, though without 
the trappings of a king. -Presents himself in a Spartan simplicity of vesture: no 
_ crown but an old military cocked-hat—generally old, or trampled and kneaded into 
_ absolute softness if new ; no sceptre but one like Agamemnon’s, a walking-stick cut 


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898 - CYCLOP:DIA OF [ro 1876, 


from the woods, which serves also as a riding-stick (with which he hits the horse ‘be- 
tween the ears.’ say authors) ; and for royal robes, a mere solder’s blue coat with red- 
facings—coat likely to be old, and sure to have a good deal of Spanish snuff on the 
breast of it; re: t of the apparel dim, unobtrusive in colour of cut, ending in high over- 
knee military boots, which may be brushed (and, I hope, kept soft with an underhand 
suspicion of oil), but are not permitted to be blackened or varnished; Day and 
Martin with their soot-pots forbidden to approach. The man is not of god-like physi- - 
ognomy, any more than of imposing stature or costume; close-shut mouth with 
thin tips, prominent jaws and nose, receding brow. by no means of Olympian height ; 
head, however, is of long form, and has superlative gray eyes in it. Not what 
is called a beautiful man; nor yet, by all sppearance, what is called a happy. On 
the contrary, the face bears evidence of many sorrows, as they are termed, 
of much hard labour done in this world; and seems to anticipate nothing but 
more still coming. Quiet stoicism, capable enough of what joy. there were, 
but not expecting any worth mention; great unconscious and some. con- - 
scious pride, well tempered with a cheery mockery of humour, are written on that 
old face, which carries its chin well forward, in spite of the slight stoop about the 
neck ; snuffy nose, rather flung into the air, under its old cocked-hat, like an old 
snuffy lion on the watch ; and such a pair of eyes as no man, or lion, or lynx of that 
century bore elsewhere, according to all the testimony we have. ‘Those eyes,’ says 
Mirabeau, ‘which at the bidding of his great soul, fascinated you with seduction or 
with terror’ (portaient au gré de son 4me héroique, Ja séduction ou la terreur). Most — 
excellent, potent, brilliant eyes, swift-darting as the stars, steadfast as the sun; gray, - 
_ we said, of the azure-gray colour; large enough, not of glaring size; the habitual ex- 
ression of them vigilance and penetrating sense, rapidity resting on dépth. Which 
is an excellent combination; and gives us the notion of a lambent outer radiance 
springing from some great inner sea of light and fire in the man. The voice, if he 
speak to you, is of similar physiognomy: clear, melodious, and sonorous; all tones 
are in it, from that of ingenuous inquiry, graceful sociality, light-flowing banter 
(rather prickly for most part), up to definite word of command, up to desolating — 
word of rebuke and reprobation ; a voice ‘the clearest and most agreeable in conver- _ 
sation [ever heard,’ says witty Dr. Moore. ‘He speaks a great deal,’ continnes the — 
doctor; * yet those who hear him, regret that he does not speak a good deal more. 
His observations are always lively, very often just; and few men possess the talent — 
of repartee in greater perfection.’ . . . The French Revolution may be said to have, — 
for about half a century, quite submerged Friedrich, abolished him from the memo- 
ries of men; and now on coming to light again. he is found defaced under strange 
mud-inerustations, and the eyes of mankind look at him from a singularly changed — 
what we must call oblique_and perverse point of vision. This is one of the difficul- — 
ties in dealing with his history—especially if you happen to believe both in the 
French Revolution and in him; that. is to say. both that Real Kingship is eternally — 
indispensable, and also that the Destruction of Sham Kingship (a frightful process) is _ 
occasionally so. 3 : 
On the breaking out of that formidable Explosion and Suicide of his Century, 
Friedrich sank into comparative obscurity ; eclipsed amid the ruins of that universal — 
eaurthquake,'the very dust of which darkened all the air, and madeof day a disastrous — 
midnight. Black midnight, broken only by the blaze of conflagrations ; wherein, to — 
our terrified imaginations, were seen, not en, French and other, but ghastly por- — 
tents. stalking wrathful, and shapes of avenging gods. It must be owned the figure — 
of Napoleon was titanic—especially to the generation that looked on him, and that” 
waited shuddering to be devoured by him. Im general, in that French Revolution, — 
ail was on a huge scale; if not greater than anything in human experience, at. least 
more grandiose. All was recorded in bulletins, too, addressed to the shilling-gallery ; 
and there were fellows on the stage with such a breadth of sabre, extent of whisker- 
age, strength of windpipe, and command of men and gunpowder, as had never been 
seen before. How they bellowed, stalked. and flourished about ; counterfeiting _ 
Jove’s thunder to an amazing degree! Terrific Drawcansir figures, of enormous 
~ whiskerage, unlimited command of gunpowder; not withont sufficient ferocity, and 
even a certain heroism, stage-heroism in them; compared with whom, to the shil- 
ling-gallery, and frightened excited theatre at large, it seemed asif there had been no 
yenerals or sovereigns before ; as if Friederich, Gustavus, Cromwell, William Con- — 
quercr, and Alexander the Great were not worth speaking of henceforth. ve | 


x 


CARLYLE.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 399 
7 Charlotte Corday—Death of Marat. 


_ © Amid the dim ferment of Caen and the world, history specially notices one thing: in 
_ -thé lobby of the Mansion de ]’Intendance, where busy deputies are coming and going, 
_ a young lady, with an aged valet, taking graceful leave of Deputy Barbaroux. She 
is of stately Norman figure; in her twenty-fifth year; of beautiful still countenance: 
her name is Charlotte Corday, heretofore styled D’Arimans, while nobility still was. 

_ Barbaroux has given her a note to Deputy Duperet—him who qyce drew his sword 

in the etfervesceice. Apparentty, she will to Paris on some errand. ‘She wasa Re- 

_ publican before the Revolution, and never wanted energy.’ A completeness, a de- 

- cision, is in this fair female figure; ‘ by energy she means the spirit that will prompt 

one to sacrifice himself for his country.’ What if she, this fair young Charlotte, had 

emerged from her secluded stillness, suddenly like a star; cruel, lovely, with half- 

_ angelic, half-demoniac splendour, to gleam for a moment, and in a moment to be ex- 

_ tinguished : to be held in memory, so bright complete was she, through long centur- 

tes. - Quitting cimmerian coalitions without, and the dim-simmering twenty-five 

~ millions within, history will Jook fixedly at this one fair apparition of a Charlotte 

_ Coré@ay ; will note whither Charlotte moves, how the little life burns forth so radiant, 

~ then vanishes, swallowed of the night. 

~~ With Barbaroux’s note of introduction, and slight stock of luggage, we see 
Charlotte on Tuesday the 9th of July seated in the Caen diligence, with a place for 
Paris. None takes farewell-of her, wishes her good journey; her father will find a 
line left, signifying that she has gone to England, that he must pardon her and for- 
get her. The drowsy diligence lJumbers along; amid drowsy talk of politics and 
praise of the Mountain, in which she mingles not; all night all day. and again all 

_ night. On Thursday not long before noon we are at the bridge of Neuilly; here is 

__ Paris, with her thousand black domes—the goal and purpose of thy journey! Ar- 

_ Yived at the Inn de Ja Providence, in the Ruedes Vieux Augustins, Charlotte demands 

—a room; hastens to bed; sleeps all afternoon and night, till the following 

morning. 

~~ On the morrow morning she delivers her note to Duperet. It relates to certain 

family papers, which are in the Minister of the Intcrior’s hands, which a nun at 

- Caen, an old convent friend of Charlotte’s; has need of ; which Duperet shall assist 

her in getting; this, then, was Charlotte’s errand to Paris. She has finished this in 

_ the course of Friday, yet says nothing of returning. She has seen and silently inves- 

_ tigated several things. The Convention in bodily reality she has seen; what the 

~ Mountain is like. The living physiognomy of Marat she could not see; he is sick 

at present and confined at home. 
_ About eight on the Saturday morning she purchased a Jarge sheath-knife in 

- the Palais Royal; then straightway, in the Place des Victoires, takes a hackney- 

coach. ‘To the Rue de l’Ecole de Médecine, No. 44.’ It is the residence of the 

_*Citoyen Marat !—The Citoyen Marat is ill, and cannot be seen, which seems to 

. disappoint her much. Her business is with Marat then? Hapless, beautiful Char- 
- lotte; hapless, squalid Marat! From Caen in the utmost west, from Neuchatel in 

_ the utmost east, they two are drawing nigh each other; they two have, very 

_ strangely, business together. Charlotte, returning to her inn, despatches a short note 

to Marat, signifying that she is from Caen, the seat of reb:]liom ; that she desires 

earnestly to see him, and ‘ will put it in his power to do France a great service.” No 
“answer. Charlotte writes another note still more pressing; sets out with it by coach 

_- about seven in the evening. herself. Tired day-labourers have again finished their 

‘week; huge Paris is circling and simmering manifold, according to the vague 

want: this one fair figure has decision in it; drives straight towards a purpose. 

_ -It is yellow July evening, we «\y, the 13th of the month, eve of the Bastille day, 
- when M. Marat, four years ago, in the crowd of the Pont-Neuf, shrewdly required of 
that Bessenval hussar party, which had such friendly dispositions, ‘to dismount and 

give up their arms then,’ and became notable among patriot men. Four years; what 
- a road he has travelled; and sits now, about half-past seven of the clock, stewing in 
~ slipper-bath, sore afflicted ; ill of Revolution fever—of what other malady this his- 

- tory had rather not name. Excessively sick and worn, poor man, with precisely 
» elevenpence-halfpenny of ready money in paper; with slipper-bath, strong three- 

~ footed stool for writing on the while; ard a squalid washerwoman, one may Call 

_ her: that is his civic establishment in Medical School Street; thither and not else- 

whither has his road led him—not to the reign of brotherhood and perfect felicity, 


— ~ 
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400 - CYCLOPADIA OF [10 1876. 


yet surely on the way towardsthat. Hark! a rap again! a musical woman’s voice, 
refusing to be rejected ; it is the citoyenne who would do France a service. Marat, 
recognizing from within, cries: ‘Admit her,’ Charlotte Corday is admitted. 
‘Citoyen Marat, I am from Caen, the seat of rebellion, and wished to speak to 
you.’ ‘Be seated, mon enfant. Now, what are the traitors doing at Caen? What 
deputies are at Caen?’ Charlotte names some deputies. *'Their heads shall fall 
within a fortnight,’¢roaks the eager People’s Friend, clutching his tablets to write. 
Barbaroux, Pétions writes he with bare shrunk arm, turning aside in the bath: 
Pétion and Louvet, and—Charlotte bas drawn her knife from the sheath; plunges it 
with one sure stroke into the writer’s heart. ‘A moi, chere amie. Help, dear!’ No 
more could the death-choked say or shriek. The helpful washerwoman rushing in, 
there is no friend of the people or friend of the washerwoman left; but his life with 
a eee: rushes out, indignant, to the shades below. And so, Marat, People’s Friend, 
isended.... 

As for Charlotte Corday, her work is accomplished : the recompense of it is clear 
and sure. ‘The chere amie and neighbours of the house flying at her, she ‘ overturns 
some inovables,’ intrenches herself till the gendarmes arrive; then quickly surrenders, 
goes quictly to the Abbaye prison: she alone quiet, all Paris sounding in wonder, in 
rage, or admiration, round her. Duperet is put in arrest on account of her ; his 

apers sealed, which may lead to consequences. Fauchet in like manner, though 
auchet had not so much as heard of her. Charlotte, confronted with these two 
deputies, praises the grave firmness of Duperet, censures the dejection of Fauchet.. 

On Wednesday morning, the thronged Palais de Justice and Revolutionary Tri- 
bunal can see her face; beautiful and calm: she dates it ‘fourth day of the Prepara- 
tion of Peace.’ A strange murmur ran through the hall at sight of her—you could 
not say of what character. Tinville has his indictments and tape-papers: the cutler 
of the Paiais Royal will testify that he sold her the sheath-knife. _‘ All these details 
are needless,’ interrupted Charlotte; ‘itis I that killed Marat.’ ‘By whose instiga- _ 
tion?’ ‘By no one’s,’ ‘What tempted you, then?’ ‘His crimes. I killed one 
man,’ added she, raising her voice extremely (extrémement) as they went on with 
their questions— I killed one man to save a hundred thonsand ; a villain, to save in- 
nocents, a savage wild beast, to give repose to my country. I was a Republican 
before the Revolution ; I never wanted energy.’ ‘lhere is, therefore, nothing to be 
said. The public gazcs astonished: the hasty limners sketch her features, Charlotte — 
not disapproving; the men of law prcceed with their formalities. The doomis death 
as a murderess.- To her advocate she gives thenks; in gentle phrase, in high-flown 
classical spirit. To the priest they send her she gives thanks, but needs not any 
shriving, and ghostly or other aid from him. 

On this same evening, therefore, about half-past seven o’clock, from the gate of 
the Conciergerie, to a city all on tiptoe, the fatal cart issues; seated on it a fair — 
- young creature, sheeted in red smock of murderess;_so beautiful, serene, so full of 
life, journeying towards death—alone amid the world! Many take off their hats, 
saluting reverently ; for what heart but must be touched? Others grow! and howl. 
Adam Lux of Mentz declares that she is greater than Brutus; that it were beautiful 
to die with her; the head of this young man seems turned, At the Place de Réyolu- 
tion, the countenance of Charlotte wears the same still smile. The executioners pro- 
cced to bind ber feet; she resists, thinking it meant as an insult; on a word of ex- 
planation she submits with cheerful apology. As the last act, all being now ready, 
they take the neckerchief from her neck; a blush of maidenly shame oyerspreads — 
that fair face and neck; the cheeks were still tinged with it when the executioner _ 
lifted the savered head, to shew it to the people. ‘It is most true,’ says Forster, — 
‘that he struck the check insultingly ; for I saw it with my eyes; the police impris- 
oned him forit.’ In this manner the beautifullest and the squalidest come in 
cojlision, and extinguished one another. Jean-Paul Marat and Marie-Anne Charlotte — 
Corday both suddenly are no more. z <i 


Death of Marie Antoinette. ) 


Is there a man’s heart that thinks without pity of those long months and years of oe: 
slow-wasting ignominy ; of thy birth, self-cradled in imperial Schénbrunn, the winds _ 
of heaven not to visit thy face too roughly, thy foot to light on softness, thy eye on # 


t 


splendour; and then of thy death, or hundred deaths, to which the guillotine and — 
ouquier-Tinville’s judgment-bar was but the merciful end! Look there; O man 


5 


m 


age. oe : 
~ CARLYLE, J ENGLISH LITERATURE. 401 


- born of woman! The bloom of that fair face is wasted, the hairis gray with care; 
the brightness of those eyes is quenched, their lids hang drooping, the face is stony 

_ pale, as of one living in death. Mean weeds, which her own hand has mended, at- 
_ tire the Queen of the World. The death-hurdle, where thou sittest pale, motionless, 
_ which oniy curses environ, has to stop; a people, drunk with vengeance, will drink 
- it again in ful! draught, looking at thee there. Har as the eye reaches, a multitudin- 
ous sea Of maniac heads, the au deaf with their triumph-yell!  ‘l'heliving-dead must 
shudder with yet one other pang; her startled blood yet again suffuses with the hue 
of agony that pale face, which she hides with her hands. ‘l‘nere is there no heart to say, 

- God pity thee! O think not of these; think of Him whom thou worshippest, the 
. erucified—who also treading the wine-press alone, fronted sorrow still deeper; and 
triumphed over it and made it holy, and built of it a ‘sanctuary of sorrow’ for thee ° 
and all the wretched ! ‘hy path of thorns is nigh ended, one long last look at the Tuil- 
 Jeries, where thy step was once so light—where thy children shall not dwell. The 
‘head is on the block ; the axe rushes—dumb lies the world; that wild-yelling world, 

— and all its madness, is behind thee. 


Await the Issue. 


In this God’s world, with its wild whirling eddies and mad foam oceans, where 
men and nations perish as if without Jaw, and judgment for an unjust thing is 
sternly delayed, dost thou think that there is therefore no justice? Jt is what the 
fool hath said in his heart. It is what the wise, in all times, were wise because they 

“denied, and knew for ever not to be. I tell thee again, there is nothing else but 
_ justice. One strong thing I find here below: the just thing, the true thing. My 
_ friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich trundling at thy back in support 
of an unjust thing; and infinite bonfires visibly waiting ahead of thee, to blaze 
' centuries long for thy victory on behalf of it, I would advise thee to call halt. to 
fling down thy baton, and say: ‘In God’s name, No!’ Thy ‘success?’ Poor devil, 
_ what will thy success amount to? If the thing is unjust, thou hast not succeeded; 
no, not though bonfires blazed from north to south, and bells rang, and editors wrote 
leading articles, and the just things lay trampled ont of sight, to all mortal eyes an 
_ abolished and annihilated thing. Success? In few years, thou. wilt be dead and 
 dark—al..cold, eyeless. deaf; no blaze of bonfires, ding-dong of bells, or leading 
articles visible or audible to thee again and allfor ever. What kind of success is 
that? It is true all goes by approximation in this world; with any not. insupport- 
able approximation we must be patient. There isa noble Conscrvatism as well as an 
ignoble. Would to Heaven, for the sake of Conservatism itself, the noble alone 
_ were left, and the ignoble, by some kind severe hand, were ruthlessly lopped away, 
» forbidden ever more to shew itself! For it is the right and noble alone that will have 
"victory in this struggle; the rest is who'ly an obstruction, a postponement and fear- 
_ ful imperi!lment of the victory. .Towards an eternal centre of right and nobleness, 
_- and of that only, is all this confusion tending. We already know whither it is all 
_ , tending; what will have victory. what will have none! The Heaviest will reach the 
centre. The Heaviest, sinking through complex fluctuating media and vortices, has 
its deflections, its obstrnctions, nay. at times its resiliences. its reboundings ; where- 
upon some blockhead shall be heard jubilating : ‘See, your Heaviest ascends!’ but 
_ at all moments it is moving centreward fast as is convenient for it; sinking, sink- 
ing; and, by laws older than the world, old as the Maker’s first plan of the world, it 
has to arrive there. 
pe Await the issue. In all battles, if you await the issue, each fighter has prospered 
according to his right. His right and his might, at the close of the account, were one 
and the same. He has fought with all his might. and in exact proportion to all his 
right he has prevailed. His very death is no victory over him. He dies indeed; but 
his work lives, very truly lives. A heroic Wallace. quartered on the scaffold, cannot 
_hinder that his Scotland become, one day, a part of England ; but he does hinder that 
it become, on tyrannous unfair terms. a part of it ;; commands still, as with a god’s 
_ voice, from his old. Valhalla and Temple of the Brave, that there be a just real union 
_asof brother and brother, not a false and merely semblant one as of slave and 
master. If the union with England be in fact one of Scotland’s chief blessings, we 
~ thank Wallace withal that it was not the chief curse. Scotland is not Ireland: no, 
_ -because brave men rose there, and said: ‘Behold, ye must not tread us down like 


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402 CYCLOPADIA OF [ro 1876. 


slaves; ana ye shall not, and cannot!’ Fight on, thou brave true heart, and falter _ 
not, through dark fortune and through bright. ‘lhe cause thou fightest for, so far 
as it is true, no further, yet precisely so far, is very sure of victory. ‘The falsehood 
alone of it will be conquered, will be abolished, as it ought to be: but the truth of 
itis part of Nature’s own laws, co-operates with the worid’s eternal tendencies, and 
cannot be couquercd. 


SIR GEORGE CORNEWALL LEWIS. 


Sir GrorGE CoRNEWALL LEwIs (1806-1868), an able scholar and 
statesman, was the son of Sir Thomas Frankland Lewis, a Radnor- 

- shire baronet, who was for several years chairman of the Poor-law 
Board, and by whose death in. 1855 his son succeeded to the - 
baronetcy and estate. Sir George was educated at Eaton and Christ 
Church, Oxford, and having studied at the Middle Temple, was 
called to the bar in 1831. Entering into public life, he filled various 
government offices, and was M.P. for Herefordshire, and afterwards 
for the Radnor district of boroughs. His highest appointment was — 
that of Chancellor of the Exchequer, which he held under Lord Pal- > 
merston for about three years—1855-58. He was also some time Se-. 
cretary of State for the Home Department, and Secretary for War. — 
He was for about three years ('852-55) editor of the ‘Edinburgh Re-_ 
view.’ An accomplished classical and German scholar, Sir George — 
examined the early history of Greece and Rome with the views.of 
the German commentators, and he reviewed the theory of Niebubr in 
an elaborate work, entitled ‘An Inquiry into the Credibility of Early 
Roman History,’ two volumes, 1655. All attempts to reduce the pic- 
turesque narratives of the early centuries of Rome to a purely histo- 
rical form he conceives to be nugatory, and he devotes considerable 
space to an examination of the primitive history of the nations of 
Italy. Dionysius, Livy, and the other ancient historians, had no au-- 
thentic materials for the primitive ethnology and the early national 
movements of Italy, and, of course, modern. inquirers cannot hope — 
to arrive at safe conclusions on the subject. Hence he dismisses the ~ 
results not only of the uncritical Italian historians, but those of the-_ 
learned and sagacious Germans, Niebuhr and Miiller. ‘The legends — 
are mere shifting clouds of mythology, which may at a distance de- — 
ceive the mariner by the appearance of solid land, but disappear as 
he approaches and examines them by a close view.’ The scepticism of 
Sir George, however, is considered rather too sweeping; and it has — 
justly been remarked, that ‘we may be contented to believe of Ro- — 
man history at least as much as Cicero believed, without inquiring 
too curiously the grounds of his belief.’ The following notice of — 
Niebuhr's theory also appears to tell against Sir George’s own rule 
with respect to the rationalistic treatment of early history. E 


Niebuhr’s Ballad Theory. aa 
He divides the Roman history into three periods: 1. The purely mythical pele ; 
2. ry %. 


including the foundation of the city and the reigns of the first two kings. Ng 
mythico-historical period, including the reigns of the last five kings, and the first 


a 


/ 


* Ss ; S45 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 403. 


* fourteen years of the republic. 3. The historical period, beginning with the first 
secession. The poems, however, which he supposes to have served as the origin of 
the received history, are not peculiar to anyone of these periods; they equally ap- 
_ pear in the reigns of Romulus and Numa, in the time of the arquins, and in the 
narratives of Coriolanus and cf the siege of Veii. If the history of periods so widely 
different was equally drawn from a poetical source, it is clear that the poems must 
have arisen under wholly dissimilar circumstances, and that they can afford no sure 

foundation for any historical inference. 

For solving the problem of the early Roman history, the great desideratum is te 

Obtain some means of separating the truth from the fiction; and, if any parts be 
true, of explaining how the records we e preserved with fideli.y, until the time of the 
- earliest historians, by whom they were adopted, and who, through certain intermedi- 
- ate stages, have transmitted them to us, 
__. For example, we may believe that the expulsion of the Tarquins, the creation of 
~ a dictator and of tribunes, the adventures of Coriolanus, the Decemvirate, the expe- 
~ dition of the Fabii and the battle of the Cremera, the siege of Veii, the capture of 
~ Rome by the Gauls, and the disaster of Caudium, with other portions of the Samnite 
- wars, are events which are indeed to a considerable extent distorted, obscured, and 

corrupted by fiction, and incrusted with legendary additions; but. that they, never- 
_ theless, contain a nuclens of fact. in varying degrees: if so, we should wish to know 
how far the fact extends, and where the fiction begins—and also what were the means 
- by’ which a general historical tradition of events, as they really happened, was perpet- 

uated. This is the question to which an answer is desired ; and therefore we are not- 
assisted by atheory which explains how that part of the narrative which is not his- 
- torical originated. 


- Sir George C. Lewis was a laborious student and voluminous wri- 
ter. How he found time, in the midst of official and public duties, and 
_ within the space of a comparatively short life, for such varied and 
_ profound studi»s, is remarkable. Among his works are treatises on 
the ‘ Romance Language,’ on the ‘ Use and Abuse of Political Terms,’ 
on the ‘ Influence of Authority in Matters of Opinion,’ on the ‘ Method 
of Observation and Reasoning in Politics,’ on the ‘Irish Church 
Question,’ on the ‘Government of Dependencies,’ on the ‘Astronomy 
of the Ancients,’ a ‘ Dialogue onthe Best Form of Government,’ &c. 
The indefatigable baronet was a frequent contributor to ‘Notes and 
Queries.’ His death was lamented by all parties, and was indeed a 
~ national loss. 


ie 


ie 


os 


REY. C. MERIVALE. 


The ‘Roman History’ of Dr. Arnold was left, as already men- 
- tioned, in an unfinished state, in consequence of the sudden death of 
the author. No good account of the period between the close of the 
- second Carthaginian war and the death of Sylla existed in our English 
historical literature, and to supply the void, the Rev. CHARLES 
- Mertvate, B.D., late Fellow of St. John’s College, Cambridge, com- 

menced in 1850 a ‘ History of the Romans under the Empire,’ which 
_ he completed in 1862. ‘Mr. Merivale’s undertaking,’ said 9 critic in 
_ the ‘Edinburgh Review,’ ‘is nothing less than to bridge over no 
small portion of the interval between the interrupted work of Arnold 
and the commencement of Gibbon. He comes, therefore, between 
*‘mighty opposites.” it is p.aise enough that he proves himself no 
‘unworthy successor to the tw > most gifted historians of Rome whom 
English literature has yet pre luced.” A cheap edition.cf Mr. Men- 


sina 
. 


~~ 


\ 


404 CYCLOPEDIA OF Tro 1876. 


vale’s History in eight volumes was published in 1865. Its author is 

son of the late John Herman Merivale, Commissioner of Bankruptcy; 

he was born in 1808, studied at St. John’s College, Cambridge, en- 

tered the church, and was successively rector of Lawford, Essex 

(1848-70), chaplain to the Speaker of the House of Commons (1863-69), 

and dean of Ely (December 1869). new 
Augustus Cesur (31 B.c.—14 A.D.) 


In stature Augustus hardly exceeded the middle height, but his person was lightly 
and delicately formed, and its proportions were such as to convey a favourable and 
even a striking impression. His countenance was pale and testified to the weak= — 
ness of his health, and almost constant bodily suffering; but the hardships of mili- 
tary service had imparted « swarthy tings to a complexion naturally fair, and his eye- 
brows meeting over a sharp and aquiline nose gave a serious and stern expression to 
his countenance. His hair was light, and his eyes blue and piercing; he was well 
pleased if any one on approaching him looked on the ground and affected to be un- 
able to meet their dazzling brighiness. It was said that his dress concealed many 
imperfections and blemishes ou his person ; but he could not disguise all the infirmi- 
ties under which he laboured ; the weakness of the forefinger of his right hand and a | 
lameness in the left hip were the results of wounds he incurred in a battle with the - 
Tapydee in early life; he suffered repeated attacks of fever of the most serious kind, - 
especially in the course of the campaign of Philippi and that against the Cantabri- 
ans, and again two years afterwards at Rome, when his recovery was despaired of. | 
From. that time, although constantly liable to be affected by cold and heat, and 
obliged to nvrse himself throughout with the care of a valetudinarian, he does not 
appear to have had any reiurn of illness so selious as the preceding; and dying at 
the age of seventy-four, the rumour obtained popular currcncy that he was prema- 
turely cut off by poison, administered by the empress. As the natural consequence of 
this bodily weakness and sickly constitution, Octavian did not attempt to distinguish 
himself by active exertions or feats of personal prowess. ‘The splendid examples of 
his uncle the dictator and of Antonius his rival, might have early disconr- — 
aged him from. attempting to shine as a warrior aul hero; he hd not the 
vivacity and animal spirits necessary to carry him through such exploits — 
as theirs; and aithough hedid not shrink from exposing himself. to per- — 
sonal danger, he prudently declined to aliow a comparison to be insti- — 
tuted between himself and rivals whom he could not hope to equal. Thus — 
necessarily thrown back upon cther resources, he trusted to Caution and circum- — 
spection, first to preserve h.s own life, and afterwards to obtain the splendid prizes — 
which had hitherto been carried off by daring adventure, and the good fortune which — 
is so often its attendant. His contest therefore with Antonius and Sextus Pompeius ~ 
was the contest of cunning with bravery; but from his youth upwards he was ac- — 
customed to overreach, not the bold and reckless only, but the most considerate and — 
wily of his contemporaries, such as Cicero and Cleopatra; he succeeded in the end — 
in deluding the senate and people of Rome in the establishment of his tyranny; and — 
finally deceived the expectations of the world, and falsified the lessons of the Re- 

ublicar history, in reigning himself forty years in disguise, and leaving a throne to ~ 
e Claimed without a challenge by his successors for fourteen centuries. ¥ 

But although emperor in name, and in fact absolute master of his people, the — 
manners of the Cesar, both in public and private life, were still those of a simple 
citizen. On the most solemn occasions he was distinguished by no other dress than — 
the robes and insignia of the offices which he exercised; he was attended by no — 
other guards than those which his consular dignity rendered customary and decent, — 
In his court there was none of the etiquette of modern monarchies to be recognised, — 
and it was only by slow and gradual encroachment that it came to prevail in that of — 
his successors, Augustus was contented to take up his residence in the house which — 
had belonged to the orator Licinius Calvus. in the neighbourhood of the Forum; 
which he afterwards abandoned for that of Hortensius on the Palatine, of which ~ 
Suetonius observes that it was remarkable neither for size nor spiendour. Its halla 
were small, and lined, not with marble, after the luxurious fashion of many patrician 
palaces, but with the common Alban stone, and the pattern of the pavement was 


4 ~ 
Re - 


" MERIVALE. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 405 


\ 
x 


_ plain and simple. Nor when he succeeded Lepidus in the pontificate would he re- 
a linguist this private dweiling for the regia or public residence assigned that honour- 
able office. 
_~ Many anecdotes are recorded of the moderation with which the emperor received 
_ the opposition, and often the rebukes, of individuals in public as well as in private. 
_ ‘Phese stories are not without their importance, as shewing how l.ttle formality there 
was in the tone of addressing the master of the Roman world, and how entirely dif- 
ferent the ideas of the nution were, with regard to the position occupied by the 
_ Cesar and his family, from those with which modern associations have imbued us. 
_ We have already noticed the rude freedom with which Tiberius was attacked, 
_ although step-son of the emperor, and participating in the eminent functions of the 
_ tribunitian power, by a declaimer in the schools at Rhodes: but Augustus himself 
seems to have suffered almost as much as any private citizen from the general 
_ coarseness of behaviour which characterised the Romans in their publie assem- 
_ blies, and the rebukes to which he patiently submitted were frequently such as 
_ would lay the courtier of a constitutional sovereign in modern Europe under per- 
 petual disgrace. 
i Vn one occasion, for instance, in the public discharge of his functions as corrector 
_ of manners, he had brought a specific charge against a certain knight for having 
_ £quandered his patrimony. The accused proved that he had, on the contrary, aug- 
- mnented it. ‘ Well,’ answered the emperor, somewhat annoyed by his error, ‘ but you 
» are at all events living in celibacy, contrary to recent enactments.’ The other was 
-abie to reply that he was married, and was the father of three legitimate children ; 
_ aud when the emperor signified that he had no further charge to bring, added aloud : 
_ ‘Another time, Czesar, when you give ear to informations against honest men, take 
_ cave that your informants are honest themselves.’ Augustus felt the justice of the 
_ tebuke thus publicly administered, and submitted to it in silence, 


Bi, END OF VOLUME VII. 


te 
$25 ¥ 


ae 
a 


Af en Oe et = 5 * ~*~ Py, > hw 
nagege j 3 


_CHAMBERS’S- 


GYCLOPA DIA 


or 


ENGLISH LITERATURE — 


A HISTORY, CRITICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL, OF BRITISH 
AND AMERICAN AUTHORS, WITH SPECIMENS 
OF THEIR WRITINGS, 


QMRIGINALLY EDITED BY ROBERT CHAMBERS, LL.D 
Prt iN DSB DITION, 
REVISED BY ROBERT CARRUTHERS, LL.D. te Hi 


IN EIGHT VOLUMES. 


VOL, VOL. 


NEW YORK: 
JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER 
1882. 


live eee | 


TABLE OF CONTENTS—VOL, VIIL 


* 
ee ee ee ey ° 


Bishop Thirlwall (1797-1875).......... 1 Tennyson’s Lines on the Char ge 37 
George Grote (1794-1871)............. 2} RevaWw.. Stubbs: -o. Sica hss okt. 38 
Early Greek History not to be JBUESG ae eee of Germanic Races in Eu- | 
ty Modern Feeling....2.@..... tes aT ODS as ce tS ae ee eet e 
Xenophon’ s Address to the Araby: S English National Unity, 1155-1215 
harcrer Of WtOMias 26... wen also es oe Sita tS ALD Mackie eet ad eee of ele 44 
George Finlay (died in 1875).......... 6 | John Richard GYBen Rs se scamor sees oe 41- 
Vicissitudes of Nations............. 6 Older elantvacck oc sree ao aes pees os 4) 
William Mure (1799-1860)............. 7|Sir Thomas Erskine May (born in 
The Unity of the Homeric Poems.. 7 TEL eee 5 ale 25 adie ba doers DEER cae ee . 42 
William E. Gladstone (born in 1809).. $8 Free Constitution of British Colo- 
whe eons of Homer, a World of WIC Re Sec ie sey Psan te trates a Aas 
ROR Serres k ns v's os a's divine 22 9| Clements R. Markham—H. M. er 
© Earl Stanlope (1805-1875) 2... 0.5.6. 9 ley—William Massey.. wre 43 
_ Whig and Tory in the Reign of Gambling in the Last Century... hep ae 
; Queen ANGE... ...fserst.k. ede ee 10 | Edward A. Freeman..........0:.00005 44 
= Charles Edward Stuart, the Young Death of William the Conqueror... ., 45 
PPOvENCST hi oe saws Sheu ek Foes 10 | Jobn Iiill Burton (born in 1809)....... 46 
Thomas Keightley (1792-1872)........ 14 The Scottish Language after the 
Superstitions Beliefs....-.......... 15 RevVOMOH, Lie ewes peaks 46 
Could Milton have written Paradise Cosmo Innes (1798-1874) ...........2.. 48 
: Lost in the Nineteenth Century? 16 Miss Strickland (1801-1874)........... 48 
Dean Milman (1791-1868).............. 16; Queen Mary at Lochleyen Castle... 49 
How ought the History of the Jews i Trord ds MASBelL Ss c Saale Pek oe ee 50 
NErDE VW ITEEN seo 08 sues Nicos ace 16} William Forsyth—William Smyth— 
P)- burnins of the Temple... ...0. 6. 1s | Sir J. Stephen—Thomas Wright 
VE sti Meer. >. cc's. webiove sts « — Robert Pitcairn — Robert 
Date of the Welsh Poems........... 9) White—Danicl Wilson—J. J. A. - 
‘ Battle of Mons Granpius........... PH "Wiarsdaerc ss Ve ainr net eeaeete 5t 
Lucy Aikin (1781-1864)............... 22 | John Dunlop—Mark Napier.......... 52 
George Lillie Craik (179S-1866). ... 23| 5. G. Lockhart—Dean Stanley See ee 53 
' James Anthony Froude (born i in 1818) 23 The Sons of Great Men............. 54 
2 Markets and Wages in the Reign of Burns on his Farm at Ellisiand..... 54 
aa TOUT YON Lbkcs ta tee teree or vee 25 Few Men take Life in Earnest...... 55. 
5! Portraitof Henry VI = iv......0.5 26 Eome and Old Friends............. 55-5 
“Death of Mary, Queen of Scots..... 27| London and Mont Blanc............ 55 
aE VEL COR WS me Vtes tp oe eae eae ie 29 | Sir W. Stirling Maxwell (born in 1818) 53 
Improved Prcapeet of Affai:s in Ire- Epicurean Habits of the Emperor 
DREN SL oss Sat eas oe tesa vee. 80 CRAanes Va eet ot. Fae es cooks ire 5S 
ekea GATEIHMET ces pec cas Pace So dea See bs 30 The Emperor performs the Funeral 
Sir John W. Kaye ({814-1876)—Lady Service for Himself. ........... 57 
PIC HOO hes pity dite cerhe eee oe 31 Velasquez’s Faithful Cclour-grinder 78 
Alexander W. Kinglake (born in 1811) 31 | George Henry Lewis (born iu 1817)... 59 
EPL PANY IT te oy seco Sone becca We 82 Superiority of the Moral over the 


_ The Beginning of the Crimean War 32 
PPUTIGUNGATCH 5 .c\ sip aise sc cle ccc cde od eas 
William Howard Russell (born in 1821) 34 

The Battle of Balaklava.......... oo BA 


= i 


PAGE, 
Charge of the Light Brigade, and 


Intellectual Nature of Man..... 59 
Men of Genius Resolute Workers. . 
Children of Great Men—Hereditary 


Tendencies 4 oll Mies ekaee eG 


ie Se ee Pee Sire COV Lo See 
~ é wk ar Sag ba 
- W TABLE OF CONTENTS. res 
PAGE. PAGE. 
PICEHTS OL. W CLIN AP ested «4.7 aly oes bo ce 64 | Dr. J. H. Newman—¥. W. Newman..10 
Death of Goethes. eo8. oo a. nares 66 Description of Athens.............. 
MIrBs OUpW ANE ror chien clean sis aieu lates 6T Influence and Dawas.s.sswsasne » sant 104 
Notice of, Edward Irving.. ... . 69! The Beautiful end the Virtuous..... 105 
_ Foreign Memories caso oh.+ i on tac ols 69 The Jewish and Christian Churches105 
George Whitefield and the Bristol Dr: Channing (1780-1842)..0.3........ 104 
MolWiers fk ara vee Sew ce wo 69 The Character of Christ............ 107 
BDro-William -Reeveseoc. . «cs stecs sans 70 The New Testament Epistles....-..104 
Lord Campbell (1781-1861)..........0. 70 Napoleon Bonaparte.............2% 108 
Hames Spedding. A: seve ssw cle cic wees 71 Great Idéassi 7 Jaassask eae a eee 109 
Lord Bacon’s Culpability........5... 72 | Rev. Henry Blunt (1794-1848)........ 119 
William Nassau Molesworth....,..... (2. |-Dr.Kitto (1804-1854). #55 7 eis oe > 119 
Death of the Duke of Wellington... 72 Account of his Deafness........... 141 = 
William Hepworth Dixon (born in Dr. Robert Vaughan (1795-1868) ge MA 111 
DODD SALe Seale vies 56% sew any ean 7D Henry Rogers. oy aa ase er aeae ee R Ue 12 
Death of idmiral Blake............ 73 The i ee ity of the Saviour....... 112 
The Black Man, the Red Man, the Archbishop Whately 1787-186.) ......113 
McCHOW SMAD So sie cheatin st eeee ga ree T4 Firat IMpressiOnus. i.e «.% oe esses aes 115 
A Hundred Years ef White Pro- A Hint to Anonymous Writers..... 115 
OTERG 2 e-clee's sew ma wiaenene tae teats 15 The Neeative Character of Calvinis- 
John Forster CEST 2-1876) 5). wemacewel x 76 tic Doctrin€S.c¢sinigas cenae seen 116 ~ 
Toe Literary Profession and Law of EXpediency «sds ss,450ne es et PS HF 
Copyright: 3. scare ne ae TT Consistency Jin». -igasbeee ph a on Ree 118 
wlagentioe Dy ce (1798-1869) ........... 7~ | Dr. Burton (1794-1836)..... Aor, AM See 119 
Professor Mason (born in 1822)....... 79 | Edward Bickersteth (1786-1850)....... 119 
Character of Archbishop Laud...... 79 | Drs. Hawkins, .4inds, Hampden, 
Iiith Mts: Satan 4255 vbr: ke Tia es €1 Greswell.......-. Daeiee eC 
London Suburbs... <6 ac esl «ct quien 82 Value of Negative T estimony. « 5 Sew 120 
Sir James Stephen (1789-1859) ........ 52 | Rev. Henry Melvill (1798-1871). .......: 122 
~ J.P. Muirhead—8. Smiles............ 82; . The Great Multitude. <.c.sec.ve-s.s ss e 
The Steam-engine. «0... sei sees 84} Rev. John James Blunt (1794-1855)... 7 
Lord Brougham’s Epitaph on Watt. 83 Undesigned Coincidences........... ars 
preting the First Railw ay Locomo- | Augustus” W. Hare (1794-1824)—J nlius 
TVG. pcs Se. ni eee a ene 83 | C, Here (4.795-1855). 22.22. wteaa 125 
eae of the Liverpool and-Man- | - Wastefulness of Moral Gifts. . 125 
Chester Raitwar s,s. 9 tsesk> tare 89' - Age Lays Open the Character.,.....126 
George Stephenson at Sir Robert | Loss of the Village Green........... 126 
BOQ S26 isla los Satiee uh sien tte oe 90 |. Archbishop Trenth.s.<u tases seen ene 126 
HUZPM GHEY ATO hci leds s sc one ee ecb Lee $1 Influence of the Reformation on the 
Henry, Lord Cockburn (1779-1854)— English Langnage............ eAQT 
Dean Ramsay (1793-18T.)—R. Strain at a Gnat and Swallow a 
Chambers (1802-1871) ede sort 91 Camels. Si Putian eae Veer ey 127 
Edinburgh Society Highty . Years On Proverbs:ou53 | oe 197 
Since Cb artad Sh ete ed tatnuute mys tee he 92} Dean Stanley (born in 18:5) eee 129 
Scottish Nationality wu. 2.0 eaeeehs ois phe Oldest Obelisk in the World... .2%9 
Picture of an Old Scottish Town.... 94 it fe Children of the Desert......... 130 7 
Sir James Y. Simpson (1811-1870)..... 96 irly Celebration cf the Eucaarist..130 
Indirect Value cf Philosophical In- St. Paul’s Mannal Labour........... 132.4 
Westicoations \tciswick ic day iene Hh srelecp \ Conversion of St. Augustine........ 131° 
J: E. Bailey—H. Crabb | Robinscen The Last Encampment ‘Sober am oer 132 4 
Ge A861) — C, Wentworth | Professor Maurice \isvo-1872)........ 1835 
Dilke (1787-1864)... occ cee eae 9 Duty and Patriotism. . qt tna CLL Oe 
John Morley—Prsfessor Morley—W. Bishop Bloomifie!d (1786- “1851); he... 1343 
Minto—C. C ¥F. Greville....... 93| Rev. W. J. Conybeare (di-d in 1857) ..184° 7 
@ueen Victoria’s First Days of Soy- The Varied Life of St: Paul.........13%° © 
CVELQUL Yrs. yf 0 nib oso yee ahete sida Mate 99 | The Martyrdom of Paul........-... 1S 
4 | Dean Alford (1810-1871).....+...4.... 133 
THEOLOGIAN. | ‘The Prince Consort’s Public iret 137 
he ‘Tracts for the Times........08 . 101 Recognition after Death......... . 13a 
Dr: Pusey (born in 1800)......00..-... 102 | The Household of.a Christians... 133 


PAGE. 
Dr. Rowland Williams (1817-1870)....139 
Rev. F. W. Robertson (1816-1853)..... 140 
PWistian HNCTSY . vig stewie ek aes « 141 
“EAS CHER AB ES (oe es ree ea 141 
> Phe $: iles and Tears of Life....... 141 
Rev. Stopford A. Brooke............. 142 
BIN TOR TOD «gre cd m gis) Chine Hive bee 2 143 
Bishop. Wilberforce (1805-1872). ..2... 144 
~ .. The Reformation of the Church of 
i ity Real OE) 9 TERRES = n> a 144 
Bishop ROM aati, Ss Dies sade 145 
‘The f pepphant Entry into Jerusa- 
SonP AE Be Sie ee ee Pnere 145 
Becp E. Flarold Browne.......«:... 147 
Interpretation of Thirty-Nine Arti- 
LSE tig Ie eee ee eee 147 
~Arehbishop Thomson............ . ld, 
The Doctrine of Reconciliation..... 149 
eee VN MIEN SII sos, ons oad va ste os 148 
- Dr. Charles John Vanghan............ 150 
RO DPCOM ATED YS 5 ties ass nevis end ss 150 1 
FEDS GECONSION -os.5 5.0/ii wa ves ae eee > 152 
BE AIOE eo oet's ho. py ive des cee 668 «2 153 
Harth<atid -Patelieehs, -.52..-... a0 sn. 143 
The Mysteries of Natures.......-... 154 
Isaac Taylor (1787-1865). . aL 


- Rapid Exhaustion of the Emotional 


ee RUT CSIN AOR ce SEN a pte nim creas ocejsucts bie. 155 

Selfishness of the Anchoret......... aha 

Hebrew Figurative Theology.......15' 
Rey. ‘Thomas : Dale (1797-1820). ....... 158 
Prof, Jowett (born in 1.17)........... 158 


On the Interpretation of Scripture. .159 
Rey. James Martineau (born i218 5).160 


_ - Nothing Human Ever Dies........ .160 
Space and Time....s.s-..9++. apa Gal 

Dr. Candlish (4806-1873)—Dr.. Cum- 
Bsxe® ming (born in 1809)..... spate oe SUDA 
Dr. Guthri ie (1808- RMON ka vy aletw a+ panics 162 

Decadence of the Ancient Portion of 
POGUE TOT verse tere anys 6. cre ste o ses 163 

Dr. Gutbrie’s First Interest in Rag- 
POU SCHCOMB S.-i sav ees e sees 164 


_ Dr. Norman Macleod (1812-1872)... 165 


Life in a Highlund Bothy Fifty 


- Years Since ne Tetons é GEAh Wicc pio'e 0 2 167 
Wee Davie...-... Phe cecieloss wate se l68 
- Dr. John Eadie (1813-1876)........... 169 
- Dr. John Tulloch (born fn 1823)...... 17) 
Liberal English Churchmen........ 171 
_ _ Div rse Modes of Christian Thought171 
Dr. John Caird (born in 1828).......... 172 
_ Character and WOCWIMC Soave ances’ 172 
MMC OUEL IKGEs sate b.cipaie oes Read eee as AT 
‘It Doth not yet Appear what We 
BORUBS 445 ose c oe salen o> Seat mt oa “173 | 
Mind above Matter..........-..- .-- 174 | 
MISCELLANEOUS. WRITERS. 
> Richard Sha (1750-1835) 0.5.2.0..." 74 
_ Maxims and Refiections............175 


TABLE OF CONTENTS. 


v 
PAGE. 
William Maginn (1793- ab becca 175 
Epitaph on Maginn by Lockhart....176 
Francis Mahony “(1804- FULSGG) ress cern ts ce ».176 
The Sandon Bells ses view. VTi 
Sir George Head (1782-1855)... peri rs 5" 
Sir Francis Bond Head (17938-1875)....178 
Description of the Pampas ......... 178 
A French Commissionnaire........ 79 
The Electric Wires and Tawell the 
Mircerens S055 Wate sia cure 179 
T. C. Haliburton (1796-1865).......... 180 
Soft Sawder and Human Natur..... i81 
Themas Miller (1€09-1874)—W. Hone 
(1778-1842)\— Miss Louisa Stuart 
Costello (died in 1870).2...2.... 183 
Bre, dameson (1797-1860). ...5 2. eee. 1&3 
Counsel to Young Lrdtes... 2.6... 184, 
Pictures of the Medonna........... 184 
The Loves of the Poet............. 18; 
The Studious Mcnks of the Midale 
POOR oe oda sales wend Mee meted 1&5 
Venice— Canaletti and Turnei 185_ 
Charies Waterton (1782-1865) ......... 186 
Adventure with the Snake......... 187 
Riding oma Crocodile... 1. 0645-08 187 
EKot Warburton (1810-1852) 0... sees 188 
Crecodil) Shooting in the Nile..... 188 
PU PIRDY EVEN LO? ieee Flows wines hice alae 189 
"Thomas De Quincey (1785 eens ibs. ore 190 
Dreams of the Opium Eater........192 
SOA OL ALC Heese eas thea Ohio ames 195 
John Wilson Croker (1780-1857)...... 196 
Character-of Swift... .ccc.cs secs io L 96 
Hurriet Martineau (1802-1876).....,..198 
Effects of Love and Happiness on 
EHO MING «ase Ricans os Ts Week ee 99 
Sea-view from the Window of a Sick 
RROORMM isc tte: slcle sre wiok op chlo darwretaee GOL 
The Napiers... Jafar emanate aA 
The Royal M arriage ‘Law. a ahal Ie ote 204 
Postal Reform...e......e005 ara ges 205 
Anecdote of Coleridge.............205 
William Howitt (born in 1795)........ 207 
. Extract from Forest Minstrel...... 268 
Love of the Beautiful....... eA 209 ° 
Mountain Children, by Mary Howitt 210° 
IMDGUDTAINS aoe cures ereselesa-alp ayeusre stats 211 
Country Rambles—the South of 
DOT f 2 croc san eer wapie Safes s Vin elgts 212 
Rev. George Gilfillan (born in 1813)...215 
Lochnagar and Byron Ae sas Ae 215 
The Rev. Edward Irving ..........216 
Bayard Taylor (born in ESQ) 40a ane 218 
_ Student Life in Germany........+.. 219 
Herman Melville (born in 1819). wy. 221 
Scenery of the Marquesas.......... 222, 
First Interview with the Natives... .223 
William Gilmore Simms.. 2226 


Ralph Waldo Emerson (born in 4808). 22" 
Civ.lisation.,..... ee 
Beauty ce cctevccee Conc aki tnemeness eae + 


ee eee ee ee 


vi TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
PAGE. [ - PAGE. 
OVOF7A 26 svete caw mien cleo entire ea eeee 223 | Dr. James C. Prichard (178521848) -; . 265 
Mr. Ruskin (born in 1819)........--- 223 | Sir William Hamilton (1788-1864)... .265 
The Sky ip fans ee no Pea Ons Paes 229 On Mathematics:..i....5.00--6. 0% ah 
The ‘l'wo Paths..... gid ire aie eaten oi 23) | Dean Mansel (born in 1820)...........26 
The Dangers of National Security. .239 | John Stuart Mill (1806-1873). ......... 27) 
What isDruly Practital.<. 2. tos. <3 232 Social Intolerance... Soy s vec. Fae = 270 
The Beautiful Alone not Good ior On the Laws against Intemperance.270 ~ 
Mans ..vecsesecess waysvara tote oe we 232 The Limits of Government luterfer- 
Precipices of the Alps......05.0.23-. 233 ONCRss.de 3.2 a ee eee 271 
The Fall of the Leaf.... 2. 5...-.... 233 | Sir David Brews ter (1781-1867) «.: weet eigee 
John Sterling (1806-1844)............- 233 Is the Planet Jupiter inhabited ?,...274 
The Miseries of Old Age......--++- 23 Bacon and Newton.:.......s+5+es 276 
Nhe Worth of Knowledge......--- 234 Epitaph on a Scotch Jacobite.-....278 
Edward William Lane (1801-1876)....235 | Michael Faraday (1791-1867)... ......2%d 
F. T. Buckland—C. Knight.........- 235 From ‘Chemical History «f a Can- 
GAS Hayward—Albany F onblanqte. a dle? .. a ee eee =e 
Dr. Doran (born in 1807).....+-++++++: 236 |. Augustus de Morgan (1808-1871... .. 5. 280 
The Style Royal and Critical....... 237 | Dean Swift and the Mathematicians 281_ 
Visit of George III. and Queen Char- Dr. Alexander Bain (born in_1518)....282 
Tobie 0 the Citya, ss eek. ee le 237 Robert Stephenson (1803-1859)... 0... 98% 
William John Thoms........+066 -. 239 | Sir William Fairbairn (1789-1874)..... 233 
Sir Arthur Helps (1814-1875).......... 239 | Sir Charles Wheatstone (born in 180 4 
Advantages of Foreign ‘Travel..... 240 | Dr. Buckland (1784-1856).........2.-- 
The Course of History.....----++++ 249 | Sir Charles Lyell (1797-1875)... eer i 
Discovery of the Pacific Ocean..... 241 Geology compared to History...... 985 = 


Great Questions of the Present Age 242 
Advice to Men in Small Authority. 242 
Samuel Langhorne Clemens (born in 


1HSANGr eS he hae ees 242 
The Noblest Delight... 006. oo. ees e 243 
Puzzling an Italian Guide.......... 243 
Dr. John Brown (born “in. 1810). soc. 244 
ueen Mary’s Child Garden........ 246 
Malcolm M’Lennan.. ...5..8.. 000. cece 247 
William Rathbone Greg (born circa 
HG) Sear pin ne eis fies ies a 2 patente QA4T 
ChGrified: Spirits =.-3.. 2 ocr see ono « 247 
Human Development.............. 248 
Matthew Arnold—W. Minto—Leslie 
Glepheis.: Tidiy 5. .s eee ote es 249 


SCIENTIFIC WRITERS. 


Sir Humphry Davy (1778-1829)... 251 
- The Future State of Human Beings2: 52 
Indestructibility of ue SCA Pa ya 8 

Sir John Herschel (1792-1871)........ 953 
‘Tendency and Effect of Philosophi- 

Cal Stidiesss 7s Hl oR est sen 256 


Mrs. Mary Somerville "(1780-1872) Ceca = 
Scene iu the Campngna........e..5s 
Professor J. D. Forbes (1899- i868). =P a5 
Dr. Whewell (1794-1859) Sede BW opeuseliotte. sin 250 

Wonders of the Universe...,....... 262 

Final Destiny of the Universe....+.262 
C. Babbage (1792-1871)—Sir George B. 
Airy (born in 1801)—J. R. Hind 

—J. P. Nichol (1804-1859)...... 962 

Adams—Grant—Proctor—Lockyer ..,263 

The Rey. Baden Powell (1796-1860), , ,264 


The Great Earthquake of Lisbon.. 
De La Beche—Mantel—Pye Smith. EO287 
Sir geen’ p Impey Murchison (1792- Ks 

1870 5288 4 


- The Lower Silurian Rocks........- 289 
The Relative Value of Gold and Sil- 
Vl Se Oe ee ee ae 290. 
Hint to Geologists. .....+.......... 290 
Proposed Purchase of Isle of Staffa,291 _ 
Professor Sedgwick (circa 1787-1873) .291 
Professor OWeN......2.... eceee cree 291-3 
The British Mammoth.......+--+.: 294 
Dr. Carpenter—Dr. Elliotson.........295 
Hugh Miller (1802-1856). -............ 295 
The Tur ning-point in Hugh Miller’s~ 
Lifer ee ba ce. dees ee ee 296 
The Antiquity of the Globe ....... 297° 
The Mosaic Vision of Creation.....300 — 
The Fossil Pine-tree..........--.+ 302 — 
The National Intellect of England 
end Scottand) 2. fr. seeas «cae 302 — 
Dr. Lardner—Professor Ansted—Pro- 
fessor Fleming, &......+-++++. -. 803 a3 
Charles Darwip (born in 1809).. 304 — 
First Conception of Theory ‘of Natu- 
ral Selection. ........ --d04 


A Poetical View of Natur al Selection 306 — 
Utilitarianism not the Sole Motive. 305. 


Variability; : ~. 1: 203 eh eee enate se 80 
Improvement in Flowers...... ret 308 — 
Prof. Huxley (born in 1825)........... poe 


Caution to Philosophic Inguirers.. 
The Objectors to pore st Inguiry. 3 
The Power‘of Speech .35 vaesnes wa 
Professor Max Miller bora in 1823)..8 : 


vii 

PAGE, | PACE 

. Langnage the Barrier between Brute Captains King and Fitzroy....’. veo es 036 
iy GEE] 63.13 ea rae ge eS eee 311 George C Pnabe vol. eaeec a eee 5387 
“Spread of the Latin Language Naps s 312 An American Cymon and Iphigenia337 
Pate essor ‘l'yndall (born circa 1820)...313 | J. S. Buckingham (1786-1855), &G....337 
Freedom of Inquiry........-...+-+- 314 | Gtorge Borrow (born in 1808)........ 358 
Advance in Science since the days Impressions of the City of Madrid.:33 

as OL Bichon Batlers 4. a. iss cne 315-| Richard*Ford (1495-1858) ./.... 04.0: 340 
Herbert Spencer (born in 1820)....... 315 Spalnsand’ Spaniards jx fo Sec. ee 340 
Professor Geikie (born in 1835) ..... 315 The Spanish Muleteers............. 341 
Professor Whitney (born in 1827).....816 | A. H. Layard (born in 181T)........ . 342 
Celtic Branch of Indo- European Lan- Appearance of Nimroud.:........ 342 
BID Cries wet a atten cet Soa Se + oke 316 Discovery of a Colossal Sculpture. .243 
Dr. Jobn W. Draper (born in 1811)...317 IY Gia Ba oo ad ss. Kora: aikme catetca ated 345 

Luxuries of the Spanish Caliphs...318 | Sir C. W entworth Dilke—J. F. Camp- 

George Smith (1840-1876)............. 318 PM he Sy rca eRe tals o ween. . 845 
Influence of the English Race......846 

TRAVELLERS. Brigg. VOUNLs om va asiaake aaa s eat 346 

The Rev. Horatio Southgate, &...... 319 | ilium Gifford” A A a 

Religious Status of omen in the 182 26)... ed Oe seeeeees 348 - 
ohammedan System.......... 319 The Arab Character. wetwevessee te OLS 

Pian Lindsay....... Se gee aes 320 The SIMOON... ..--+eeeececeeseress et 
"The Red Sea.......... Sas icar S70 }obbe Ali Expeditions 45 sexs nes cB SY 
Lieut. Arthur Conolly.............%.. 329 | _ Graves of English Scamen....... +. BbL 
Miss Roberts—Mrs. Postans.......... 321 ges Burton (born in 1820) ...-.«.852 
Sacrifice of a Hindu Widow. "391 | Captains Speke and Grant.eeee..... ae 

EPect. |’. Bacon—Mountstuart L™hin- First View of the Nile.......... Ee Pe: 


Rete ces TABLE OF CONTENTS. 


stone (1778-1859)—C. R. Baynes.322 
322 


~_. Remark by an Arab-Chief.......... 
_ Legend of the Mosque of the Bioady 
Baptism at Cairo. ....0..0..5... 
cot MRSA LOWNTOD 5 a0 cic. oS iawn Fess 303 
State and Ceremonial of the Sia- 
UNSSC er al de" o ieee Giese Bo  niets 278 20 oe 
_ John Francis Davis—Mr. Gutzlaff.. 
- Commander Bingham, &¢............ et 
Chinese Ladies? TEN cTS Te iene ere Se 825 
Robert Fortune—M. Hue, &c........ 326 
Beem ninese “TNICVES 5. set os ae ees foes 326 
What the Chinese think of the Euro- 
| 01212521: eee erate 327 


_ George Wingrove Cooke (1814-1865). .328 
328 


The Chinese hanguage, 2s cs oye 
The Execution-ground of Canton. See 
The Horrors of ‘the Canton Prisons 829. 


Join Barrow—The Rev. Mr. Venables330 


7 


* 


Russian Peasant’s Houses....... ..331 
Employments « oe the People... 831 
OAMUC! LANL. WC... dee ec. esses. 332 


Agricultural Peuminiry of Norw ay. ae 
Society BESS WEEN tin canaid Metering ous 333 


_ Joseph Bullar—Johm Bullar..........884 
_. Cultivation of the Orange.......... 334. 
‘Earnest Dieffenbach— Anthony ies 


BUSING petctthctchs ote w cle Gators ais e.0: «'sie'd woes 
- Squatters and Free Settlers of New 
OMIC 8, ccws gicen $< s<a0se4 1.ynOU 


Etiquette at the Court of Uganda.. 

The Source of the Nile, a Summary pe 

Life in Unyanyembe 
Sir Samuel Beker (born in 1821)...... 858 

First Sight of the Albert Nyanza ...359 
David Livingstone (181 7-1872)—Henry 


Mc Stanley «oo. 5: 2.02 eetbaene olen 860 
An African Explorer's Outfit........ 362 
Hunting on a Great Scale.......... 363 
English Manufacturers in South 

SAP CA tbd Scac oar eee a ae 363 
Meeting of Stanley and Liv ingstone 


at Uitte eoees 6 
Verrey Lovett Cameron, REN: «00063068 


ee eee a) 


ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS. 


Thomas of Ercildoun;. ......... 


Ghawucery, 2-5 seen tae Ria calle dem teeane s 
Barcel a yi wp oc ge wren e sess se nc cns eoeeatl 
‘The Complaynt of Scotland’........ Bro 
TOTS eee mele bs aalale cept eisivs Lege ays 872 
Shakepeare....... EP Cie oe ON OR Aw 542 
Shidciine aan echt pce eee see teD 
SWifticarts caseecsus eoteneaeccee = fast 
Mason.. 5 eS ; 515 
Shelley. SB ee -315 

oC 


dirs. Inchbald. ce eb ts tote 


CYCLOPADIA 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


EIGHTH PERIOD. 


(1830-1876.) 


REIGNS. OF GEORGE IV. WILLIAM IV. AND QUJCEN 
: VICTORIA. 


(Continued.) 


_ BISHOP THIRLWALL—MR. GROTE—GEO, FINLAY—COLONEL MURE— 


MR. GLADSTONE, ETC. 


Dr. Connop THIRLWALL contributed to ‘ Lardner’s Cyclopedia’ a 
‘History of Greece,’ which extended to eight volumes, and has been 


_ enlarged and reprinted, 1845-52, and again reprinted in 1855 in eight 


volumes. It is a learned and philosophical work, evincing a thor- 
pugh knowledge of Greek literature and of the German commenta- 
tors. Dr. Thirlwall was born in 1797, at Stepney, Middlesex, son of 
the rector of Bowers-Gifford, Essex. The latter published, in 1809, 
‘Primitia, or Essays. ane Poems on Various Subjects, Religious, 
Moral, and Entertaining, by Connop Thirlwall, eleven years of age.’ 


_ The future historian of Greece must ther be considered the most 
- precocious of English authors, -eclipsing even Cowley and Pope. 


But the son, probably, did not thank the father for thrusting his 


Childish crudities before the world. Connop Thirlwall stucied at 


Cambridge, and carried off high academical honours at Trinity Co}- 
lege. He intended following the profession of the law, and, after 


_ keeping his terms, was called to the bar at Lincoln’s Inn in 182%. 


- 


Three years’ experience seems to have disgusted him.with the lea. 
profession; he entered the church, obtained a rectory in Yorkshire, 


then became dean of Brecon, and in 1840 was promoted to the see of 


‘St. Davids. In 1874 he resigned his bishopric, in consequence of the 


increasing infirmities of age. He died in 1875. Mr. Grote says that, 


x 


) -CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876, 


had Dr. Thirlwall’s ‘History of Greece’ appeared a few years earlier, 
he would probably never have conceived the-design of writing his 
more elaborate work. . 
The ‘ History of Greece’ by Mr. GEORGE GROTE was hailed as a 
truly philosophical history. It commences with the earliest or 
‘egendary history of Greece, and closes with the generation contem- 
porary with Alexander the Great. This work extends to twelve 
volumes. The first two were published in 1846 ; but it appears from 
a letter of Niebuhr, addressed to Professor Lieber, that so early as 
1827 Mr. Grote was engaged on the work. The primitive period of ~ 
Grecian history—the expedition of the Argonauts and the wars of 
Thebes and Troy—he treats as merely poetical inventions. On the 
subject of the Homeric poems, he holds that the ‘Odyssey’ is an ~ 
original unity, ‘a premeditated structure and a concentration of in- 
terest upon one prime hero under well-defined circumstances.* The 
‘Tliad,’ he says, produces on his mind an impression totally different; 
it ‘presents the appearance of a house built upon a plan compara- 
tively narrow, and subsequently enlarged by. successive additions.’ 
He conceives that both poems are about the same age, and that age 
a very early one, anterior to the First Olympiad. - Passing to .auth- 
entic history, Mr. Grote endeavours to realize the views and feelings" 
of the Greeks, and not to judge of them by an English standard. 
Our idea of a limited monarchy, for example, was unknown even to — 
the most learned of the Athenians. : 


Early Greek History not to be Judged by Modern Feeling. 


The theory of a constitutional king, especially as it exists in England, wonldhave — 
appeared to Aristotle impracticable; to establish a king who will reign without gov- 
erning—in whose name all government. is carried on, yet whose personal will is in 
practice of little or no effect—cxempt from all responsibility, without making use of 
the exemption—receiving from every one unmeasured demonstrations of homage, — 
which are never translated into aet, except within the bounds of a known law—sur- ~ 
rounded with all the paraphernalia of power, yet acting as a passive instrument in — 
the hands of ministers marked ont for his choice by indications which he is not at — 
liberty to resist. This remarkable combination of the fiction of superhuman gran- — 
deur and license with the reality of an invisible strait-waistcoat. is what an English- ¥ 
man ‘has in his mind when he speaks of a constitutional king. When the Greeks — 
thought of a man exempt from legal responsibility, they conceived him as really and _ 
traly such, in deed as well as inname, with a defenceless. community exposed to his 
oppressions; and their fear and hatred of him was measured by their reverence for a | 
government of equal law and free speech, with the ascendency of which their whole — 
hopes of securify were associated. in the democracy of Athens more, perhaps, than — 
in any other portion of Greece. And this feeling, as it was one of the best in the — 
Greek mind, so it was also one of the most widely spread, a point of unanimity highly ~ 
valuable amidst so many points of dissension. We cannot construe or criticise it by ~ 
reference to the feelings of modern Europe, still less to the very peculiar feelings of — 
England respecting kingship ; and it is the application, sometimes explicit, and some- 
times tacit. of this unsuitable standard which renders Mr. Mitford’s appreciation of _ 
Greek politics so often incorrect and unfair. . ae 


The grea. obiect of the historian is to penetrate the inner life of 
the Greeks, ana w portray their social, moral, and religious condi. 
tion. He traces with elapurate minuteness the rise’ and progress of 


~~ 


oy 
\ 


pimiwaut.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 8 


the Athenian democracy, of which he is an ardent admirer ; and 
some of the Athenian institutions previously condemned, he warmly 
defends. The institution of ostracism, or banishment without accu- 
sation or triai, he conceives to have been necessary for the purpose 
of thwarting the efforts of ambitious leaders. With this view it was 
devised by Clisthenes,* and it was guarded from abuse by various. 
precautions, the most important of which was, that the concurrence 
of one-fourth of all the citizens was required, and that those citizens 
voted by ballot. The two classes of demagogues and sophists he 
also vindicates, comparing the former to our popular leaders of the 
Opposition in parliament, and the latter to our teachers and profes- 
sors. Even Cleon, the greatest of the demagogues, he thinks has 
been unfairly traduced by Thucydides and Aristophanes, particu- 
larly the latter, who indulged in all the license of a comic sat- 
irist. ‘Noman,’ says Mr. Grote, ‘thinks of judging Sir Robert Wal- 
pole, or Mr. Fox, or Mirabeau from the numerous lampoons put in 
circulation against them; no man will take measure of a_ political 
Englishman from ‘Punch’ or of a Frenchman from ‘ Charivari.’ 
The four stages of Athenian democracy represented by Solon, Clis- 
_thenes, Aristides, and Pericles are carefully described and discrimin- 
ated by Mr. Grote; he gives also an admirable account of the Greek 
colonies ; and his narrative of the Peloponnesian War—which fills 
two volumes—contains novel and striking views of events, as well as 
of the characters of Pericles, Alcibiades, Lysander, &c. Even the Re- 
‘treat of the Ten Thousand, which apparently had been exhausted by 
- Xenophon, is told by Mr. Grote with a spirit and freshness, and so 
much new illustration as to render it a deeply interesting portion of 
his History. ‘The following will give an idea of Mr. Grote’s style of 
_ narrative: 


' Xenophon’s Address to the Army after the betrayed Grecian Generals had 
been Slain by the ‘Persians. 


While their camp thus remained unmolested. every man within it was a prey to 
the most agonizing apprehensions. Ruin appeared impending and inevitable, though 
no one could tell in what precise form it would come. ‘The Greeks were in the midst 

of a hostile corniry, ten thousand stadia from home, surrounded by enemies, blocked 

_ up by impassable mountains and rivers, without guides, without provisions, without 

cavalry to aid their retreat. without generals to give orders. A stupor of sorrow and 
conscious helplessness seized upon all; few came to the evening muster; few lighted 

- fires to cook their suppers; every man lay down to rest where he was; yet no man 

could sleep, for fear, anguish and yearning after relatives whom he was never again 

~to behold. 

- Amidst the many causes of despondency which weighed down this forlorn army, 
there was none more serious t12n the fact, that not a single man among them had 
now cither anthority to command. or obligation to take the initiative. Nor was any 
‘ambitious candidate likely to volunteer his pretentions, at a moment when the post 

: One peculiarity of Mr. Grote was, spelling the Greek names after the German 
fashion: Clisthenes is ‘ Kleisthenés; Socrates is ‘Sdékratés;’ Alcibiades, ‘ Alkibi- 

' adés;’ Aristides, ‘Aristeidés :’ &c. All this appears unnecessary, and is a sort of pe- 

dantic trifling unworthy of a gre:t hisiorian. 


¥ 
o 


4 
eal 
= F, 

a 4 
a “S 


4: -- CYCLOPAEDIA OF 


romised nothing but the maximum of difficulty as well as of hazard. A new, self- 
sindled light, and self-originated stimulus, was required to vivify the embers of the © 
suspended hope and action in a mass paralysed for the moment, but every way Ccapa- 
ble of effort; and the inspiration now fell, happily for the army, upon one In whom a 
‘full measure of soldierly strength and courage was combined with the education of 
an Athenian, a democrat, and a phi.vsopher. my noir 

Xenophon had equipped himselé in his finest military costume at this his first 
official appearance before the army, when the scales seemed to tremble between life 
and death. ‘Taxing up the protest of Kleanor against the treachery of the Persians, 

2 insisted that any attempt to enter into convention or trust with such liars would 
be utter ruin; but that, if energetic resolution were taken to deal with them only at 
the point of the sword, and punish their misdeeds, there was good hope of the favour 
of the gods and of ultimate preservation, As he pronounced this last word one of 
the soldiers near him happened to sneeze : immediately the whole army around ~ 
shouted with one accord the accustomed invocation to Zeus the Preserver ; and 
Xenophon. taking up the accident, continued: ‘Since, gentlemen, this omen from ~ 
Zeus the Preserver has appeared at the instaut when we were talking about preserva- 
tion, let us here vow to offer the preserving sacrifice to that god, and at the same 
time to sacrifice to the remaining gods as well as we can, in the first friendly countr 
which we may reach. Let every man who agrees with me hold up his hand. 
held up their hands: all then joined in the vow, and shouted the pean. Si 

This accident. so dexterioasly turned to profit by the rhetcrical skill of Xenophon 
was eminently beneficial in raising the army out of the depression which weighed 
them down, and in disposing thein to listen to his animating appeal. Repeating his — 
assurances that the gods were on their side, and hostile to their perjured enemy, he ~ 
recalled to their memory the great invasions of Greece by Darius and Xerxes—how 
the vast hosts of Persia had b2en disgracefully repelled. ‘The army had shewnthem- — 
selves on the figld of Kunaxa worthy of such forefathers; and they would, for the — 

future, be yet bolder, knowing by that battle, of what stuff the Persians were nade. 
As for Arizeu3 and his troops, alike traitors and cowards, their desertion was rather a — 
gain than aloss, ‘The enemy were superior in horsemen: but men on horseback were, — 
after all, only men, bulf occupied in the fear of losing their seats, incapable of pre- — 
-vailing against infant y firm on the ground, and only better able to run away. Now 
that the satrap refused to furnish them with provisions to buy, they on their side were 
released from their covenant. and would tuke provisions without buying. ‘Then as to — 
the rivers; those were indeed difficult to be crossed, in the middle of their course 
but the army would march up to their sources, and could then pass them without 
wetting the knee. Or, indeed, the Greeks might renounce the idea of retreat, and 
establish themselves permanently in the King’s own country, defying all his force, 
like the Mysians and Pisidians. ‘If,’ said Xenophon, ‘ we plant ourselves here at our — 
ease in arich country, with these tall, stately, and beautiful Median and Persian wo- — 
men for our companions, we shall be only too ready, like the Lotophagi, to forget our — 
way home, We ougnat first to go back to Greece, and tell our countrymen that if 
they remain poor, it is their own fault, when there are rich settlements in this country 
awaiting all who choose to come, and who have courage to seize them. . Let us burn 
our baggage-wagons and tents, and carry with us nothing but whatis of the © 
strictest necessity. Above all things, let us maintain order, discipline, and obedience s 
4 


ae Fe Pre 


~ ee 


ie 


ap ae oc 


to the commanders, upon which our entire hope of safety depends. Let every man 
promise to lend his hand. to the commanders in punishing any disobedient indi- 
viduals; and let us thus shew the enemy that we have ten thousand persons like — 
Klearchus, instead of that one whom they have so perfidiously seized. Now is the — 
time foraction. If any man, however obscure, has anything better to suggest let him — 
~ come forward and state it; for we have all but one object—the common safety.’ ; 
It appears that no one else desired to say a word, and that the speech of Xeno- — 
phon gave unqualified satisfaction ; for when Cheirisophus put the question, that the — 

~ meeting should sanction his recommendations, and finally elect the new generals 
proposed—every man held up his hand. Xenophon then moved that the “army — 
should break up immediately, and march to some well-stored villages, rather more — 
than two miles distant; that the march should be in a hollow oblong, with the bag- _ 
gage in the centre; hat Cheirisophus, as a Lacedemonian, should lead the van 
while Kleanor and the other senior officers would command on each fiank ; and hin 
self with Timasion, as the two youngest of the generals, would lead the rear-guard. 


12 


- THIRLWALL.}  #§ ENGLISH LITERATURE, 5 


-. Inthe later volumes we have an equally interesting and copious 
account of the career of Epaminondas—the Washington of Greece; 
the struggles of Demosthenes against Philip; and the suecess of 
-Timolecn. ‘The historian’s fullness of detail and the ethical interest 
he imparts to his work, with the associations connected with the 
heroic events he relates, and the great names that have 


Gone glittering through the dream of things that were, 


render the whole the most noble and affecting record in the history 
of humanity. From the epoch of Alexander the Great, Mr. Grote 
dates ‘not only the extinction of Grecian political freedom and self- 
action, but also the decay of productive genius, and the debasement 
of that consummate literary and rhetorical excellence which the 
fourth century before Christ had seen exhibited in Plato and Demos- 
thenes.’ ‘There was, however, one branch of intellectual energy 
which continued to flourish, ‘ comparatively little impaired under the 
preponderance of the Macedonian sword ’—the spirit of speculation 
and philosophy, and to this subject Mr. Grote proposed to devote a 
_ separate work. His History was completed in 1856, the author being 
then in his sixty-second year. In 1866 appeared ‘ Plato and the other 
Companions of Sokrates,’ three volumes, a work which fully sus- 
tained the author’s fame. 

Mr. Grote was of German ancestry. His grandfather, the first of 
the family that settled in England, established the banking-house that 
still bears the name of Grote as one of the founders, and the historian 
_ was for some time employed in the bank. He sat in parliament as 

one of the representatives of the city of London from 1882 till 1841, 
and was-known as a Radical Reformer and supporter of vote by bal- 
- lot. His annual motion in favour of the ballot was always prefaced 
by a good argumentative speech, and he wrote one or two political 
~ pamphlets and essays in the Reviews. Sydney Smith sarcastically 
said: ‘Mr. Grote is a very worthy, honest, and able man; and if the 
_ world were a chess-board, would be an important politician.’ Mr. 
_ Grote died June 18, 1871, aged seventy-seven, A memoir of the his- 
_ torian has been published by his widow. 


Character of Dion. 


Apart from wealth and high position, the personal character of Dion was in itself 
- marked and prominent. He was of an energetic temper, great bravery-and very con- 
siderable mental capacities. Though his nature was haughty and disdainful towards 
individuals, yet as to political communion, his ambition was by no means ‘purely 
-self-seeking and egotistic, like that of the elder Dionysius. Animated with vehe- 
-ment love of power, he was at the same time penetrated with that sense of regulated 
polity and submission of individual will to fixed laws, which floated in the atmos- 
- phere of Grecian talk and literature, and stood so high in Grecian morality. He 
Was, moreover, capable of acting with enthusiasm, and braving every hazard in 
prosecution of his own convictions. 

_ Born about the year 408 B.c., Dion was twenty-one years of age in 387 B.c., when 
the elder Dionysius, having dismantled Rhegium and subdued Kroton, attained the 
maximum of his dominion, as master of the Sicilian and Italian Greeks. Standing 


«oe poe Salle EE eek Se 


Loa CYCLOPEDIA OF - 


high in the favour of his brother-in-law Dionysius, Dion doubtless took part in the 
~ wars whereby this large dominion had been acquired ; as well as in the life of indul- 
ence and luxury which prevailed generally among wealthy Greeks in Sicily and 
taly, and which to the Athenian Plato appeared alike surprising and repulsive. 
That great philosopher visited Italy and Sicily about 387 B.c. He was in acquaint- 
ance and feliowship with the school of philosophers called Pythagoreans; the rem- 
nant of the Pythagorean brotherhood, who had once exercised so powerful a 
political influence over the cities of those regions, and who still enjoyed considerable 
reputation, even after complete political downfall, through individual ability and 
rank of the members, combined with habits of recluse study, mysticism, and attach- 
ment among themselves. 

With these Pythagoreans Dion also, a young man of open mind_and ardent aspir- 
ations, was naturally thrown into communication by the proceedings of the elder 
Dionysius in Italy. Through them he came into intercourse with Plato, whose con- 
versation mde an epoch in his life. 

The mystic turn of imagination, the sententious brevity, and the mathematical 
researches of the Pythagoreans, produced doubtless an imposing effect upon Dion; 
just as Lysis, a member of that brotherhood, had acquired the attachment and ip- 
fluenced the sontiments of Epaminondas at Thebes, But Plato’s power of working | 
upon the mids of young men was far more impressive and irresistible. . He posses- 
sed a large range of prictical expcrience, a mastery of political and social topics, 
and a charm of eloquence, to which the Pythagoreans were strangers. The stirring 
effects of the Socratic talk, as well as cf the democratical atmosphere in which Plato 
had been brought up, had developed all the communicative aptitude of his mind}; 
and great as that aptitude appears in his remaining dialogues, there is ground for 
believing that it was far greater in his conversation. Brought up as Dion had been at 
the court of. Dionysius—accustomed to see around him only slavish deference and 
luxurious enjoyment—unused to open speech or large philosophical discussion—he 
found in Plato a new man exhibited, and a new worid opened before him. mag 
_ As the stimulus from the teacher was here put forth with consummate efficacy, 
so the predisposition of the learner enabled it to take full effect. Dion became an 
altered man both in public sentiment and in individual behavicur. He recollecred 
that, twenty years before, his country, Syracuse, had been as free as Athens. ~He 
learned to abhor. the iniquity of the despotism by which her liberty had been oyer- 
thrown, and by which subsequently the liberties of so mw#ny other Greeks in Italy 
and Sicily had been trodden down also. He was made to remark that Sicily had 
been. half barbarised through the foreign* mercenaries imported as the despots’ 
instruments. He conceived the sublime idea or dream of rectifying all this accumu- 
lation of wrong and suffering. It was bis first wish to cleanse Syracuse from the 
blot of slavery, and to clothe her anew in the brightness ard dignity of freedom, yet 
not with the view of restoring the popular government as it had stood prior to the 


usurpation. but of establishing an improved constitutional polity. originated by — 


himself, with Jaws which should not only secure individual rights. but also educate 
and moralise the citizens. The function which he imagined to himself, and which 
the conversation of Plato suggested, was not that of a despot like Dionysius, but 
that of a despotic legislator like Lycurzus, taking advantage of a momentary 


to originate a good system, which when once put in motion, would keep itself alive by — 
fashioning the minds of the citizensto its own intrinsic excellence. After having — 


thus both liberated and reformed Syracuse, Dion promised to himself that he would 
employ Syracusan force, aot in annihilating, but in recreating, other free Hellenic 
communities throughout the island, expelling from thence all the barbarians—both — 
the imported mercenaries and the Carthaginians. , - 


” 

- 

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- 

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ot 

omnipotence, conferred upon him by grateful citizens in-a state of public confusion, ; 


Mr. GrorGe Frnuay, an English merchant at Athens, wrote seve- — 


ral works—concise, but philosophical in spirit, and containing es 
nal views and information—relative to the history of Greece. His 
first was ‘ Greece under the Romans.’ (1845); ‘ History of the Byzan-— 


tine Empire,’ from 716 to 1057 (1853), and continued to 1453 a.D., — 


(1854); ‘Medisval Greece and Trebizond’ to 1461; and the ‘ History. 


- 


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- FINtay.] ENGLISH LITERATURE, vs 


of Greece under the Othoman and Venetian Domination,’ from 1453 
‘to 1°21 (1856). Mr. Finlay died in 1875, the last survivor of the small 
~ band of enthusiasts who went out to Greece to join Lord Byron and 
the Philhellenes. He acted for some years as correspondent of the 
“Times’ in Athens. 
ss Vicissttudes of Nations. 
The vicissivudes which the great masses of the nations of the earth have under- 
- gone in past ages have hitherto received very little attention from historians, who 
have adorned their pages with the records of kings, and the personal exploits of _- 
princes and great men, or attached their narrative to the fortunes of the dominant 
[elasses, without noticing the fate of the people. History, however, continually re- 
4peats the lesson that power, numbers, and the highest civilisation of an aristocracy, 
‘are, even when united, insufficient to insure national prosperity, and establish the 
powers of the rulers on so firm and permanent a basis as shall guarantee the domi- 
nant class from annihilation. On the other hand, it teaches us that conquered tribes, 
destitute of all these advantages, may continue to perpetuate their existence in mis- 
ery and contempt. It is that portion only of mankind which eats bread raised from 
the soil by the sweat of its brow, that can form the basis of a permanent national ex- 
istence. The history of the Romans and of the Jews illustrates these facts. Yet even 
_ the cultivation of the soil cannot always insure a race from destruction, ‘for muta- 
- bility is nature’s bane.’ The Thracian race has disappeared. The great Celtic race 
_ has dwindled away, and seems hastening to complete absorption in the Anglo-Saxon. 
' The Hellenic race. whose colonies extended from Marseille to Bactria, and from the 
Cimmerian Bosphorus to the coast of Cyrenaica, has become extinet in. many coun- 
tries where it once formed the bulk of the population, as in Magna Greecia and Sicily. 
On the other hand, mixed races have arisen, and, like the Albanians and Vallachians, 
have intruded themselves into the ancient seats of the Hellenes. But these revolu- 
‘tions and changes in the population of the globe imply no degradation of mankind, 
as some writers appear to think, for the Romans and English afford examples that 
mixed races may attain as high a degree of physical power and mental superiority as 
has ever been reached by races of the purest blood in ancient or modern times. 


A different view of the Homeric question from that entertained by 
Mr. Grote. and also of some portions of Athenian history, has been 
taken by Wixiu1aAm Mors, Esq., of Caldwell,(1799-1860), in his able 
_ work, ‘ A Critical History of the Language and Literature of Ancient 
Greece,’ four volumes, 1850-53. Colonel Mure had travelled in 
- Greece; and in the ‘Journal,’ of his tour—published in 1842—had 
entered into the Homeric controversy, especially with regard to the 
- supposed localities of the ‘Odyssey,’ and had adduced several illustra- 
tions of the poems from his observation and studies. A sound 
scholar, and chiefly occupied on Greek literature and history fora 
_ period of twenty years, he brought to his ‘ Critical History’ a degree 
of knowledge perhaps not excelled by that of Mr. Grote, but tinc- 
_ tured by political opinions directly opposite to those of his brother 
Hellenist. His examination of the ‘Iliad’ and ‘ Odyssey’ occupies 
-a considerable portion of his ‘ History,’ and the general conclusion 
_ at which he arrives is, that each poem was originally composed, in 
its substantial ‘integrity, as we now possess it. We give one short 
specimen of Colonel Mure’s analysis. 


The Unity of the Homeric Poems. 


It is probable that, like most other great painters of human nature, Homer was 
_ indebted to previous tradition for the original sketches of his principal heroes. 
4 These sketches, however, could hive been little more than outlines, which, as worked 


7 -” 


/ 


a = 


ais CYCLOPEDIA OF 


up into the finished portraits of the ‘Iliad’ and ‘ Odyssey,’ must rank as his own 
genuine productions. In every branch of imitative art, this faculty of representing: 
to the life the moral phenomena of our nature, in their varied phases of virtue, vice, 
weakness, or eccentricity, is the highest and rarest attribute of genius, and rarest of 
all-as exercised by Homer through the medium of dramatic action, where the charac- _ 
ters are never formally described, but made to develop themselves by their own lan- 
guage and conduct. Itis this, among his many great qualities, which chiefly raises 
Homer above all other poets of his own class ; nor, with the single exception, perhaps, 
of the great English dramatist, has any poet ever produced so numerous and spirited 

a variety of original characters, of different ages, ranks, and sexes. Still more peculiar 
to himself than their variety, is the unity of thought, feeling, and expression, offen of 
minute phraseology, with which they are individually sustained, and yet with- 
out an appearance of effort on the part of their author. Each describes himself spon- 
taneously when brought on the scene, just as the automata of Vulcan in the ‘ Odys- 
sey,’ though indebted to the divine artist for the mechanism on which they move, ap- 
pear to perform their functions by their own unaided powers. ‘That any two or more 
poets should simultaneously have conceived such a character as Achilles, is next to 
‘impossible. Still less credible is it, that the different parts of the ‘Iliad,’ where the _ 
hero successively appears as the same sublime ideal being, undcr the influence of the 
same combination of virtues, failings, and passions—thinking, speaking, acting, and 
suffering, according to the same single type of heroic grandenr—can b. the produc- 
tion of more than a single mind. Such evidence is, perhaps, even stronger in the | 
case of the less prominent actors, in so far as it is less possible that different artists 
should simultaneously agree in their portraits of mere subordinate incidental person-' 
ages, than of heroes whose renown may have rendered their characters a species of 
public property. Two poets of the Elizabethan age might, without any concert, 
have harmonised to a great extent in their portrait of Henry V.; but that the corre- t 
spondence should have extended to the imaginary companions of his youth—the Fal- » 
staffs, Pistols, Bardolphs, Quickleys—were incredible. But the nicest shades of pe- 
culiarity in the inferior actors of the ‘Iliad’ and ‘ Odyssey,’ are conceived and main-. 


tained in the same spirit of distinction as in Achilles or Hector. mij 


I 


Colonel Mure’s work was left incomplete. His fourth volume. 
enters on the attic period of Greek literature—the great era of the 
drama and the perfection of Greek prose—from the usurpation of — 
Pisistratus at Athens, 560 B.c., to the death of Alexander the Great, 
323 B.c. He gives an account of the origin and early history of — 
Greek prose composition, and an elaborate biographical and critical ~ 
study of Herodotus, reserving for future volumes the later Greek — 
prose authors and Attic poets. A fifth volume was published, and ~ 
at the time of his death he was engaged on a sixth, devoted to the © 
Attic drama. Colonel Mure derived his title from being commander — 
of the Renfrewshire Militia. His family had long been settled in the — 
counties of Ayr and Renfrew, and he himself was born at the patri’ — 


monial property of-Caldwell in Ayrshire. He was an excellent coun + 


az 


try gentleman as well as accomplished scholar and antiquary. “a 

Another and more distinguished votary of Greek literature is tha — 
Rigor Hon. W. E. Guapsronn, M.P., who, in 1858, published — 
‘Studies on Homer and the Homeric Age,’ three volumes. Mr. Glady — 
stone does not enter into any detailed criticism of the ‘ Iliad’ or ‘ Odyaas 
sey; he deals with the geography, history, and chronology of the 
‘poems, maintaining the credibility of Homer as the delineator of pe | 
age, and finding also fragments of revealed religion in his system of 
mythology. He traces the notion of a Logos in Minerva, the Dsliv- 
erer in Apollo, the Virgin in Latona, and even the rainbow of the 


et: __. ENGLISH LITERATURE. es 


Old Testament in Iris; while the principle of Evil acting by deceit, 
_ he conceives to be represented i in the Homeric At’. This certainl y 


_ appears to be fanciful, though supported by Mr. Gladstone’s remark- _ 


able subtlety of intellect and var iety of illustration. One volume of 

the work is devoted to Olympus, and another to establish Homer's 

right to be considered the father of political science. . In supporting 

_his different hypothesis, we need | not say that Mr. Gladstone evinces 

~ great ingenuity and a refined critical taste. His work is indeed a cy- 
 clopzedia of Homeric illustration and classic lore. 


The World of Homer a World of His Owi. : 


The Greek mind, which became one of the main factors of the civilised life of 
- Christendom, cannot be fully comprehended without the study of Homer, and is 
nowhere so vividly or co sincerely exhibited as in his works. He has a world of his 
own, into which, upon his strong wing, he carries us. There we find ourselves 
“amidst a system of ideas, feelings, and actions different from what are to be found 
s anywhere else, and forming a new and distinct standard of humanity. Many among 
them seem as if they were “then shortly about to be buried under a mass of ruins, in 
- order that they might subsequently reappear, bright and fresh for application, among 
; Jater generations of men. Others of them almost carry us back to the early morning 
of our race, the hours of its greater simplicity and purity, and more free intercourse 
with God. In much that this Homeric world exhibits, we see the taint of sin at 
_ work, but far, as yet, from its perfect work and its ripeness; it stands between 
Paradise and the vices of later heathenism, far from both, from ‘the latter as well as 
_ the former, and if among all earthly knowledge the knowledge of man be that which 
“we should chiefly court, and if to be genuine ‘it should be founded upon experience, 
how is it possible to overvalue this primitive representative of the human race ina 
form complete, distinct, and separate with its own religion, ethics, policy, history, 
arts, manners, fresh and true to the standard of its nature, like the form of an infant 
from the hand of the Creator, yet mature, full and finished, in its own sense, after its 

_ Own laws, like some master-picce of the sculptor’s art. 


__ We may notice here a work now completed, ‘A History of the 
Literature of Ancient Greece, by K. O. MuLuer, continued after 


the author’s death by J. W. Donaupson, D.D., three volumes, 1858. | 


Dr. Donaldson’s portion of tlie work embraces the period from the 
‘foundation of the Socratic schools to the taking of Constantinople 
by the Turks, The work is altogether a valuable one—concise with- 
“out being dry or meagre. ‘A History of Greece, mainly based upon 
that of Dr. Thirlwall,’ by Dr. L. Scumrrz, principal of the Inter- 
5 national College, London (1851), is well adapted for educational pur: 
poses: it comes down to the destruction of Corinth, 146 P.c. Dr. 
Schmitz is author of a popular ‘History of Rome’ (1847), and a 
-* Manual of Ancient History’ to the overthrow of the Western Em- 
pire, 476 4.p. He has also translated Niebuhr’s Lectures. Few for- 
eigners have acquired such a mastery of the English language as Tk 
Schmitz. 


EARL STANHOPE. 


Puature Henry, Earp Stannorr, when Lord Mahon, commenced 
a “History of England from the Peace of Utrecht to the Peace of 
Ale la-Chapelle (1718-1783). The first volume appeared in 1836, and 


10 3 -CYCLOPADIA OF 


hs 


4 


the work ultimately extended to seven volumes, of which a. second — 
edition has since been published. ‘The period of seventy years thus” 
copiously treated had been included in Smollett’s hasty, voluminous ~ 
History, but the ground was certainly not pre-occupied. Great addi- 
tional information had also been accumulated in Coxe’s Lives of ~ 
Marlborough and Walpole, Lord Hervey’s Memoirs of the Court ore 
George IIL., the Stuart Papers, the Suffolk and Hardwicke Correspon- ~ 
dence, and numerous other sources. In the early portion of his work — 
—the Queen Anne period—there is a strong and abiding interest de- | 
rived from the great names engaged in the political struggles of the - 
day, and the nearly equal strength of’ the parties. Lord Mahon thus — 
sketches the contending factions: ms Be 


ait 


n 
ree" 
‘pes eae: 


Whig and Tory in the Reign of Queen Anne. 


At that period the two great contending b tnbly were distinguished, as at present, 
‘by the nicknames of Whig and Tory. But it is very remarkable that in Queen 
Anne’s reign the relative meaning of these terms was not only different but opposite. 
to that which they bore at the accession of William IV. In theory, indeed, the main — 
principle of each continues the same. ‘The leading principle of the Tories is the — 
dread of popular licentiousness. The leading principle of the Whigs is the dread of 
royal encroachment. It may, thence, perhaps, be deduced that good and wise men — 
would attach themselves either to the Whig or to the Tory party, according as there ~ 
seemed to be the greater danger at that particular period from despotism orfrom democ-— 
racy. ‘he same person who would have been a Whig in 1712 woald have been a Tory a 


ae es Ae 


1830. For, on examination, it will be found that, in nearly all particulars, a modern 
Tory resembles a Whig of Queen Anne’s reign, and a ‘ory of Queen Anne’s reign a 
modern Whig. ea 
First as to the Tories. The Tories of Queen Anne’s reign pursued a most un-— 
ceasing opposition to a just and glorious war against France. They treated the great 
general of the age as their peculiar adversary. To our recent enemies. the French, 
their policy was supple and crouching. They had an indifference, or even an aver= 
sion. to our old allies the Dutch; they had a political leaning towards the Roman 
Catholics at home; they were supported by the Roman Catholics in their elections; 
they had a love of triennial parliaments, in preference to septennial; they attempted — 
to abolish the protecting duties and restrictions of commerce: they wished to favour 
our-trade with France at the expense_of our-trade with Portugal; they were sup-— 
ported by a faction whose war-cry was ‘ Repeal of the Union,’ in a sister-kingdom. 
J'oserve a temporary purpose in the House of Lords, they had recourse—for the first 
time in our annals—to a large and overwhelming creation of peers. Like the Whigs 
in May 1831, they chose the moment of the highest popular passion and excitement — 
to dissolve the House of Commons, hoping to avail themselves of a short-lived ery — 
for the purpose of permanent delusion. The Whigs of Queen Anne’s time, on the ~ 
other hand, supported that splendid war which led to such victories as Ramillies and — 
Blenheim. ‘They had for a leader the great man who gained those victories; they 
advocated the old principles of trade; they prolonged the duration of parliaments; ~ 
they took their stand on the principles of the Revolution of 1688; they raised the: 
cry of ‘No Popery.;’ they loudly inveighed against the subserviency to France, the 
desertion of our old allies, the outrage wrought upon the peers, the deceptions prac- 
tised upon the sovereign. and the other measures of the Tory administration. Such 
were the Tories, and such were the Whigs of Queen Anne. . fae 


We give a specimen of the noble historian’s character-painting: _ 
Charles Edward Stuart, the Young Pretender. : 


_ Charles Edward Stuart is one of those characters that cannot be portrayed a 
ale sketch, but have so greatly altered, as to require a new delineation at different 
periods. View him in his later years, and we behold the ruins of intemperance 


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eee meh - = ; 
¥ 7 == Z z = 
‘sTANHOPE.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 11 
- + ce : 


such was the gallant Prince full of youth, of* hone, of courage, who, landing with 
seven men in the wilds of Moidart, could rally a kingdom round his banner, and 
scatter his foes before him at Preston and at Falkirk. Not such was the gay and 
courtly host of Holyrood. Not such was he, whose endurance of fatigue and eager- 
ness for battle shone pre-eminent, even amongst Highland chiefs ; while fairer critics 
proclaimed him the most winning in conversation, the most graceful in the dance! 
Can we think lowly of one who could acquire such unbounded popularity in so few 
months, and over so noble a nation as the Scots; who could so deeply stamp his 
“image on their hearts that, even thirty or forty years after his departure, his name, 
a8 we are told, always awakened the most ardent praises from all who had known 
him—the most rugged hearts were seen to melt at his remembrance—and tears to 
steal down the furrowed cheeks of the veteran? Let us, then, without denying the 
faults of his character, or extenuating the degradation of his age, do justice to the 
lustre of his manhood. 
- ‘The person of Charles—I begin with this for the sake of female readers—was tall 
-and well formed ; his limbs athletic and active. He excelled in all manly exercises, 
-and was inured to every kind of toil, especially long marches on foot, having applied 
himself to field-sports in Italy, and become an excellent walker. His face was strik- 
ingly handsome, of a perfect oval andafair complexion ; his eyes light-blue; his fea- 
tures high and nohle. Contrary to the custom of the time, which prescribed pernkes, 
his own fair hair usually fell in long ringlets on his neck. This goodly person was en- 
hanced by his graceful manners; frequently condescending to the most familiar 
kindness, yet always shielded by a regai dignity, he had a peculiar talent to please 
and to persuade, and never failed to adapt his conversation to the taste or to the sta- 
tion of those whom he addressed. . Yet. he owed nothing to his education: it had 
been intrusted to Sir Thomas Sheridan, an Irish Romen Catholic, who has not es- 
~caped the suspicion of being in the pay of the British government, and at their insti- 
“gation betraying his duty as a teacher. I am bound to gay that, { have found ro 
corroboration of so foul a charge. Sheridan appears to me to have lived and dicd a 
-man of honour; but history can only acquit him of bese perfidy by accusing nim of 
gross neglect. He had certainly left his pupil uninstructed in the most common éle- 
ments of knowledge. Charles’s letters, which I have seen emongét the Siuart tapers, 
are written in a large, rude, rambling hand like a schcoi-boy’s. In spelling, ih¢y 
“are still more deficient. With him ‘humour,’ for example, becomes UMER; the 
weapon he knew so well how to wield. isa sorp; and even his own father’s name 
appears under the alias of Gems. Nor are these errors confined to a single Jan- 
guage: who, to give another imstance from his French—would recoyvnize a aunting 
nife in cooTO DE CHAS? I can, therefore, readily believe that. as Dr, King assures > 
“us, he knew very little of the history or constitution of England’ But the letters of 
Charles, while they prove his want of ‘education, no less clearly display his natural 
powers, great energy of character, and great warmth of heart. Writing confidenti- 
_aliy; just before he sailed for Scotland, he says: ‘1 made my “evoticns on Pentecost 
‘Day, recommending myself particularly to the Almighty cn this cccasion to guide 
and direct ine, and to continue to me always the same seutiments, which arersiher 
‘to suffer anything than fail in any of my,duties,’ OHis young brother, Hevry of 
‘York, is mentioned with the utmost tenderness; and, though on his return from 
Scotland, he conceived that he had reason to complain of Henry’s coldness and. re- 
ferve, the fault is lightly touched upon, and Chazles observes that, whatevez may be 
‘his brother’s want of kindness, it shall never diminish his own. To his father his 
tone is both affectionate and dutiful: he frequently acknowledges his gocdnese ; 
and when, at the outset of his great enterprise of 1745, he entreats a blessing from 
the pope, surely the sternest Romanist might forgive him for adding, that he shall 
think a blessing from his parent more precious and more holy still. 4s to his friends 
‘and partisans, Prince Charles has been often accused of not being sufficiently moved 
‘by their sufferings, or grateful for their services. Bred up amidst monks and big- 
‘Ots: who seemed far less afraid of his remaining excluded from power, than that on 
gaining he should use it liberally, he had been taught the highest notions of preroga- 
ive and hereditary right. From thence he might infer that those who served him in 
Bcotlasd did no more than their duty; were merely fulfilling a plain social 


& 
4 
ye 


12 CYCLOP.EDIA OF ~ 
obligation; and were not, therefore, entitled to any very especial praise 
and. admiration. Yet, on the other hand, we must remember how prone 3 
are all exiles to exaggerate their own desert. to think no rewards sufficient for it, and — 
to complaiz of neglect even where none really exists ; and moreover that. in point of — 
fact, many passages from Charles’s most familiar correspondence might be adduced. az 
to shew a watchfui and affectionate care for his adherents. As avery young man. he ‘ 
determined that he would sooner submit to personal privation than embarrass his — 
friends by contracting debts. On returning from Scotland, he told the French min- — 
ister, D’Argenson, that he would never ask anything for himself, but was ready to go — 
down on his knees to obtain favours for his brother-exiles. Once, after lamenting — 
some divisions and misconduct amongst his servants, he declares that, nevertheless, — 
an honest man is so highly to be prized that, ‘unless your majesty orders me, I should — 
sart with them with a sore heart.’ Nay, more, as it appears to me, this warm feeling — 
of Charles for his unfortunate friends survived almost alone, when. in his decline of — 
life, nearly every other noble quality had been dimmed and defaced from his mind. — 
Tn 1783, Mr. Greathead, a personal friend of Mr. Fox, succeeded in obtaining an in- — 
terview with him at Rome. Being alone with him for some time, the English travel- — 
ler studiously led the conversation to his enterprise in Scotland. The Prince shewed — 
some reluctance to enter upon the subject, and seemed to suffer much pain at the re= — 
membrance; but Mr. Greathead, with more of curiosity than of discretion, still per= — 
seyered. At length, then, the Prince appeared to shake off the load which oppressed | 
him; bia eye brightened, his face assumed unwonted animation; and he began the — 
narrative of his Scottish campaigns with a vehement. energy of manuer, recounting — 
his marches, his battles, his victories, and his defeat; bis hairbreadth escapes, au 2 | 
the inviolable and devoted attachment to his Highland followers. and at length pro- _ 
ceeding to the dreadful penalties which so many of them had subsequently under- ~ 
one. But the recital of their sufferings appeared to wound him far more deeply — 
than his own; then, and not till then, his fortitude forsook him, his voice faltered, | 
his eye became fixed, and he fell to the ficor in convulsions. At the noise, in rushed — 
the Duchess of Albany. his illegitimate daughter, who happened to be in the next 
apartment. ‘Sir,’ she exclaimed to Mr. Greathead, ‘ what is this? You must have — 
been speaking to my father about Scotland and the Highlanders?’ No one dares to 
mention these subjects in his presence.’ 
~ Oxce more, however, let me turn from the last gleams of the expiring flame to the 
hours of its meridian brightness. In estimating the “abilities of Prince Charles, I 
may first observe that they stood in most direet contrast to his father’s. Each ex-_ 
celied in what the other wanted. No man could express himself with more- clear=> 
ness and elegance than James; it bas been said of him that he wrote better than 
any of those whom he employed ; but, on the other hand, his conduct was eile. 


ONS 


i 


n 


deficient in energy and enterprise. Charles, 28 we have seen, was no penman: while 

jn action—in doing what deserves to be written, and not in merely writing what de-— 
serves 10 be read—he stood far superior. He had some experience of war—havip 4 
when very young, joined the <panish army at the siege of Gaeta, and distinguished 
birnself on that occasion—and he joved it'as the birthright both of a Sobieski and a. 
Strart, His quick intelligence, his promptness of decision, and his contempt 0 é 
danger, are recorded on unquestionable testimony. Bis talents as a leader probably 
never rose above the common level; yet, in Some cares jn Scotlaud, where he and 
his more practised officers differed in opinion, it will, I think, appear that they were — 
wrong and he was right. No knight of the olden time could have a loftier sense of - 
honour; indeed he pushed it to such wild extremes, that it often led him into error 
and misfortune. Thus he lost the battle of Culloden in a great measure’ because ie 


disdained to take advantage of the ground, and deemed it more chivalrous to meet ae 


+3 


enemy on equal terms. Thus, also, his wilful and froward conduct at the peace OF 
Aix-la-Chapelle proceeded from a false point of honour, which he thought involved — 
in it. At other times, again, this generous spirit may deserve unmingled praise ; he 
could never be persuaded or provoked into adopting any harsh measures of retalia- 
tion ; his extreme lenity to his prisoners, even to snch as had attempted his life, wa 
it seems, a common matter of complaint among his troops ; and even when encour=— 
agement had been given to his assassination, and a price put upon his head. he con- 
tinued most earnestly to urge that in no possible case should ‘the Elector,’ as he 
called bis rival. suffer any personal injury or insult. This anxiety was always presen! 
in hismind. Mr. Forsyth, » gentleman whose description of Italy is far the best U : 


i r as : é —~ ; \ 


er 


_ sransore.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 13 


__has appeared. and whose scrupulous accuracy and superior means of information will 
_ be acknowledged by al! travellers, relates how, only a few years after the Scottish ex- 
 pedition, Charies, relying on the faith of a single adherent, set out for London in an 
humble disguise, and under the name of Smith. On uriving there, he was intro- 
duced at midnight into. a room full of conspirators whom he had never previously 
seen. ‘ Here.’ said his conductor, ‘is the person you want,’ and left him locked up 
- in the mysterious assembly. These were men who imagined themselves equal, 
at. that time, to treat with himfor the throne of England. ~ Dispose of me, gentle- 
_men., as you please,’ suid Charles ; ‘my life isin your power, and I therefore can sti- 
‘pulate for nothing. Yet give me. I eutreat, one solemn promise, that if your design 
~shonid succeed, the present fainily shall be seut safely and honourably home.’ ; 
_ Another quality of Charles’s mind was great firmness of resolution, which pride 
_ and sorrow afterwards hardened into sullen obstinacy. He was likewise at all times 
* prone to gusts and sallies of anger, when his language became the more pereinptory, 
from a haughty consciousness of his adversities. I have found among his papers a 
_ note without direction, but no doubt intended for some tardy officer. It contained only 
_ these words: ‘I order you to execute my orders, or els2 never to-come back.’ Such 
harshness might, probably, turn a wavering adherent to the latter alternative. Thus, 
also, his public expressions of resentment against the court of France, at different 
~ periods, were certainly far more just than politic. There seemed always swelling at 
Nis heart a proud determination that no man should dare to use him the worse for 
_ his evil fortune, and that he should sacrifice anything or everything sooner than his 
~ dignity. 


This is a portrait of Charles Edward as he appeared in his prime. 
In a subsequent volume, Lord Stanhope gives a sketch of him in his 
latter years, part of which we subjoin: 


An English lady who was at Rome in 1770 observes: ‘The Pretender is naturally 
_ above the middle size, but stoops excessively: he appears bloated and red in the 
face; his countenance heavy and sleepy, which is uttributed to his haying given 
into excess of drinking; but, when a young man, he must have been esteemed 
handsome. His complexion is of the fair tint. his eyes blue, his hair light-brown, 
and the contour of his face a long oval; he is by no means thin, has a noble person, 
aud a graceful manner. His dress was scarlet, laced with broad gold-lace; he wears 
the blue riband outside of his coat, from which depends a cameo antique, as large 
as the palm of my hand; and he wears the sane garter and motto as those of the 
noble Order of-St. George in England. Upon the whole, he has a melancholy, 
mortified appearance. ‘Iwo gentlemen constantly attend him; they are of Irish 
extraction, and Roman Catholics you may be sure. At Princess Palestrina’s he 
asked me if I understood the game of tarrochi, which they were about to play at. 
‘T answered in the negative: upon which, taking the pack in his hands, he desired to 
*know if I had ever seen such odd cards. I replied that they were very odd indeed, 
_Hle then, displaying them, said: “Here is everything in the world to be found ir 
these cards—the sup, moon, the stars: and here,” says he, throwing me a card, ‘is 
the pope; here is the devil; and,” added he, *‘ there is but one ef the trio wanting, 
~ and you know who that should be !” [The Pretender]. 1 was so amazed, so astonished, 
“though he spoke this last in a laughing, good-humoured manner, that Idid not know 
which way to look; and as toa reply, 1 made none.’ 
' In his youth, Charles, as we have seen, had formed the resolution of marrying 
“only a Pro estant princess: however, he remained single during the greater part of 
“his career; and when, in 1754, he was urged by his father to take a wife. he replied: 
{The unworthy behaviour of certain ministers. the 10th of December 1748, has put 
it out of my power to settle anywhere without honour or interest being at stake; and 
Were it even possible for me to find a place of abode, I think our family have had 
‘sufferings enough, which will always hinder me to marry, so Jong as in misfortune, 
-for that would only conduce to increase misery, or subject any of the family that 
‘should have the spirit of their father so be tied neck and heel. rather than yield toa 
‘vile ministry.’ Nevertheless, in 1772, at the age of fifty-two, Charles espoused a 
Roman Catholic, and a girl of twenty, Princess Louisa of Stolberg. This union 
Piao in unhappy as it was ill assorted. Charles treate1 his young wife with very 
i@ Kindness. He appears, in fact, to have co.t-acted a disparaging opinion of her 


= 


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ie 5 : ss 


i 
me 
- 


ji4> - CYCLOPADIA OF 


sex in general; and I have found, in a paper of his writing about that rete a ‘gn : 
for men, I have studied them closely; and were [ to live till ‘fourscore, I could scarcely a 
know them better than now; but as for women, I have thought it useless, they cede a 
so much more wicked and impenetrable.’ Ungenerous “and ungrateful words > — 
Surely, as he wrote thei, the image of Flora Macdonald should have risen in his — 
heart and restrained his pen! - 3 


The History of Lord Stanhope, in style and general merit, may — 
rank with Mr. P. F. Tytler’s ‘ History of Scotland.’ The narrative 4 
is easy and flowing, and diligence has been exercised in the collec- a 
tion of facts. The noble historian is also author of a “Histo of — 
the War of the Succession in. Spain,’ one volume, 1882; a fe ofa 
the Great Prince Condé,’ 1845; a ‘Life of Belisarius.’.1848; avolume 
of ‘Historical Essays,’ contributed to the ‘ Quarterly Review,’ and — 
containing sketches of Joan of Arc, Mary, Queen of Scots, the Mar- — 
quis of Montrose, Frederick Tis, &e. His lordship has also edited Mj 
the ‘ Letters of the Earl of Chesterfield,’ four volumes, 1845, and ~ 
was one of the executors of Sir Robert Peel and-the Duke of Wel- — 
lington. In conjunction with Mr. E. Caldwell, M.P., Lord Stanhope — 
published ‘Memoirs of Sir Robert Peel,’ being chiefly an attempted 4 
vindication by that statesman of his public conduct as regards Ro- — 
man Catholic Emancipation and the Corn Laws. His lordship has 
also published a ‘ Life of the Right Hon. Wiliam Pitt,’ valuable for — 
the correspondence and authentic personal details it contains: and a ~ 
-‘ History of the Reign of Queen Anne until the Peace of Utrecht,’. i 
(1701-17138), a work in one volume (1870), which, however inferior, 

may be considered a continuation of Macauley’s History. 

Earl Stanhope was born at Walmer in 1805, was educated at osm 
ford, and was a member of the House of Commons, first for Wooton — 
Bassett, and afterwards for Hertford, from 1830 to 1852. He was — 
fora short time Under-secretary for Foreign Affairs, and Secretary — 
to the Board of Control. He succeeded to the peerage in 1855, and 
died in 1875. si | 


THOMAS KEIGHTLEY, 


A volume of ‘Outlines of History’ having appeared in 1830 ial 
‘Lardner’s Cyclopedia,’ Dr. Arnold urged its author, Mr. Thomas’ — 
Keightley, to write a series of histories of moderate size, which might — 
be used in schools, and prove trustworthy manuals in after-life. Ma. 
Keightley obeyed the call, and produced a number of historical com- — 
pilations of merit. His ‘ History of England,’ two volumes, and the- 
same enlarged in three volumes, is admitted to be the one most freex, 
from party-spirit ; and his Histories of India, Greece and Rome, — 
each in one volume, may be said to contain the essence of most of — 
what has been written and discovered regarding those countries. 4 
Keightley also produced a ‘ History of the War of Independence i in 
Greece,’ two volumes, 1830 ; and ‘The Crusaders,’ or scenes, event? 
and characters from the times of the Crusades. These works have all 
been popular, The ‘ Outlines’ are read in schools, colleges, and uni 


- 


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1 EARS i ina ai, Sie See ee tort te a. at : 
songs : 

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‘KEIGHTLEY.] | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 15 


versities ; the Duke of Wellington directed them to be read by offi- 
cers and candidates for commissions in the army. The ‘ History of 
Greece’ has been translated into modern Greek and published at 
Athens. In the department of mythology, Mr. Keightley was also a 
‘successful student, and author of the ‘ Mythology of Ancient Greece 
and Italy ; ‘Fairy Mythology,’ illustrative of the romance and su- 
perstition of various countries ; and ‘Tales and Popular Fictions, 
their Resemblance and Transmission from Country to Country.* 
From the second of these works we give a brief extract. 


Superstitious Beliefs. 


- According to a well-known law of our nature, effects suggest causes: and another 
law, perhaps equally general, impels us to ascribe to the actual and efficient cause 
the attribute otf intelligeice. ‘he mind of the deepest philosopher is thus acted 
upon equally with that of the peasant or the savage; the only difference lies in the 
nature of the intelligent cause at which they respectively stop. The one pursues 
the chain of cause and effect, and traces out its various Jinks till he arrives at the 
great intelligent cause of all, however he may designate him; the other, when 
unusual phenomena excite his attention, ascribes their production to the immediate 
‘agency of some of the inferior beings recognised by his legendary creed. ‘I'he 
action of this iatter principle must forcibly strike the minds of those who disdain 
‘not to bestow a portion of their attention on the popular legends and traditions of 
different countries. Every extrwordinary appearance is found to have its extraordi- 
nary cause assigned; a cause always cornected with the history or religion, ancient 
or modern, of the country, and nof unfrequently varying with a change of faith. 
The noises and eruptions of Attna and Stromboli were, in ancient times, ascribed 
to Typhon or Vulcan, and at this day the pOpular belief connects them with 
the infernal regions. The sounds resembling the clanking of chains, hammer- 
ing of iron, and blowing of bellows, once to be heard in the island of Barrie, were 
made by the fiends whom Merlin had set to work to frame the wall of brass to sur- 
round Caermarthen. . The marks which natural causes have impressed on the solid 
and unyielding granite rock were preduced, according to the popular creed, by the 
contact of the hero, the saint, or the god: musses of stone, resembling domestic im- 
plemeuts in form, were the toys, or the corresponding implements of the heroes or 
giants of old. Grecian imagination ascribed to the galaxy or Milky-way an origin in 
‘the teeming breast of the queen of heaven: marks appeared in the petals of flowers 
on the occasion of a youth’s ora hero’s untimely death: the rose derived its present 
hue froin the blood of Venus, as she hurried barefooted through the woods and lawns; 
‘while the professors of Islam, less fancifully, refer the origin of this flower to the 
moisture that exuded from the sacred person of their prophet. Under a purer form 
Of religion, the cruciform stripes which ma k the back and shoulders of the patient 
ass first appeared, according to the popular tradition, when the Son of God conde- 
scended to enter the Holy City. mounted on that animal; and a fish. only to be found 
in the sea, still bears the impress of the finger and thumb of the apostle, who drew him 
out of the waters of Lake Tiberias to take the tribute-money that Jay in his mouth, 
The repetition of the voice among the hills is, in Norway and Sweden, ascribed to 
‘the dwarfs mocking the human speaker; while the more elegant fancy of Greece gave 
birth to Echo, a nymph who pined for Jove, and who still fondly repeats the accents 
that she hears. ‘The magic scenery occasionally presented on the waters of the 
Straits of Messina is produced by the power of the fata morgana; the gossamers 
that float through the haze of an autumnal morning are woven by the ingenious 
dwarfs ; the verdant circlets in the mead are traced beneath the light steps of the 
dancing elves; and St. Cuthbert forges and fashions the beads that. bear his 
name, and lie scattered along the shore of Lindisfarne. In accordance with these 
laws, we find in most countries a popular belief in different classes of beings distinct 
men, and from the higher orders of divinities. ‘These beings are usually be- 
lieved to inhabit, in the caverns of earth. or the depths of the waters, a region of 
their own. They generally exce! mankin:i in power and in knowledge, and, like 
them, are subject to the inevitable laws of death, though after a more prolonged 


Pe 


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. a ' fey . es ees a SOP NS ey ett. 
5" ; t4< Ve 2s oxi Te 


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Ero 1876, 


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16 CYCLOPEDIA OF ~ 


period of existence. How these classes were first called into existence it is not easy " 
to say; but if, as some assert, all the ancient systems of heathen religion were de- — 
vised by philosophers for the instruction of rude tribes by appeals to their sen3es, we 4 
might suppose that the minds which peopled the skies with their thousands and tens — 
of thousands of divinities gave birth also to the inhabitants of the field and flood, ~ 
and that the numerous tales of their exploits and adventures are the produetion of 3 
poetic fiction or rude invention. 22 
In 1855, Mr. Keightley published a ‘ Life of Milton,’ and afterwards — 
edited Milton’s poems. ‘The biography is an original and in many ~ 
respects able work. The opinions of Milton are very clearly and fully 
elucidated, and the extensive learning of the biographer and his- — 
torian has enabled him to add some valuable suggestive criticism: — 
for example, in Milton’s time the Ptolemaic astronomy was the pre- : 
ae aie — by: 

valent one, and Mr. Keightley asks, “4 


Could Milton have written ‘ Paradise Lost’ in the Nineteenth Century ? 


Now, with the seventeenth century, at least in Eneland, expired the astronomy of ~ 
Ptolemy. ‘Had Milton, then, lived after that century, he could not fora moment — 
have believed in a solid, globous world, inclosing various revolving spheres, with the ~ 
earth in the centre, and unlimited, unoccupied, undigested space beyond. His local — 
heayen and local hell would then have become, if not impossibilities, fleeting and un-=~ 
certain to a degree which would preciude all firm, undoubting faith in their existence; — 
for far as the most powerful telescopes can pierce into space, there is nothing found” 
but a uniformity of stars after stars in endless succession, exalting infinitely our idea — 
of the Deity and his attributes, but enfeebling in proportion that of any portion of — 
space being his peculiar abode. Were Milton in possession of this knowledge, is it 
possible that he could have written. the first three books of Paradise Lost? Weare | 
decidedly of opinion that he could not, for he would never have written that of the 
truth of which he could not have persuaded himself by any illusion of the imagina-— 
tion. It may be said that he would have adapted his fictions to the present state of 
astronomy. But he could not have done it; such is the sublime simplicity of the 
true system of the universe, that it is quite unsuited to poetry, except in the most 
transient form. a 


Mr. Keightley was a native of Ireland, born in 1792. He long re-_ 
sided at Chiswick on the Thames, a retired but busy student, and 
died in 1782. a 

DEAN MILMAN. - 

The prose works of the late Dean of St. Paul’s (ante) place 
him in the first rank of historians. His ‘History of-the Jews’ ~ 
was originally published in Murray's ‘Family Library’ (1829), but’ 
was subsequently revised (fourth edition, 1866). When thus repub- 
- lished, the author considered that ‘the circumstances of the day,’ or, 
in other words, the objections which had been made to his plan of 
treating the Jewish history, rendered some observations necessary. 


Lae 
How ought the History of the Jews to be Written ? | 


What should be the treatment by a Christian writer, a writer to whom truth is the 
one paramount object, of the only documents on which rests the earlier history of 
the Jews, the Scriptures of the Old Testament? Are t»ey, like other historical’ 
documents, to be submitted to calm but searching criticism as to their age, their 
authenticity, their authorship: above all, their historical sense and historical in 
pretation ? : — 

Some may object (and by their objection may think it right to cut short all this 


~f, 


™ 


“WILMAN.] _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. ; 17 


- 


momentous question) that Jewish history is a kind of forbidden ground, on which 
‘it is profane to enter; the whole history being so peculiar in its relation to theology, 
rasting, as it is asserted, even to the most minute particulars, on divine authority, 
ought to be sacred from the ordinary laws of investigation. But though the Jewish 
eople are especially called the people of God, though their polity is grounded on 
their religion, though God be held the author of their theocracy, as well as its con- 
fervator and administrator, yet the Jewish nation is one of the families of mankind ; 
their history is part of the world’s history : the functions which they have performed 
-jn the progress of human development and civilisation are so important, so endur- 
ing; the veracity of their history has been made so entirely to depend on the rank 
which they are entitled to hold in the social scale of mankind; their barbarism has 
been so: fiercely and contemptuously exaggerated, their premature wisdom and 
humanity so contemptuously depreciated or denied; above all, the barriers which 
kept them in their holy seclusion have long been so utterly prostrate; friends as 
well as foes, the most pious Christians as well as the most avowed enemies of 
Christian faith, have so long expatiated on this open field, that it is as impoasible, 
in my judgment, as it would be unwise, to limit the full freedom of inquiry. 
_ Adopting this course, Dean Milman said he had been able to follow 
out ‘all the marvellous discoveries of science, and all the hardly less 
marvellous, if less certain, conclusions of historical, ethnological, 
linguistic criticism, in the serene confidence that they are utterly 
‘irrelevant to the truth of Christianity, to the truth of the Old Testa- 
ment as far as its distinct and perpetual authority, and its indubitable 
meaning,’ This was the view entertained by Paley, and is the view 
now held by some of-the most learned and able divines of the present 
day. The moral and religious truth of Scripture remains untouched 
by the discoveries or theories of science. ‘If on such subjects some 
solid ground be not found on which highly educated, reflective, read- 
‘ing, reasoning men may find firm footing, I can foresee nothing but 
‘a wide, a widening, I fear an irreparable breach between the thought 
and the religion of England. A comprehensive, all-embracing, truly 
Catholic Christianity, which knows what is essential to religion, what is 
temporary and extraneous to it, may defy the world. Obstinate adhe- 
‘rence to things antiquated, and irreconcilable with advancing know- 
ledge and thought, may repel, and for ever, how many, I know not; how 
far, I know stillless. Avertatomen Deus.’ “A much greater work than 
the ‘ History of the Jews’ was the ‘History of Latin Christianity,’ inclu- 
ding that of the Popes to the Pontificate of Nicholas V.,’ completed in 
six volumes, 1856. The first portion of this work was published in 1840, 
and comprised the history of Christianity from the birth of Christ to 
the abolition of Paganism in the Roman empire; a further portion 
“Was published in 1854, andthe conclusion in 1856. Nosuch work,’ 
‘said the ‘Quarterly Review,’ ‘has appeared in English ecclesiastical 
diterature—none which combines such breadth of view with such 
depth of research, such high literary and artistic eminence with such 
‘patient and elaborate investigation.’ This high praise was echoed by 
Prescott the historian, and by a host of critics. It is realiy a great 
‘work—great in all the essentials of history—subject, style, and re- ~ 
‘search, The poetical imagination of the author had imparted 
warmth and colour to the conclusions of the philosopher and the _ 
‘sympathies of the lover of truth and humanity, The last work of 


= 


ya a 


a 


18 | CYCLOPEDIA OF 


Dean Milman was his ‘ History of St. Paul’s Cathedral,’ over which 
he had presided for nearly twenty years, and in which his remains 
-were interred. Asa brief specimen of the dean’s animated style of 
nairative, we give an extract from the ‘ History of ihe Jews?’ Lie 


Burning of the Tempie, Aug. 10, 70 A.c. 


It was the 10th of August, the day already darkened in the Jewish calendar by tae 
destruction of the former temple by the king of Babylon; that day was almost past.- 
Titus withdrew again into the Antonia, intending the next morning to make a gen- 
eral assault. ‘he quiet summer evening came on; the setting sun shone for the last 
time on the snow-white walls and glistening pinnacles of the Temple roof. Titus 
had retired to rest, when suddenly a wild and terrible cry was heard, and a man came 
rushing in, announcing that the 'l’emple was on fire. Some of the besieged, notwith- 
stauding their repulse in the morning, had sallied out to attack the men who were 
busily employed in extinguisuing the fires about the cloisters. The Romans not 
merely drove them back, but, entering the sacred space with them, forced their way 
to the door of the Temple. A soidier, without orders, mounting on the shoulders of ~ 
one of his comrades, threw a blezing brand into a small gilded door on the north 
side of the chambers, in the ouver building or porch. The flames sprang up at once. 
The Jews uttered one simultaneous shriek, and grasped their swords with a furious 
determination of revenging and perishing in the ruins of the Temple. ‘Titus rushed ~ 
down with the utmost speed; he shouted, he made signs to his soldiers to quench — 
the fire; his voice was drowned, and his signs unnoticed, in the blind confusion. ~ 
The legionaries either could not of would not hear ; they rushed on, trampling each 
other down in their furious haste. or stumbling over the crumbling ruins, perished 
with the enemy. Each exhorted the other, and each hurled his blazing brand into 
the inner part of the edifice, and then hurried to his work of carnage. The un- _ 
armed and defenceless people were slain in thousands; they lay heaped like sacri- — 
fices round the altar; the steps of the Temple ran with streams of blood, which ~ 
washed down the bodies that lay about. ; Ng 

Titus found it impossible to check the rage of the soldiery; he entered with his ~ 
officers, and surveyed the interior of the sacred edifice. The splendour filled them ~ 
with wonder; and as the flames had not yet penetrated to the Holy Place, he made a ~ 
last effort to save it, and springing forth, again exhorted the soldiers to stay the pro= — 
gress of the conflagration, he centurion Liberalis endeavored to force obedience Z 
with his staff of office; but even respect for the emperor gave way to the furions — 
animosity against the Jews, to the fierce excitement of battle, and to the insatiable — 
hope of plunder. The soldiers saw everything around them radiant with gold, which E 
shone dazzlingly in the wild light of the flames; they supposed that incalculable ~ 
treasures were laid up in the sanctuary. A soldier, unperceived, thrust a lighted 3 
torch between the hinges of the door; the whole buildings was in flames in a > 
instant. The blinding smoke and fire forced the officers to retreat, and the noble ~ 
edifice was left to its fate. \ ; 

It was an appalling spectacle to the Roman—what was it to the Jew? The whole ~ 
summit of the hill which commanded the city blazed like a volcano. One after another» 
the buildings fell in, with a tremendons crash, and were swallowed up in the fiery — 
abyss. The roofs of cedar were like sheets of flame; the gilded pinnacles shone — 
like spikes of red light; the gate towers sent up tall columns of flame and smoke. 
The neighbouring hills were lighted up; and dark groups of people were seen watch-_ 
ing in horrible anxiety the progress of the destruction; the walls and heights of the — 
upper city were crowded with faces, some pale with the agony of despair, others scowls | 
ing unavailing vengeance. The shouts of the Roman soldiery as they ran to and fro, 
and the howlings of the insurgents who were perishing in the flames, mingled with — : 
the roaring of the conflagration and the thundering sound of falling timbers. The © 
echoes of the mountains replied or brought back the shrieks of the people on the” 
heights ; all along the walls resounded screams and wailings ; men who were expite. 
ing with famine, rallied their remaining strength to utter a cry of anguish and aeegs 

ation. y 
The slaughter within was even more dreadful than the spectacle from withou 
Men and women, old and young, insurgents and priests, those who fought and th 


a 


: 


~2 5 % 


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ENGLISH LITERATURE, | Se 


_jwho entreated merey, were hewn down in indiscriminate carnage, The number of . 
_ the slain exceeded that of the slayers. The legionaries had to clamber over heaps 
of dead to carry-on the work of extermination. John, at the head of some of his 
_ troops, cut his way through, first into the outer court of the Temple. afterwards into 
_ the upper city. Some of the priests upon the roof wrenched off the gilded spikes, 
with the’r sockets of lead, and used them as missiles against the Romans below. 
_ Afterwards they fled to a part of the wall, about fourteen feet wide; they were sum- 
moned to surrender, but tivo of them, Mair, son of Belga, and Joseph, son of Dalai,’ 
_ plunged headlong into the flames. 
No part escaped the fury of the Romans. The treasuries, with all their wealth of 
money, jewels, and costly robes—the plunder which the Zealots had laid up—were 
totally destroyed. Nothing remained but a small part of the outer cloister. in which 
about six thousand unarmed and defenceless people, with women and children, had 
taken refuge. These poor wretches. like multitudes of others, had been led up to 
the Temple by a false prophet, who had proclaimed that God commanded.all the 
_ Jews to go up to the Temple, where he would display his almighty power to save his 
people. ‘The soldiers set fire to the building: every soul perished. 
The whole Roman army entered the sacred precincts, and pitched their standards 
among the smoking ruins; they offered sacrifice for the victory, and with lond accla- 
“mations saluted Titus as Emperor. Their joy was not a little enhanced by the value 
of the plunder they obtained, which was so great that gold fell in Syria to half its 
former value. 


WILLIAM F. SKENE. 


_ An eminent Celtic antiquary, versant in both branches of the lan- 
“guage, the Cymric and Gaelic, Mr. Wriitram F. Skene, has pub- 
lished two important works—‘ The Four Ancient Books of Wales,’ 2 
vols., 1868 ; and ‘Celtic Scotland,’ vol. i., ‘ History and Ethnology,’ 
1876. The former contains the Cymric Poems attributed to the bards 
of the sixth century—to Aneurin (510-560 a.p.) ; to Taliessin (520- 
570) ; to Llywarch Hen, or the Old (550-640 ;) and to Myrdden, or Mer- 
lin (530-600). These dates are uncertain. The Four Books are much 
later: (1) the Black Book of Caermarthen, written in the reign of 
Henry II, (1054-1189) ; (2) the Book of Aneurin, a manuscript of the 
latter part of the thirteenth century ; (3) the Book of Taliessin, a 
Manuscript of the beginning of the fourteenth century ; and (4) the 
Red Book of Hergest, completed at different times in the fourteenth 
and fifteenth centuries. It isin these four books or manuscripts that 
the oldest known texts are to be found, and Mr. Skene has had them 
translated by two of the most eminent living Welsh scholars—the 
Rey. D. Silvan Evans of Llanymawddwy, the author of the ‘ Eng- 
lish and Welsh Dictionary,’ and other works ; and the Rev. Robcrt 
Williams of Rhydycroesau, author of the ‘Biography of Eminent Welsh 
men,’ and the ‘Cornish Dictionary.’ Besides the poems in the Red 
Book of Hergesi, the manuscript also contains the text of several 
prose tales and romances connected with the early history of Wales, 
published with an English translation by Lady Charlotte Guest, in 
1849, under the title of ‘ The Mabinogion.’ 


' Date of the Welsh Poems, 


_. During the Jast half-century of the Roman dominion in Britain, the most import- 
ant military events took place at the northern frontier of the province. where it was 
chiefly assailed hy those whom they called the barbarian races, and their troops were 
massed at the Roman walls to protect the province, After their departure it was 


t 
* 


y z sa 
20 CY CLOPEDIA OF. oy [To 1876, 
aa 
still the scene of a struggle between the eontenaine races for supremacy. It was 
here that the provincial Britons had mainly to contend under the Guledig against the 
invading Picts. and Scots,.succeeded by the resistance of the native Cymric popula- 
tion of the north to the encroachment of the Angels of Bernicia. 

Throughout this clash and jar of contending races, a body of popular poetry 
appears to have grown up, and the events of this nev er-ending war, and the dim 
recollections of social changes and revolutions, seem to have been Feflected in national | 
lays attributed to bards supposed to have lived at the time in which the deeds of their 
warriors were celebrated, and the legends of the country preserved in language, 
which, if not poetical, was firurative and obscure. It was not till the seventh 
century that these popular lays ‘floating about among the people were brought into - 
oe and assumed a consistent form... . I do not attempt to take them farther 

ack e 


The principal poem in the Four Books, supposed to possess his- 
torical value, is entitled ‘Gododen,’ by Aneurin, in which the bard 
laments the inglorious defeat of his countrymen by the Saxons. 
This war ode or battle-piece is in ninety-four stanzas. One of them 
—the twenty-first—has been paraphrased by Gray, and the reader 
may be interested by seeing together, the literal translation in Mr. 
Skene’s book, and the version of the English poet: 


The men went to Catraeth; they were renowned ; 
Wine and mead from golden cups was their beverage 5 
That year was to them of exalted solemnity ; é 

‘Three warriors and three score and three hundred, wearing the golden torques, k 
Of those who hurried forth after the excess of revelling 


But three escaped by the prowess of the gashing sword, 4 
The two war-dogs of Aeron and Cenon the dauntless, A 
And myself from the spilling of my blood, the rew. ard of my sacred song. : 
Gray renders the passage thus: a 
To Cattraeth’s vale in glittering row, Or the er ape’s ecstatic juice. +s 
Thrice two hundred warriors ago: Flushed with mirth and hope they burn: 
Every warrior’s manly neck But none from Cattraeth’s vale return. 
Chains of regal honour deck, Save Aeron brave and Conan strong 
Wreathed in many a golden link; m (Bursting through the bloody throng), 
From the golden cup ‘they drink ’ And I, the meanest of them all, * 
Nectar that the bees produce, That live to weep and sing their fall.* ‘ 


The ‘ Celtic Scotland’ of Mr. Skene is, like his Welsh work, de- 
signed to ascertain what can be really extracted from the early 
thorities. . He adopts the conclusion of Professor Huxley, tha 

eighteen hundred years ago the population of Britain comprised peal 
ples of two types of complexion, the one fair and the other dark—the 
latter resembling Aquitani and the Iberians ; the fair people resem- 
bling the Belgic Gauls. An Iberian or Basque people preceded the 
Celtic race in Britain and Ireland. The victory gained. by Agricola, | 
86 A.D., is said by Tacitus to have been fought at ‘Mons Grampius. 
The hills now called the Gr umpians were then known as Drumalban, 


fd So ee | 

, As to the scene of the strugzle, Mr. Skene says : ‘ It is plain from the poem 4 
two districts, called respectively Gododen and Catraeth, met at or near a great ram- 
part; that both were washed by the sea. and that in connection with the latter was) 
fort called Eyddin. Tne name of Eyddin tukes us to Lothain, where we have D 
din, or Edinburgh, and Caredin on n the shore. 


2 ie ENGLISH LITERATURE, -. 21 


80 that we cannot identify the scene of action with that noble moun- 
tain range. But it appears that the latest editor of the Life of Agri- 
‘cola has discovered from some Vatican manuscripts that Tacitus 
eally wrote ‘Mons Graupius,’ and thus the word Grapius is, as Mr, 
Burton says, ‘an editor’s or printer's blunder, nearly four hundred 
rears old.’+ 
The name of the Western Islands, it may be mentioned, originated 
nh a similar blunder.- The printer of an edition of Pliny in 1503 con- 
verted ‘Hebudes’ into < Hebrides,’ and Boece having copied the error, 
_became fixed. Mr, Skene prefers reading ‘ Granpius’ to ‘Grau. 
i It is hardly possible, he says, to distinguish ~ from n in such 
ipts; but the point is certainly of no importance. The old 
ch narratives Mr. Skene traces to the rivalry and ambi- 
~Uon of: ecclesiastical establishments and to the great national contro- 
_Versy of old excited by the claim of England to a feudal superiority 
ver Scotland. The attempt made by Lloyd and Stillin gfleet in the 
eventeenth century to cut off King Fergus and twenty-four other | 
chronicled by Hector Boece, filled the Lord Advocate 
Sir George Mackenzie, with horror and dismay. < Pre- 
eedency,’ he said, ‘is one of the chief glories of the crown, for which 
not only kings but subjects fight and debate, and how could I suffer 
this right and privilege of our crown to be stolen from it by the asser- 
tion which did expressly substract about eight hundred and thirty 
years from its antiquity?’ Sir George would as willingly have prose- 
tuted the iconoclasts, had they been citizens north of the Tweed, as 
he prosecuted the poor Covenanters. But King Fergus and his twen- 
y-four royal successors were doomed. They have been all swept off 
ne stage into the limbo of vanity, and Scotland has lost eight hun- 
red and thirty years of her imaginary but cherished sovereignty. 


a 5 Battle of Mons Granpius, 86 A.D. 


- On the peninsula formed by the junction of the Isla with the Tay are the remain 
Of a strong and massive vallum, called Cleaven Dyke, extending irom the one rive 
to the other, with a smali Kkoman fort at one end, and inclosiug a large triangula® 
space capable of containing Agricola’s whole troops, guarded by therampart in front, 
and by a river on each side. [efore the rampart a plain of some size extends to the 
ae of the Blair Hill, or the mount of battle, the lowest of a suecession of elevations 
hich rise from the plain till they attain the full height of the great mountain range of 
the so-called Grampians; and on the heights above are the remains of a large native 
encainpment called Buzzurd Dykes, capabie of containing upwards of thirty thous- 
and men. Certainly no position in Scotland presents features which correspond so 
remarkably with Tacitus’ description as this... . 
_ Such was the position of the two armies when the echoes of the wild yells and 
shouts of thé natives, and the glitter of their arms as their divisions wero seen in mo- 
tion and hurrying to the front. announced to Agricola that they were forming the 
line of battle. The Roman commander immediately drew out his troops on the 
plain. In the centre he placed the auxiliary infantry, amounting to about eight 
thousand men, and three thousand horse formed the wings. Behind the main line, 
and in front of the great vallum or rampart, -he stationed the legions, consisting of 
eo veteran Roman soldiers, His object was to fight the battle with the auxiliary 
: Fa a SS 


& 


¢ Burton’s History of Scotland, 2d edit. 1.3. 


9g + CYCLOPADIA OF 


troops, among whom were even Britons, and to support them, if necessary, with the 
Roman troops as a body of reserve. : -; 4 

~ The native army was ranged upon the rising grounds, and their line as far 
extended as possible. ‘he first line was stationed on the plainsy while the others 

~ were ranged in separate lines on the acclivity of the hill behind them. On the plains 
the chariots and horsemen of the native army rushed about in all directions. — - 

Agricola, fearing from the extended line of the enemy that he might be attacked 
both in front and flank at the same time, ordered the ranks to form in wider range, at. 
the risk even of weakening his line, and placing himself in front with his colours, this 
memorable action. commenced by the interchange of missiles at a distance. -In order 
to bring the action to close quarters, Agricola ordered three Batavian and two 
‘Tungrian cohorts to charge the enemy sword in hand. In close combat they proved 
to be superior to the natives, whose smal] targets and large unwieldy swords were no 
match for the vigorous onslaught of the auxiliaries; and having driven back their 
first line, they were forcing their way up the ascent, when the whole line of the — 
Roman army advanced and charged with such impetuosity as to carry all before 
them. The natives endeavoured to turn the fate of the battle by their chariots, and 
dashed with them upon the Roman cavalry, who were driven back and throsyu into 
confusion ; but the chariots becoming mixed with the cavalry, were in their turn 
thrown into confusion, and were thus*rendered ineffectual as well by the roughness 
of the ground. as ee 
The reserve of the natives now descended, and endeavoured to outflank the Ro- - 

man army and attack them in the rear, when Agricola ordered four squadrons — 
of reserve cavalry to advance to the charge. The native troops were repulsed, and 
being attacked in the rear by the cavalry from the wings, were completely routed, 
and this concluded the battle. The defeat became general ; the natives drew off ina 
body to the woods and marshes on the west side of the plain. They attempted to — 
check the pursuit by making a last effort and again forming, but Agricola sent some ~ 
cohorts to the assistance of the pursuers ; and, surrounding the ground, while part — 
of the cavalry scoured the more open woods, and part dismounting entered the closer ~ 
thickets, the native line again broke, and the flight became general, till night put an — 
end to the pursuit. . * 
_ Such was the great battle at Mons Granpius, and such the events of the day as ~ 
they may be gathered from the concise narrative of a Roman writing of a battle in — 
which the victorious general was his own father-in-law. The slaughter on the part — 
of the natives was great, though probably as much overstated, when put at one= — 
third of their whole army, as that of the Romans is underestimated; and the signi+ ~ 
ficant silence of the historian as to the death of Calgacus, or any other of sufficient — 
note to be mentioned, and the admission that the great body of the native army at © 
first drew off in good order, shew that it was not the crushing blow which might — 
otherwise be inferred. On the succeeding day there was no appeare&ce of the 
enemy ; silence all around, desolate hills, and the distant smoke of burning dwell- — 
ings alone met the eye of the victor. S 2g : 3 


: 


*. > 


A series of historical memoirs by Lucy Arkrn (1781-1864), daughter 
of Dr. John Aikin,* and sister of Mrs. Barbauld, enjoyed a consider- 
able share of popularity. These are—‘ Memoirs of the Court of 
Queen Elizabeth,’ 1818; ‘Memoirs of the Court of Charles T.,’ 1833; 
and ‘ Memoirs of the Court-of James I.’ Miss Aikin also wrote ; 
‘Life of Addison,’ 1843 (see ante), which, besides being the moe 
copious, though often incorrect, memoir of that English classic, — 
hadthe merit of producing one of the most finished of Macaulay’s 
critical essays. EE 


y 


ae — ee . 

* Dr. John Aikin (1747-1822) was an industrious editor and compiler. Besides — 
several medical works, he published Essays on Song Writing, 1772, and was editor 
successively of the Month/y Magazine, the Atheneum (1807-1809), a General Bio- 
graphical Dictionary, Dodsley'’s Annual Register from 1811 to 1815, and Select Works 
of the British Poets (Johnson ta Beattie), 1820. ie 


~ 5 TT 


i 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 228 


PICTORIAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND : PROFESSOR CRAIK— 

a C. MACFARLANE. 
_. The ‘Pictorial History of England,’ planned by Mr. Charles 
Knight, in the manner of Dr. Henry’s History, is deserving of honour- 

able mention. It was commenced about the year 1840, and was con- 
tinued for four years, forming eight large volumes, and extending 
from the earliest period to the Peace of 1815. Professing to be a 
_histery of the people as well as of the kingdom, every period of Eng- 
lish history includes chapters on religion, the constitution and laws, 
national industry, manners, literature, &e. A great number of 
illustrations was also added; and the work altogether was precisely 
_ what was wanted by the general reader. The two principal writers 
_in this work were Mr. Craik and Mr. Macfarlane. GrorGE LILLIE 
_ CRAIK was born in Fife in 1798. He was educated for the church, 
but preferred a literary career, and was one of the ablest and most dil- 
-igent of the writers engaged in the works issued by the Society for the 
Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. Mr. Craik was editor of the ‘ Picto- 
rial History of England,’ and parts of it he enlarged and published 
senarately—as, ‘Sketches of Literature and Learning from the Nor- 
Man Conquest,’ 1844; and ‘ History of British Commerce,’ 1844. His 
first work was a series of popular biographies, entitled ‘The Pursuit 
'0: Knowledge under Difficulties,’ 1831. He contributed numerous 
articles to the ‘Penny Cyclopedia.’ 

_ In 1849 he was appointed to the chair of English History and 
Literature in Queen’s College, Belfast, which he held till his death in 
1866. Mr. Craik-was author of ‘ The Romance of the Peerage,’ 1849; 
“Outlines of the History of the English Language,’ 1855; ‘The Eng- 


lish of Shakspeare,’ 1857; ‘History of English Literature and the 
‘English Language,’ two volumes, 1861; &. Mr. Cuartes Mac- 
FARLANE was a voluminous writer and collaborateur with Mr. Craik 
‘and others in Mr. Charles Knight’s serial works. He wrote ‘ Recollec 
tions of the South of Italy,’ 1846; and ‘A Glance at Revolutionised 
Italy,’ 1849. The elaborate account of the reign of George UL, in 
the “ Pictorial History,’ was chiefiy written by Mr. Macfarlane. He 
died in the Charter House in 1858. To render the History still more 
‘complete, Mr. Knight added a narrative of the Thirty Years’ Peace, 
4816-1846. This ‘ History of the Peace’ was written by Miss Har- 
“RiET MARTINEAU, whose facile and vigorous pen and general know- 
ledge rendered her peculiarly well adapted for the task. The ‘ Pic- 
torial History,’ and the ‘History of the Peace,’ have been revised 
and corrected under the care of Messrs. Chambers, in seven volumes, 
with sequels in separate volumes, presenting ‘Pictorial Histories of 
‘the Russian War and Indian Revolt.’ 


~~ 


MR. FROUDE. , 


, The research and statistical knowledge evinced by Lord Macaulay 
In his view of the state of England in the seventeenth century, have 


+ 


gS eCYCLOPAIDIA OR 9, oa eeeegng roe 


been rivalled by another historian and investigator of an earlier 
period. ‘The History of England from the Fall of Wolsey to the 
Death of Elizabeth,’ by JamMEes Anrnony FROUDE, twelve volumes, 
1856-1869, is a Work of sterling merit, though conceived in the spirit 
of a speciai pleader, and over-coloured both in light and shadow. 
Mr. Froude is a son of Dr. Froude, archdeacon of 'Votness, and rec- 
tor of Dartington, Devonshire. He was born in 1818, and educated 
at Westminster and at Oriel College, Oxford. In 1842 he carried off 
the chancellor's prize for an English essay, his subject being Political 
Economy, and the same year he became a Fellow of Exeter College. — 
Mr. Froude appeared as an author in 1847, when he published ‘ Shad-_ 
ows of the Clouds, by Zeta,’ consisting of two stories. Next year he 
produced ‘The Nemesis of Faith,’ a protest, as it has been called, 
against the reverence entertained by the church for what Mr. Froude 
called the. Hebrew mythology. Such a work could not fail to offend 
the university authorities. Mr. Froude was deprived of his Feilow-— 
ship, and also forfeited a situation to which he had been appointed 
in ‘l'asmania. He then set to periodical writing, and contributed to. 
the ‘ Westminster Review’ and ‘ Fraser's Magazine: of the latter he 
was sometime editor. His réputation was greatly extended by his 
History, as the volumes appeared from time to time; and he threw 
off occasional pamphlets and short historical dissertations. One of 
these, entitled ‘The Influence of the Reformation on the Scottish — 
Character,’ being an address delivered before the Philosophical Insti- 
tution of Edinburgh, in 1865, attracted much attention, especially on 
account of its eulogy on John Knox, who, according to Mr. Froude, — 
‘saved the kirk which he had founded, and saved with it Scottish 
and English freedom.’ Another of these occasional addresses was 
one on Calvinism, delivered to the university of 5t. Andrews in 1869, — 
which was given by Mr. Froude in his capacity of rector of that- 
university. : - a 
Previous to this (1867) he had issued two volumes of ‘ Short Studies 
on Great Subjects.” The fame of Mr. Froude, however, rests on his” 
‘History of England,’ so picturesque and.dramatic in detail. The, 
object of the author is to vindicate the character of Henry VIIL., 
and to depict the actual condition, the contentment and loyalty of 
the people during his reign. For part of the original and curious de. 
tail in which the work abounds, Mr. Froude was indebted to Sir 
Francis Palgrave, but he has himself been indefatigable in collecting 
information from state-papers and other sources. ‘The result is, not 
justification of the capricious tyranny and cruelty of Henry—which 
in essential points is unjustifiable—but the removal of-some stains 
from hismemory which have been continued without examination by 
previous writers ; and the accumulation of many interesting facts 
relative to the great men and the social state of England in that tran- 
sitionary era, Life was then, according to the historian, unrefined, 
but ‘ wlored with a broad rosy English health.’ Personal freedom, ° 


<n a oe 
= min 


fROUDE,} ~ -\~— ENGLISH LITERATURE, = 
‘however, was very limited; and under such a system of statutory. e+ 
> striction or protection as then prevailed, no nation could ever haye 
' advanced. in many nassages.of his history—as the account of the 
' death of Rizzio and the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots—Mr. 
' Froude has sacrificed strict accuracy in order to produce more com- 
- plete dramatic eifects and arrest the attention of the reader. And 
_ his work is one of enchaining interest. In 1872 Mr. Froude pub- 
lished ‘The English in Ireland in the Eighteenth céntury,’ volume 
' first, the narrative being brought down to the year 1767. Tsvo more 
' volumes were added in 1874, and the work was read with great 
| avidity.. It is in some respects a vindication, or at least a-palliation, 
- of the conduct of the English government towards Ireland, written 
in a strong Anglo Saxon spirit. 


Markets and Wages in the Reign of Henry VIIE. 


4 Wheet, the price of which necessarily varied, averaged in the middle of the 
j ‘fourteenth century tenpence the bushei; barley averaging at the same time three 
_ shillings the quarter. With wheat the fluctuations were excessive; a table of its 
_ possible yariations describes it as ranging from eighteenpence the quarter to twenty 
shillings; the average, however, being six-and-cightpence. . When the price was 
' above this suin, the merchants might import to bring it down; when it was belojv 
this price, the farmers were allowed to export to the foreign markets; and the same 
+ average continued to hold, with no perceptible tendency to rise, till the close of the 
_ reign of Elizabeth. 

33 ‘Beef and pork were a halfpenny a pound—mutton was three-farthings. They 
> were fixed at these prices by the 3d of the 24th of Henry VIII. But this act was 
unpopular both with buyers and with sellers. The old practice had been to sell in 
the gross, and under that arrangement the rates had been generally lower, Stowe 
~ says: ‘It was this year enacted that butchers should sell their beef and mutton by 
“weight—beef for a halfpenny the pound, and mutton for three-farthings; whiclr 
being devised for the great commodity of the realm—as it was thought—hath proved 
- far otherwise; for at that time fat oxen were sold for six-and-twenty shillings and 
- eightpence the piece; fat wethers for three shillings. and fourpence the piece; fat 
+ calves at a like price; and fat lambs for twelvepence.. Ihe butchers of London sold 
penny pieces of beef for the relief of the poor—every piece two pounds and a half, 
- sometimes three pounds for a penny; and thirteen and sometimes fourteen of these 
»ieces for twelvepence; mutton, eightpence the quarter; and an hundredweight of 
- beef for four shillings and eightpence.’ The act was repealed. in consequence OF 
> the complaints against it, but the prices never fell again to what they had been, 
calthough beef, sold in the gross, could still be had for a halfpenny a pound in 1570. , 
_ = Strong beer, such as we now buy for eighteenpencea gallon, was then a penny 2 
gallon; and table-beer less-than a halfpenny. French and German winc¢s. were 
' eightpence the gation. Spanish and. Portuguese wines, a shilling, © This was 
_ highest price at which the best wines might be sold; and if there was any fault im: 


~ 


et 


. portant consideration, cannot be fixed so accurately, for parliament did not interfere 
* with it, Here, however, we are not without very tolerable information. ‘My 
father,’ says Latimer, ‘was a yeoman, and had:no land of his own; only he had a 
» farm of three or four ponds by the year at the uttermost, and hereupon he tilled so 
~ much as kept half-a-dozen men. ~ He had walk for a hundred sheep, and my mother 
~ milked thirty kine. He was able, and did find the king a harness, with himself and 
- his horse. 1 remember that I buckled on his. harness when he went to Blackheata 
field. He kept me to school,.or else I had not been able to have preached before the 
~ King’s majesty now. He married my sisters with five pounds, or twenty nobles, 
: each, having brought them up in godliness and fear of God.-.He kept hospitality for 
his poor neighbours, and som alins he gave to the poor; and all this he did off the 
‘said farm.’ If ‘three or four pounds at the uttermost’ was the rent of -a farm yicld- 


> ELL.V.8—2 | 


‘quality or quantity, the dealers forfeited fourtimes the amount. Rent, another im-. - 


- 


= ‘ x 
‘ : < oe 


Seo - CYCLOPAEDIA OF _ (To 1876, 


ing such results, the rent of labourers’ cottages is not likely to have been con- 
siderable. 

I am belowy the truth, therefore, with this scale of prices in assuming the penny 
in terms of a labourer’s necessities to have been equal in the reign of Henry VIII. to 
the present shilling. For a penny, at the time of which I write, the labourer could 
buy more bread, beef, beer, and wins—he could do more towards finding lodging for 
himself and his family—than the labourer of the nineteenti century can for a shil- 
ling. I do not see that this admits of question. Turning, then, to the table of 
wages, it will be easy to ascertain his position. By the 8d ot the 6th of Henry VIII, 
it was enacted that master carpenters, masons, bricklayers, tylers, plumbers, gla- 
ziers, joiners, and other employers of such skilled workmen, should give to each of 
their journeymen, if no meat or drink was allowed, sixpence a day for half 2 year, 
fivepence a day for the other half; or fivepence halfpenny for the yearly average. 
The common labourers were to receive fourpence a day for half the year, for the 
remaining half, threepence. In the harvest months they were allowed to work by 
the piece, and might earn considerably more; so that, in fact—and this was the rate 
at which their wages were usually estimated—the day labourer received, on an aver- 


\ 


age, fourpence a day for the whole year. Nor was he in danger, except by his own - 


fault or by unusual accident, of being thrown out of employ ; for he was engaged by 
contract for not less than a year, and could not be dismissed before his term had ex- 
pired, unless some gross misconduct could be proved against him before two magis- 
trates. Allowing a deduction of one day in the week for a saint’s day ora-holiday, he 
received, therefore, steadily andregularly, if well conducted, an equivalent of twenty 
shillings a week 3 twenty shillings a week and a holiday; and this is far from being 
a full account of his advantages. In most parishes, if not in all, there were large 


ranges of common and uninclosed forest-land, which furnished his fuel to him gratis, 


where piys might range, and ducks and geese ; where, if he could afford a cow, he 


was in no danger of being unable to feed it; and so important was this privilege 


considered, that when the commons began to be largely inclosed, parliament insisted 
that the working-man should not be without some plece of ground on which he 
could employ his own and his family’s industry. By the Tth of the 3lst of Eliza- 
beth, it was ordered that no cottage should be built for residence without four acres 


of land at lowest being attached to it for the sole use of the occupants of such cot- 


tage. : 


Portrait of Henry VITZ. 


Nature had been prodigal to him of her rarest gifts. In person he is said to have. 


resembled his grandfather, Edward IV., who was the handsomest man in Europe. 
His form and bearing were princely; and amidst the easy freedom of his address, his 
manner remained majestic. No knight in England could match him in the tourna- 
ment, except the Duke of Suffolk; he drew with ease as strong a bow as was borne 
by any yeoman of his guard; and these powers were sustained in unfailing vigour 
by a temperate habit and by constant exercise. Of his intellectual ability we are not 
left +o judge from the snspicious panegyrics of his contemporaries. His state-papers 
and letters may be placed by the side of those of Wolsey or of Cromwell, and they 
Jose nothing in the comparison. — ‘| hough they are broadly different, the perception is 
equally clear, the expression equally powerful, and they breathe throughont an irresis- 


tible vigour of purpose. In addition to this, he had a fine musical taste, carefully — 


cultivated ; he spoke and wrote in fourlanguages; and his knowledge of a multitude 
of other subjects, with which his versatile ability made him conversant, would have 
formed the reputation of any ordinary man. He was among the best physicians of 
his age ; he was his own engineer, inventing improvements im artillery, and new cone 
structions in ship-building ; and this not with the condescending incapacity of a 
royal amateur, but with thorough workmanlike understanding. is reading was 
vas’, especially in theology, which has been ridiculously ascribed by Lord Herbert to 
his father’s intention of educating him for the archbishopric of Canterbury—as if 
the scientific mastery of such a subject could have been acquired by a boy of twelve 
years of age, for he was no more when he became Prince of Wales. He must have 
studied theology with the full maturity of his understanding ; and he had a fixed, and 
perhaps unfortunate, interest in the subject itself, 

In all directions of human activity, Henry displayed natural powers of the highes% 
order, at the highest stretch of industrious culture. He was ‘ attentive,’ as itis called, 


\ 


mR te es ea ee ete 
pROUDE] © | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 4 


to his ‘religious duties,’ being present at the services in the chapel two or three times 
_ aday with unfailing regularity, and shewing to outward appearance a real sense of 
’ religious obligation in the energy and purity of his life. In private, he was good- 
humoured and good-natured. His letters to his secretaries, though never undigni- 
fied, are simple, easy and unrestrained; and the letters written by them to him are 
' similarly plain and business-like, as if the writers knew that the person whom they 
_ were addressing disliked compliments, and chose to be treated asaman. Again, 
_ from their correspondence with one another, when they escribe interviews with 
_ him, we gather the same pleasant impression. He seems to have been always kind, 
_ always considerate; inquiring into their private concerns with genuine interest, and 
_ winning, as a consequence, their warm and unaffected attachment. 
__~Asaruler, he had been eminently popular. All his wars had been successful. He 
_ had the splendid tastes in which the English people most delighted, and he had sub- 
aS eine out his Own theory of his duty, which was expressed in the following 
crds: ; 
_ ‘Scripture taketh princes to be, as it were, fathers and nurses to their subjects, 
and by Scripture it appeareth that it appertaineth unto the office of princes to see 
ba that right religion and true doctrine be maintained and taught, and that their sub- 
~ jects may be well ruled and governed by good and just laws; and to provide and care 
_ for them that all things necessary for them may be plenteous; and that the people 
~ and commonweal may increase; and to defend them from oppression and invasion, 
_ as well within the realm as without; and to see that justice be administered unto 
_ them indifferently ; and to hear benignly ali their complaints; and to shew towards 
_ them, although they offend, fatherly pity.’ ,, 
__ These principles do really appear to have determined Henry’s conduct in his ear- 
tier years. He bad more than once been tried with insurrection, which he had 
soothed down without bloodshed, and extinguished in forgiveness; and London 
_ long recollected the great scene which followed ‘evil May-day,’ 1517, when the ap- 
_ prentices were brought down to Westminster Hall to receive their pardons. There 
_ had been a dangerous riot in the streets, which might have provoked a mild govern- 
_ ment to severity ; but the king contented himself with punishing the five ringleaders, 
_ and four hundred other -pri-oners, after being paraded down the streets in white 
_ shirts with halters round their necks, were dismissed with an admonition, Wolsey 
‘weeping as he pronounced it. 


2 Death of Mary, Queen of Scots, Feb. 8, 1587. 


__ Briefly, solemnly, and sternly they delivered their awful message. They informed 
her that they had received a commission under the great seal to see her executed, and 
_ she was told that she must prepare to suffer on the following morning. -She was 
_ dreadfully agitated. For amoment she refused to believe them. Then, as the truth 
_ forced itself upon her, tossing her head in disdain, and struggling to control herself, 
- she called her physician, and began to speak to him of money that was owed to her 
in France. At last it seems that she broke down altogether, and they left her with a 
fear either that she would destroy herself in the night, or that she would refuse to 
_ Come to the scaffold, and that it might be necessary to drag her there by violence. 
_ . Theend hadcome. She had long professed to expect it, but the clearest expecta- 
_ tion is not certainty. The scene for which she had affected to prepare she was to en» 
_ Counter in its dread reality, and all lier busy schemes, her dreams of vengeance, her vis- 
_ ions of a revolution, with herself ascending ont of the convulsion and seating herself 
_ on her rival’s throne—all were gone. She had played deep, and the dice had gone 
_ against her 
__ Yet in death, if she encountered it bravely, victory was still possible. Could she 
_ but sustain to the Jast the character of a calumniated suppliant accepting heroically 
_ for God’s sake and her creed’s the concluding stroke of along series of wrongs, she 
might stir a tempest of indignation which. if it could not save herself, might at least 
_ Overwhelm her enemy. Persisting, as she persisted to the last,in denying all 
knowledge of Babington, it would be affectation to crédit her with a genuine feel- 
_ ing of religion; but the imperfection of her motive exalts the greatness of her 
. fortitude. To an impassioned believer death is comparatively easy, 
Se > 


Dae 
. é 


£ 


eat Bee POP ape ery ea ae Seer Sse 
O6-o- =. Sa CVCLOPARDIAMOIe a 
At eight in the morning the provost-marshal knocked «a hich 


There had been a fear of some religious melodrama which it was thought well to — 
avoid. Her ladies, who had attempted to follow her. had been kept back also. She | 
could not afford to leave the account of her death to be reported by enemies and Pu- — 
vitans, and she required assistance for the scene which she meditated. Missing ~ 
them, she asked ‘the reason of their absence, and said she wished them to see her 
die. Kent said he feared they might scream or faint. or attempt perhaps to dip their — 
handkerchiefs in her blood. She undertook that they shou'd be quiet and obedient. — 
<The queen,’ she said, ‘ would never deny herso slight a request ;’ and when Kent still ~ 
‘hesitated, she added, with tears, ‘You know ’'I am cousin to your Queen, of the — 
blood of Henry the Seventh, a married Queen of France, and anointed Queen of 
Scotland.’ : : es: : Rite ie a 
It was impossible to refuse. She was allowed to take six of her own people with 
her, and select them herself. -She chose her physician Burgoyne, Andrew Melville, ~ 
‘the apothecary Gorion, and her surgeon, with two ladies, Elizabeth Kennedy and ~ 
Curle’s young wife Barbara Mowbray, »whose child she had baptised.  * Allous doui¢,” ~ 
. ghe then said, ‘let us go ;’ and passing out attended by the earls, and leaning on the — 
‘arm of an officer of the guard, she descended the great staircase to the hall.. The — 
news had spread far through the country. Thonsands of people were collected out-_ 
side the walls. About three hundred knights and gentlemen of the couniry had been — 
adinitted to witness the execution. The tables and forms had been removed, and a — 
great wood fire was blazing in the chimney. At the upper end of the hall, above the ~ 
fireplace, but near it, stood the scaffold, twelve feet square, and two feet and a half — 
high. It was covered with black cloth; a low rail ran ronnd it covered with black — 
cloth also, and the sheriff’s guard of halberdiers were ranged on the floor below on 
the four sides, to keep off the crowd. - On the scaffold was the block. black like the ~ 
rest; a square black cushion was placed behind it, and behind the cushion a black ~ 
chair: on the right were two other chairs for the earls.. The axe leant against the 
rail, and two masked figures stood like mutes on either side atthe back. ‘Phe Queen 
-of Scots, as she swept in, seemed as if coming to take a part in some solemn pageant, — 
Not a muscle of her face could be seen_to quiver; ‘she ascended the scaffold with-— 
absolute composure, looked round ‘her smiling, and sat down. Shrewsbury and Kent — 
followed, and took their places, the sheriff stood at her left hand, aid Beale then ~ 
mounted a platform and read the warrant aloud. ses as 
She laid her crucifix on her chair. The chief executioner took it as a perquisite, — 
but was ordered instantly to lay it down. The lawn veil was lifted-carefully off, not — 
‘to disturb the hair, and was hung upon the rail. _ The black robe was next removed. ~ 
Below it was a petticoat of crimson velvet. ‘he black jacket followed, and under — 
the jacket was a body of crimson satin. One of her ladies handed her a pair of 
crimson sleeves, with which she hastily covered her arms: and thus she stood on ~ 
the black scaffold with the black figures ali around her, blood-red from head to foot. ~ 
Her reasons for adopting so extraordinary a costume must be left ‘to conjécture. 
It is only-certain that it must have been carefully studied, and that the pictorial 
effect must have been appalling. = == 


Ee | 


ENGLISH LITERATURE, 99 


The women, Whoa firmness had hitherto borne the ‘rial, began now to give way, 
pasmodic sobs bursting from them which they could not ‘check, ‘Ne criez vous,’ 
_. Bhe-said, -j’ ay promis pour yous.’ Struggling bravely, they crossed their breasts 
again and again, stie crossing them in turn. and bidding them pray for her. Then 
ghe knelt on the cushion. Barbara Mowbray bound her eyes with her handkerchief 
3 ‘ Adieu,’ she said, smiling for the last time, and waving-her hand to them; ‘ adieu, au 
— revoir.’ They stepped back from off the scaffold, and left her alone. On her knees 
_ she repeated the psalm, ‘In te, Domine, confido,’ *In thee, O Lord, have I put my 
- trust’ Her shoulders being exposed, two scars became visible, one on either side, 
and the earls being now alittle behind her, Kent pointed to them with his white 
~ hand, and looked inquiringly at his companion. Shrewsbury w hispered that they 
were’ the remains of two abscesses from which she had suffered while living with 
_~ him at Sheffield. 
. = When the psalm was finished she felt for the block,’ and, jaying down her head, 
~~ muttered: ‘In manus, Domine, tuas, commendo animam meam.’ The hard w ood 
- seemed to hurt her, for she placed her hands under her neck. The executioners 
ie ~ Frotin removed them, lest they should deaden the blow, and then one of them 
olding her slightly, the other raised the axe and struck. The-scene had been too 
trying € even for the practised headsinan of the tower. His arm wandered. The blow 
_ fell on the knot of the handkerchief, and scarcely broke the skin. She neither spoke 
peter moved. He struck again, this ‘time effectively. The head hung by a shred of 
skin, which he divided without withdrawing the axe; and at once a metamorphosis j 
was witnessed, strange as was ever wrought by wand of fabled enchanter. The coif 
_ fell off and the false plaits. The laboured iliusion vanished. ‘The lady who had 
knelt before the block was in the maturity of grace and loveliness. ‘The executioner, 
+ when-he raised the head, as usual, to shew to the crowd, exposed the withered 
_ features of a grizzled, wrinkled old woman. 
_*So perish all enemies of the Queen,’ said the Dean of Peterborough. A oud 
amen rose over the hall. ‘Such end,’ said the Earl of Kent, rising aud standing over 
the body, ‘to the Queen’s and the Gospel’s enemies.’ 


~ 


a 


a ; W. H. LECKY. 


A series sof Lesh biographies by an intellectual and studious Trish- 
man, WituiAM E. H. Lecxy, may be considered as supplementary 
-. to Mr. Froude’s history of ‘The English in Ireland in the Eight- 
~-eenth Century.’ Mr. Lecky’s s volume is entitled ‘The Leaders of 
' Public Opinion in Ireland : Swift, Flood, Grattan and O’Connell.’ 
_Of thé four lives, that of Swift is the least valuable, as using only 
the old familiar materials, and occasionally inaccurate in detail. 
Flood and Grattan he views more favourably than Mr. Froude, and, 
_. like them, he condemns the manner in which the Union was accom- 
=a eeen "The career of O’Connell is carefully traced, and forms an 
: interesting narrative. Mr. Lecky conceives that the great agitator 
was sincere in his belief that it was possible to carry Repeal. ‘The 
occupation of his life for many years was to throw the repeal argu- 
% ments into the most fascinating and imposing light; and_in doing SO 
_ his own belief rose to fanaticism.’ His support of peaceful agitation, 

__ though it did not survive his own defeat, was an honourable. charae- 
2 teristic. - ‘ He proclaimed ‘himself the first apostle of that sect whose 
first doctrine was, that no political change was worth shedding a 
drop of blood, and that all might be attained by moral force.’ : 
+. ~*The more I dwell upon the subject, the more IT am convinced of 
_ the splendour and originality of the genius and of the sterling char- 
* pecter of. the patriotism of O’Connell, in spite of the calumnies that 


80 age CYCLOPADIA OF;- +> [ro 1876, = 


Et, 


surround his memory, and the many and grievous faults that obscured 
his life. But when to the good services he rendered to his country, 
we oppose the sectarian and class warfare that resulted from his pol- 
icy, the fearful elements of discord he evoked, and which he alone 
could in some degree control, it may be questioned whether his life © 
was a blessing or a curse to Ireland.’ : j 

The aim of every statesman should be, as Mr. Lecky justly con- 
ceives, to give to Ireland the greatest amount of self-government that 
is compatible with the union and the security of the empire. Difficult- 
ies of no ordirary kind surround*this duty, but influences are in 
operation which must tend towards its realisation. 


Improved Prospect of Affairs in Ireland. 


In spite of frequent and menacing reactions, it is probable that sectarian animosity 
will diminish in Ireland. The general intellectual tendencies of the age are-certainly 
hostile to it. With the increase of wealth and knowledge there must in time grow 
up among the Catholics an independent lay public opinion, and the tendency of their 
politics will cease to be purely sacerdotal. The establishment of perfect religious 
equality and the setilement of the question of the temporal power of the Pope have 
removed grave causes of irritation, and united education, if it be steadily maintained 
and honestly carried out, will at length assuage the bitterness of sects, and perhaps 
secure for Ireland the inestimable benefit of real union. The division of classes is at 
present perhaps a graver danger than the division of sects. But the Land Bill of Mr. 
Gladstone cannot tail todo much to cure it. If it be possible in a society like our 
own to create a yeoman class intervening between landionds and tenants, the facili- 
ties now given to tenants to purchase their tenancies will create it; and if, as is 
probable, it is economically impossible that such a class should now exist to any 
considerable extent, the tenant class have at least been given an unexampled security 
—they have been rooted to the soil. and their interests have been more than ever. 

-identified with those of their landlords. The division between rich and poor is also 
rapidly ceasing to coincide with that between Protestant and Catholic, and thus the 
old lines of demarcation are being gradually effaced. A considerable time must 
-elapse before the full effect of these Changes is felt, but sooner or later they must ex- 
ercise a profound influence on opinion ; and if they do not extinguish the desire of 
the people for national institutions, they will greatly increase the probability of their 


> 


obtaining them. 


Mr. Lecky is author of more elaborate works than his Irish volume. 


et AT pel a Ti he 


~ Ki 
- b 


His ‘History of Rationalism in Europe,’ 1865, and ‘ History of 3 


European Morals from Augustus to Charlemagne,’ 1869, are contri. 
butions to philosophical history, in which the narrative or historical 
parts are clear and spirited. ‘Their author was born in the neighbor- 
hood of Dublin in 1888, and educated at Trinity College. 


SAMUEL RAWSON GARDINER, 


A valuable addition to our knowledge of the reigns of James I. and 
Charles I. has been made by a series of historical works by MR. 
SAMUEL RAWSON GARDINER. These are—‘ History of England from 
the Accession of James I. to 1616; ‘ Prince Charles and the Spanish 
Marriage’ (1617-1623); ‘History of England ‘under the Duke of 
Buckingham and Charles I.’ (1624-1628). Mr. Gardiner is more fa- 
fourable to the character of James I, in point of learning and acute’ 


ae. 


< 
< 
= 


+ b> eed i) PAL — ~, 
way 4x 2 - ~ 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 31 


ness, than most historians, but agrees with all previous writers as to 


_the king’s want of resolution, dignity, and prudence. 


‘It was the great misfortune of James’ character that while, both 


_ in his domestic and foreign policy, he was far in advance of his age 


fin ee a oe eee 


in his desire to put a final end to religious strife, he was utterly unfit 
to judge what were the proper measures to be taken for the_attain- 
ment of his object.’ 


SIR JOHN W. KAYE—LADY SALE, ETC. 


A number of military narratives and memoirs has been called forth 
by the wars in India, in Russia, and on the continent. Among the 


- most important of these are the ‘ History of the War in Afghanistan’ 


in 1841-42, by Jonn Winiam Kaye (afterwards Sir John), and a 
‘History of the Sepoy War in India’ in 1857-58, of which three vol- 
umes have been published (1876), and a fourth is to follow. The 


- author says: ‘There is no such thing as the easy writing of history. 
- If it be not truth it is not history, and truth lies far below the surface. 


It is a long and laborious task to exhume it. Rapid production is a 


‘proof of the total absence of conscientious investigation. For history 


is not the growth of inspiration, but of evidence.’ Sir John Kaye 
(born in 1814) served for some time in India, as a lieutenant of artil- 
lery, but returning to England in 1845, devoted himself to literature. 
Previous to his histories of the disastrous events in India, he had 


"written memoirs of Lord Metcalfe and Sir John M alcolm, and an ac- 
~ count of ‘Christianity in India.’ He died July 24, 1876. 


Besides the careful, elaborate work of Sir John Kaye on Afghan- 
istan, we have a ‘Journal of the Disasters in Afghanistan,’ by Lapy 
FLORENTIA SALE (‘a woman who shed lustre on her sex,’ as Sir 


: Robert Peel said); and Lady Sale’s husband, SrrR Roperr Henry 


SAH, published a ‘Defence of Zellelabad; LreurENant’ VINCENT 
Eyre wrote ‘ Military Operations in Cabul; J. Haruan, ‘ Memoirs 


of India and Afghanistan; Mr. C. Nasu, a ‘History of the War in 


Afghanistan; and there were also published—‘ Five Years in India,’ 
by H. G. Fane, Esq., late aide-de-camp to the commander-in-chief; 
‘ Narrative of the Campaign of the Army of the Indus in Scinde and 
Cabul,’ by Mr. R. H. KENNEDY; ‘Scenes and Adventures in Afghan- 
istan,’ by Mr. W. Tayuor; ‘ Letters,’ by CoLonEL DENNIE; ‘ Per- 


~ sonal Observations on Scinde,’ by Caprarn T. Posrans, &c. 


ALEXANDER WILLIAM KINGLAKE, 
‘The Invasion of the Crimea, its Origin, and an Account of its 


i“ Progress down to the Death of Lord Raglan’ (June 28, 1855), has 


been described by ALEXANDER WILLIAM KINGLAKE, sometime M.P. 
for Bridgewater, in an elaborate work, of which’ five volumes have 


_ been published (1875). Mr. Kinglake’s history is a clear, animated, 


and spirited narrative, written with a strong animus against Louis 


~ Napoleon of France, but forming a valuable addition to our moderna 


» 


vest 


historical literature. Its author is a native of Taunton, born in 1811, 4 
educated at Eton and Trinity College, Cambridge. Tle was called 
to the bar at Lincoln’s Inn in 1857, but retired from the legal pro- — 
fession in 1856. In 1844 Mr. Kingtake published his experiences of ~ 
Eastern travel under the. title of ‘ Kothen,’ a work which instantly ~ 
became popular, and was justly admired for its vivid description and - 
‘eloquent expression of sentiment. In the discursive style of Sterne, ~ 
Mr. Kinglake rambles over the East, setting down, as he says not ~ 
; those impressions which ought to have been produced upon any “well- — 
constituted mind,’ but those which were really and truly received at ~ 

the time. We subjoin his account of FR BIG: 


' 
; The Sphynx. 2. 
A 


sa 


And near the Pyramids, more wondrous and more awful than all else in the land s 


of Egypt, there sits the lonely Sphnyx. Comely the creature is, but the comeliness — 
is not of this world; the once worshipped beast is a deformity and a monster to this ~ 
generation, and. yet you can see that those lips, so thick and heavy, were fashioned — 
according to some ancient mould of beauty—some mould of beauty now forgotten— 
forgotten because that Greece drew forth Cytherea from the flashing foam of the 
Aivean, and in her image created new forms of beauty, and made it a law among men 
that the short and proudly wreathed lip should stand for the sign and the main con- 
dition of loveliness through all generations to come. © Yet still there lives on the race 
of those who were beautiful in the fashion of the elder world, and Christian girls of 
Coptic blood will look on you with the sad, serious gaze, and kiss your charitable 
hand with the big pouting lips of the very Sphynx. ; : 
Laugh and mock if you will at the worship of stone idols; but mari ye this, ye 
breakers of images, that in one regard the stone idol bears awful semblance of Deity 
—unchangefulness in the midst of change—the same seeming wil!, and imtent for 
ever and ever inexorable! Upon ancient dynasties of Ethiopian and Egyptian kings — 
—upon Greek and Roman, upon Arab and Ottoman conquerors—upon Napoleon — 
dreaming of an Eastern empire—upon, battle and pestilence—upon the ceaseless — 
misery of the Egyptian race—upon keen-eyed traveliers—Herodotus yesterday, and — 
Warburton to-day—upon all and more this unworldly Sphynx has watched, and- 
watched like a Providence with the same earnest eyes, and the same sad, tranquil — 
mien. And we, we shall die, and Islam will wither away, and the Englishman strain-— 
ing far over to hold his loved India, will plant a firm foot on the banks of the Nile, — 
and sit in the seats of the Faithful, and still that sleepless rock will lie watching and ~ 
watching the works of the new busy race. with those same sad, earnest eyes, and — 
. the same tranquil mien everlasting. You dare not mock at the Sphynx ! Si ‘ 


if 


» 


‘sy 


¢ 


AC EMT 


tat 


bF4 
4 


te 


The Beginning of the Crimean War. a 
Looking back upon the troubles which ended in the outbreak of war, one sees the — 
nations at first swaying backward and ferward like a throng so vast asto be helpless, - 

but afterwards falling slowly into warlike array. And when one begins to search for 
the man or the men whose volition was governing the crowd, the eye falls upon the 
towering form of the Emperor Nicholas. He was not single-minded, and therefore — 
his will was unstable. but it had a huge force; and, since he was armed with the — 
whole authority of his empire, it seemed plain that it was this man—and only he— 
who was bringing danger from the north, And at first. too, it seemed that within his _ 
TES range of action there was none who could be his equal: but in a little whilethe looks — 
of men were turned to the Bosphorus, for thither his ancient adversary was slowly - 
bending his way. To fit him for the encounter, the Englishman was clothed with — 
little authority except what he could draw from the resources of his own mind and — 
from the strength of his own wilful nature. Yet if was presently seen that those 
wno were near him fel] under his dominion, and did as he bid-them, and that the 
circle of deference to his will was always increasing around him; and soon it~ 
appeared that, though he moved gently, he began to have mastery Over a foe 


= 


ie pat, So ie : ‘ ee ey A fs le 
NGLAKE.] ~~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 23 


ho was consumin¢e his stren gth in mere anger. When he had conquered, he stood, 
Sit were, with folded arms, and seemed Willing to desist from strife. 
h 


nd to please the lustiest man of those days, for he watched thein from over the Chan- 


ay, 
80 long as 


are not to deceive 
m, they ought to be encouraged, they ought to be made use of, they ought to have 


he sheltcr they wanted ; and, the Frenchmen agreeing to his conditions, he was 
ling tolevel the barrier—he called it perhaps false pride—which divided the gov- 
‘ment of the Queen from the venturers. of the 2d of December. - In this thought, 
the moment, he stood almost a'one, but he abided his time. At length he saw 
spring of 1853~bringing with it grave peril to the Ottoman State. Then, throw- 
hg aside with a laugh some ‘papers which belonged to the Home Office, he gave his 
trong shoulder to the levelling work.: Under the weight of his touch the barrier 

Thenceforth the hindrances that met him were but slight. As he from the first 
‘Willed it, so moved the two great nations of the West.~ 


= : The Mareh. 


{Both in Turkey and in the Crimea, the left was nearest to the enemy, whilst the 
tight was nearest to the sea]. Lord Raglan had observed all this, but he had ob- 
erved in silence: and finding the right always seized by our allies, he had quietly 
t up with the left. Yet he was not without humour; and bow, when he saw that 
this hazardous movement along the coast the French were still taking the right, 
ere was something like archness in his way of remarking that, although the French 
re bent upon taking precedence of him, their courtesy still gave him the post of 
nger. This he well might say, for, so far as concerned the duty of covering the 
nturesome march which was about to be undertaken, the whole stress of the enter- 
ire was thrown upon the English army. ‘The French force was covered on ita 
ht flank by the sea, on its front.and rear by the fire from the steamers, and on its 
t by the English army. On the other hand, the English army, though covered on 
ight flauk by the French, was exposed iu front, and in rear, and on its whole left 
to the full brunt of the enemy’s attacks, . . 
hus marched the streneth of the Western Powers. The sun shone 
mimer’s day in England, but breezes springing fresh from the sea floated briskly 
mg the hils. The ground was an undulating steppe alluring to cavalry. It was 
kly covered with a herb like southernwood; and when the stems were crushed 
der foot by the advancing columns, the whole air became laden with bitter fra- 
ce. The aroma was new to some. To men of the western counties of England 
S$ so familiar that it carried them back to childhood and the village church ; they 
nembered the nosegay of ‘boy's. love’ that used to be set by the prayer-book of 
unday maiden too demure for the vanity of flowers, ; 
each of the close massed columns whieh were formed by our four complete 
siofis there were more than five thousand foot soldiers. The colours were flying; 
bands at first were playing ; and once more the time had come round when in 
this armed pride there was nothing of false majesty; for already vidcttes could 
Seen on the hillocks, and (except at the spots where our horsemen were marching) 
re was nothing but air and sunshine. and at int-rvals, the dark form of a single 
cman, to divide our columns from the enemy. But more warlike than trumpet 
drum was the grave quiet which followed the ceasing of the bands: The pain 
ariness had begun. _ Few spoke. ~All toiled. Waves break upon the shore, 
n0ugh they-are many, still distance will gather their numberless cadences into 
So also if was with one ceaseless hissing sound that a wilderness of tall erisp- 
herbage bent under the tramp of the coming thousands. As each mighty column 
arched on, one hardly remembered -at first the weary frames, the aching limbs 
Hn Composed it ; for—instinct with its own proper soul and purpose, absorbing the 
Ons of thousands of men, and bearing no likeness to the mere sum of the 
beings out of whom it was made—the column itself was the living thing, the 


- 


34 CYCLOP-EDIA OF — [ro 1876. 


slow, monstrous unit of stren 


brought into question. But a 3 
the army began to make it seen that the columns 1n 


with the bodies of suffering mortals. 
WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL. — * og ’ 


The Russian war has been brilliantly illustrated by an eye-witness, 
Mr. Wiiitam Howarp RUSssELL, * Special Correspondent ’ of the 
“Times.’ Mr. Russell accompanied the army to the Crimea, and trans- 
mitted from day to day letters descriptive: of the progress of the 
troops, the country through which they passed, the people they met, 
and all the public incidents and events of that dreadful campaign, 
His picturesque style and glowing narratives deepened the tragic in 
terest of the war. But the letters told also of griev us Mismanage- 
ment on the part of the home authorities, and of supineness on the 
part of certain of our commanders. These details, it is now proved, 
were in some instances exaggerated; the merits of our allies th 
French were also unduly extolled; but much good was undoubtedl 
done by the revelations and comments of the fearless and energetic 
‘Correspondent.’ A bad system of official routine was broken i 
upon, if not entirely uprooted, and a solemn public warning was he c 
out for tlie future. The benefit of this was subsequently experk 
enced in India, whither My. Russell also went to record the inck 
dents of the revolt. His Russian battle-pictures. and descriptio 
were collected into two volumes, 1855-06; the first giving an accoun 
of the war from the landing of the troops at Gallipoli to the death 0 
Lord Raglan, and the second continuing the history to the evacua: 
tion of the Crimea. We give a portion of one of his battle-pieces. — 


a 


eth which walks the modern earth where empire is 
ittle while, and then the sickness which had clung to 
all their pride were things built 


The Zouaves close to us were lying like tigers at the spring, with ready rifl 
hand, hidden chin-deep by the earthworks which ran along the line of these 
on our rear; but the quick-eyed Russians were manceuvring on the — 
side of the valley, and did not expose their columms to attack. Below 
Zouaves we could see the Turkish gunners in the redoubts, all in confusion 4 
the shclls burst over them. Just as I came up the Russians had : 
No. 1 Redoubt, the furthest and most elevated of all, and their: h 
were chasing the Turks across the inverval which lay between it @ 


pe oe Ae Pte OTe y * 
“Russett.} ENGLISH LITERATURE, 35 


doubt No. 2. At that moment the cavalry, under Lord Lucan, were formed 
- in giittering masses—the Light Brigade, under Lord Cardigan, in advance; the 
_ Heavy Brigade, under Brigadier-general Scarlett, in reserve. ‘They were drawn up 
, ep in front of their encampment, and were concealed from the view of the enemy 
y a slight ‘wave’ in the pluin. Considerably to the rear of their right, the 93d 

_ Highlanders were drawn up in line, in front of the approach to Balaklava. Above 
- and behind them. on the heights, the marines were visible through the glass, drawn 
up under arms, and the gunners could be seen ready in the earthworks, in which 
_were placed the heavy ships’guns. ‘he 93d had originally been advanced somewhat 
- more into the plain, but the instant the Russians got possession of the first redoubt 
_ they opened fire on them from our own guns, which inflicted some injury, and Sir 
Colin Campbell ‘retired’ his men to a better position. Meantime the enemy advanced 
_ his cavalry rapidly. ‘To our inexpressible disgust we saw the Turks in Redoubt No. 
2 fiy at their approach. ‘They ran in scattered groups across towards Redoubt No.3, 
and towards Balaklava; but the horse-hoof of the Cossack was too quick for them, 
and sword and lance were busily plied among the retreating herd. 's he yells of the 
pursuers and pursued were plainly audible. As the Janccrs and light cavalry of the 
Russians advanced, they gathered up their skirmishes with great speed and in 
_ excellent order—the shifting trails of men. which played all over the valley like 
- moonlight on the water, contracted, gathered vp, and the little peloton in a few 
moments became a solid column. ‘then up came their guns, in rushed their 
gunners to the abandoned redoubt, and the guns of No. 2 Redoubt soon played 
with deadly effect upon the dispirited defenders of No.3 Redoubt. Two or three 
shots in return from the earthworks, and allis silent. The Turks swarm over the earth- 
“works, and run in confusion towards the town, firing their muskets at the enemy as 
_theyrun. Again’ the solid column of cavalry opens like a fan, and resolves itself into 
a ‘long spray’ of skirmishers. It laps the flying Turks, steel flashes in the air, and 
down go the poor Moslem quivering on the plain, split through fez and musket- 
guard to the chin and breast-belt! There is no support for them. It is evident 
_ the Russians have been too quick for us. The Turks have been too quick also, for 
they have not held their redoubts Jong enough to enable us to bring them 
help. In vain the naval guns on the heights fire on the Russian cavalry ; the dis- 
tance is too great for shot or shell to reach. In vain the Turkish gunners in the 
earthen batteries, which are placed along the French intrenchments, strive to pro- 
tect their flying countrymen ; their shot fly wide and short of the swarming masses. 

~ The Turks betake themselves towards the Highlanders, where they check their 
flight, and form into companies on the flanks “of the Highlanders. As the Russian 
cavalry on the left of their Jine crown the hill across the valley, they perceive the 
’ Highlanders drawn up at tie distance of some half-mile, calmly waiting their ap- 
proach. They halt, and squadron after squadron flies up from the rear, till they have 

- a body of some fifteen hundred men along the ridge—lancers,, and dragoons, and hus- 
»sars. Then they move en échelon in two bodies, with another in reserve. The cav- 
_ alry, who have been pursuing the Turks on the right, are coming up to the ridge be- 
~ neath us, which conceals our cavalry from view. The Heavy Brigade in advance is 
_drawn up in two lines. The first line consists of the Scots Greys, and of their old 
companions in glory, the Enniskillens; the second, of the 4th Royal Irish, of the 5th 

_ Dragoon Guards, and of the Ist Royal Dragoons. The Light Cavalry Brigade is on 
their left, in two Jines also. The silence is oppressive; between the cannon bursts 
~ one can hear the champing of bits and the clink of sabres in the valley below. The 
Russians on their left drew breath for a moment, and then in one grand line dashed 
atthe Highlanders. The ground flies beneath their horses’ feet; gathering speed at 
every stride, they dash on towards that thin red streak topped with a line of steel. 

- The Turks fire a volley at eight hundred yards, aud run. As the Russians come 
within six hundred yards, down goes that line of steel infront, and out rings a roll- 
ing volley of Minié musketry. ‘The distance is too great; the Russians are not 
checked, but still sweep onward through the smoke, with the whole force of horse 
_ and man, here and there knocked over by the shot of our batteries above. With 
* breathless suspense every one awaits the bursting of the wave upon the line of Gaelic 
rock; but ere they come within a hundred and fifty yards, another deadly volley 
- flashes from the levelled rifie, and carries death and terror into the Russians. They 
wheel about, open files right and _left, and fly back faster than theycame. ‘Bravo, 
- Highlanders! well done!’ shouted the excited spectators; but events thicken. The 


K 


sa -. -CYCLOPADIA OF .. [ro 1876, 


Highlanders and their splendid front are soon forgotten, men scarcely have a mometit 
< to think of this fact, that the 93d never altered their formation to receive that tide of 
horsemen, ‘ No,’ said Sir Colin Campbell, ‘I did not think it worth while to for 
them even four deep!’ The ordinary British line, #wo deep, was quite snfficien fo 
P: repel the attack of these Muscovite cavaliers. Our eyes were, however, turned in a 
: “moment On Our own Cavalry. We saw Brigadier-general Scarlett ride along in front 
of his massive squadrons. The Russians—ev.dently corps @ éte—their hight blue ~ 
jackets embroidered with silver lace, were advancing on their left. at an easy gallop, - 
towards the brow of the hill. A forest of lances glistened in their rear, and several __ 
kquadrons of gray-coated dragoons moved up quickly to support. them as they - 
* reached the summit. ‘The instant they came in sight the trumpets of our cavalry” 
gave out the warning-blast, which told us all that in snother moment we should 
see the shock of battle beneath our very eyes. Lord Raglan, all his staff and 
escort. and groups of officers. .the Zouaves, French generals and officers, and 
bodies of French infantry on the height. were spectators of the scene as though they ~ 
were looking on the stage from the boxes of atheatre. Nearly every one dismounted. | 
and sat duwn, and not a word was said. The Russians advanced down the bill at 
a slow canter, which they changed toa trot, and at last nearly halted. ‘Their. first 
line wes at least double the length of ours—it was three times as deep. Behind - 
them was a similar line, equally strong and compact. They evidently despised their - 
-insiguificant-looking enemy; but their time was come. ‘he trrmpets rang out 
- again through the valley, and the Greys and Enniskilleners wert right at the centre — 
of the Russian cavalry. The space between them was only a few hundred yards; 
it-was scarce enough to let the horses ‘gather way,’nor had the men. quite space 
z sufficient for the full play of their sword-arms. The Russian line brings forward cach 
wing as our cavalry advance, and threatens to annihilate them as they pass on. — 
‘lurning a little to their left, so as to meet the Russian right, the Greys rush on witha — 
cheer that thrills to every heart—the wild shout of the Enniskilleners rises through — 
- the sirat the same instant. As lightning flashes through a_cloud.the Greys and — 
Enniskilleners pierce through the dark masses of Russians. The shock was butfora 
moment. There was a clash of steel end a light play of sword-bledes in the air, and, i 
then the Greys and the redcoats disappear in the midst of the shaken and quiver- ~ 
ing columns. In another moment we see them emerging and dashing on with 
diminished numbers, snd in broken order, against the second line, which is ad- — 
vancing against them as fast as it can to retrieve the fortune of the charge. It wasa — 
terrible moment. ‘God help them! they are lost!’ was the exclamation of more ~ 
than one man, and the thought of many. With unabated fire the noble hearts dashed ~ 
~ at their enemy. It wasa fight of heroes. ‘The firstline of Russians, whichhad been 
3 
y 


smashed utterly by.our charge, and had fled off at one flenk and iowaids the centre, 
were coming back to swallow up our handfnl of men. By sheer steel end sheer 
courage Enuiskillenér and Scot were winning their desperate way right through the — 
enemy’s squadrons, and already grey horses and redcoats had appeared right at the J 
' rear of the second mass, when, with irresistible force, like one bolt from a bow, the ¥ 
Ist Royals, the 4th Dragoon Guards, and the 5th Dragoon Gnards rushed at the rem- — 
; nants of the first line of the enemy ; went through it as though it were made of paste- — 
4 board; and, dashing on the*second body of Russians as they were still disordered by \ 
the terrible assault of the Greys and their companions, put them to utter rout. This — 
Russian horse, in less than five minutes after it met our dragoons, was flying with all 
its speed before a force certainly not half its strength. A cheer burst fromeverylip— ~ 
in the enthusiasm, officers and men took off their caps and shouted with delight, and ~ 
thus keeping up the scenic character of their position, they clapped their handsagain | 
and again. Lord Raglan at once despatched Lieutenant Curzon, aide-de-camp. to- 
convey his congratulations to Brigadier-general Scarlett, and to say: * Well done!? — 
The gallant old officer’s face beamed with pleasure when he received the message. ‘I — 
beg to thank his lordship very sincerely,’ was his reply. The cavalry did not long ~ 
ursue their enemy. Their loss was very slight, about thirty-five killed and wounde “he 
in both affairs. There were not more than four or five men killed outright, and our — 
most material loss was from the cannon playing on our heavy dragoons afterwards, — 
when covering the retreat of our light cavalry. i : 


A disastrous scene followed this triumph—the famous Light Cay- 
alry charge. It had been Lord Raglan’s intention that the cavalry _ 


/ 


- 


_ ENGLISH LITERATURE. — 


+ 


3? 


faken from the ‘Turks, or, in detault of this, prevent the Russians 
rom carrying off the guns at those redoubts.. Some misconception 
curred as to the order; Captain Nolan, who conveyed the message, 


Lord Lucan, to mean, that he should attack at all hazards, and the 
rl of Cardigan, as second in command, put the order in execu- 


Charge of the Light Brigade. 


he whole brigade scarcely made one effective regiment according to the numbers 
yntinental armies; and yet it was more than we Could spare. As they rushed 
wards the front, the Russians opened on them from the guns ia the redoubt on the 
ight, with volleys of musketry and rifles. They swept proudly past, glittering in 
the morning sun in all the pride and splendour of war. We could scarcely believe 
the evidence of our senses! Surely that handful of men are not going to charge an 
army in position? Alas! it was but too true—their desperate valour kuew no 
bounds, and far indeed was it removed from its so-called better part—discretion. 
Piiey advanced.in two lines, quickening their pace as they closed fowards the enemy. 
. more fearful spectacle was never witnessed than hy those who. without the power 
fo aid. beheld their heroic countrymen rushing to the arms of death. At the distance 
Of twelve hundred yards, the whole line of the enemy belched forth, from thirty iron 
mouths, a flood of smoke and flame, through which hissed the deadly halls. . Their 


* The poet-Laureate. Mr. Tennyson, has commentoratcd this splendid but melanchol 
of war ( Works edit. 1872): roe et 


The Charge of the Light Brigade. 


ees I. IV. = 
ae ee » ; as 

Higitatenaio, bolt steams, “Flashed alt Hele cabres bare, 

AL in the ic oot Deg th : Sabring the gunners there, 
rx Sode-the six PORiKaT ; Charging an-army. while 
~4Forward, the Light Brigade! AL bho wovid: wondered : 


Th Aswan: + ee eT are Plunged in the battery smoke, 

4 Bis ine valley ot Death gra Right through the ling they broke— 
“Rode the six hundred Cossack and Russian } 

Wr tre Ses “i : Reeled from the sabre stroke 
ie : Shattered and sundered— 

| ee 8 LL Then they rode back. but not, 

ee y Not the six hundred. 
Forward the Light Brigade!’ 


> Was there a man dismayed ? . eP 
_ Not though the soldier knew Cannon to right of them, 
~~, some one had blundered : Cannon to left of them, 
___ Pheir’s not to make reply, Cannon behind them 
. Their’s not to reason why, Volleyed and thundered. 
_ Their’s but to do and die: ag Stormed at with shot and shell, 
a Into the valley of Death While horse and hero fell. 
_. Rode the six hundred. They that had fought so well 
(. Sa . Came through the jaws of Death 
Be YIN. 7 : Back from the mouth of Hell, 
my os ; All that was left of them, 
annon to right of them, Lett of six hundred. 


Cannon to left of them, VI 
5 Cannon in front of them : 


Volleyed and thundered; When can their glory fade? 
Stormed at with shot and-shell, O the wild charge they made! 
— Botdly they rode and well, All the world wondered. 
Into the jaws of Death, _ Honour the charge they made! 


nto the mouth of Hell. Honour the light Brigade, 
‘Rode the six hundred. — Noble six hundred! 


‘ 


i= - 


iin the charge; but it was construed by the lieutenant general, 


a 


ies - CYCLOPADIA OF - [ro 1876, 


filght was marked by instant gaps in our ranks, by dead. men and horses, by steeds 
flying wounded or riderless across the plain. The first line is broken ; it is joivued by the — 
second; they never halt or check their speed an instant. With diminished ranks,thinned — 
by those tiirty guns, which the Russians had laid with the most deadly accuracy, — 
with a halo of flashing steel above their heads, and with a cheer, which was many a — 
noble fellow’s death-cry, they flew into the smoke of the batteries, but ere they were — 
Jost from view the plain was strewed with their bodies, and with the carcasses of © 
horses. They were exposed to an oblique fire from the batteries on the hiils on both . 
sides, as well as to a direct fire of musketry. Through the clouds of smoke we could — 
see their sabres flashing as they rode up to the guns and dashed between them, cut-— 
ting down the gunners as they stood. We saw them riding through the guns, as I~ 
have said ; to our delight we saw them returning, after breaking through a column of » 
Russian infantry, and scattering them like chaff, when the flank fire of the battery 
on the hill swept them, scattered and broken as they were. Wounded men and dis- — 
mounted troopers flying towards us told the sad tale—demi-gods could not haye done 
what we had failed todo. At the very moment when they were-about to retreat, an- 
enormous mass of Jancers was hurled on their flank. Colonel Shewell, of the 8th Hus-— 
sars, saw the danger, and rode his few men straight at them, cutting his way throngh — 
with fearful loss. The other regiments turned and engaged in a desperate encounter. 
With courage too great almost for credence, they were breaking their way through 
the columns which enveloped them, when there took place an act of atrocity without 
parallel in the modern warfare of civilised nations. ‘The Russian gunners. when the - 
storm of cavalry passed, returned to their guns. ‘hey saw their own cavalry mingled — 
with the troopers who had just ridden over them, and, to the eternal disgrace of the — 
Russian name. the miscreants poured a murderous volley of grape and. canister on 
the mass of. struggling men and horses, mingling friend and foe in one common ~ 
ruin! It was as much as our heavy cavalry brigade could do to cover the retreat of © 
the miserable remnants of that band of heroes as they returned to the place they had 
80 lately quitted in all the pride of life. At thirty-five minutes past eleyen not a Brit-— 
ish soldier, except the dead and dying, was left in front these bloody Muscovite guns, ~ 

Mr. Russell is a native of Dublin, born in 1821, and studied at 
Trinity College. In 1843 he was engaged on the ‘'Times; in 1846 he- 
was entered of the Middle Temple, and was called to the bar in 1850. 
In 1856 he received from Dublin University the degree of LL.D. 
Besides his account of the Crimean war, Dr. Russell has published 
his ‘ Diary in India; his ‘Diary North and South,’ containing the Te-) 
sult of observations in the United States; ‘My Diary during the last 
Great War,’ 1873; and other works. % 

ARCHIBALD Forsss, like Dr. Russell, engaged on the press as a 
special correspondent, published an account of the Franco-German 
war, and ‘ Soldiering and Scribbling,’ a series of sketches, 1872. Mr. 
Forbes is a native of Banffshire, son of the late Rev. Dr. Forbes, 
Boharm. , : 4 


REV. WILLIAM STUBBS—JOHN RICHARD GREEN. : 


The ‘Constitutional History of England,’ two vols., 1875, by the 
Rev. Wiii1am Srusss, is an excellent account of the origin and de- 
velopment cf the English constitution down to the deposition of 
Richard IT. <a 

‘The roots of the present lie deep in the past,’ says Mr. Stubos, 
‘and nothing in the past is dead to the man who would learn how 
the present comes to be what it is. It is true, constitutional history 
has a point of view, an insight, and a language of its own; it reads. 
the exploits and characters of men by a different light from that i 


| 


stu. § © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 89 


4 


ae 


ere eg os 8 


__ by the false glare of arms, and interprets positions and facts in words 
a pee are voiceless to those who have only listened to the trumpet of 
~ fame.’ j 
The author of this learned and important work for six years held 
the office of Inspector of Schools in the diocese of Rochester, then 
became Regius Professor of Modern History in Oxford, and in 1869 
_ was elected curator of the Bodleian Library, Oxford. Besides: his 
-*Constitutional History,’ Mr. Stubbs has published a collection of 
charters from the earliest period down to the reign of Edward I., and 
has edited and translated various historical works. Having been 
_ born in 1825, Mr. Stubbs, still in the prime of life, has, we trust, 
/’ many more years of useful and honourabie labour before him. 


Influence of Germanic Races in Europe. 


> The English are not aboriginal—that is, they are not identical with the race that 
- occupied their home at the dawn of history. They are a people of German descent 
~ inthe main constituents of blood, character, and language, but most especially in 
— connection with our subject, in the possession of the elements of primitive German 
 civilisatien and the common germs of German institutions. This descent is not a 
_ matter of inference. It is a recorded fact of history, which those characteristics bear 
out te the fullest degree of certainty. The consensus of historians, placing the con- 
nest and colonisation of Britain by nations of German origin between the middle of 
the fifth and the end of the sixth century, is confirmed by the evidence of a continu- 
ous series of monuments. ‘hese shew the unbroken possession of the land thus 
occupied, and the growth of the language and institutions thus introduced, either in 
“purity and unmolested integrity, or, where it has been modified by antagonism and 
by the admixture of alien forms, ultimately vindicating itself by eliminating the new 
- and more strongly developing the genius of the old. 
'_ The four great states of Western Christendom—England, France, Spain, and 
_ Germany—owe the leading principles which are worked out in their constitutional 
» history to the same source. In the regions which had been thoroughly incorporated 
with the Roman empire, every vestige of primitive indigenous cultivation had been 
~ crushed out of existence. Roman Civilisation in its turn fell before the Germanic 
races; in Britain it had perished slowly in the midst of a perishing people, who were 
able neither to maintain it nor to substitute for it anything of their own. In Gaul 
and Spain it died a somewhat nobler death, and left more lasting influences. In the 
greater part of Germany it had never made good its ground. In all four the con- 
structive elements of new life are barbarian or Germanic, though its development is 
varied by the degrees in which the original stream of influence has been turned aside 
in its course, or affected in purity and consistency by the infusion of other elements 
aud by the nature of the soil through which it flows. 
The system which has for the last twelve centuries formed the history of France, 
and in a great measure the character of the French people, of which the present con- 
dition of that kingdom is the logical result, was originally little more than a simple 
_ adaptation of the old German polity to the government of a conquered race. The 
& long sway of the Romans in Gaul had re-created, on their own principles of adminis- 
tration, the nation which the Franks conquered. The Franks, gradually uniting in 
religion, blood and language with the Gauls, retained and developed the idea.of feu- 
_ dal subordination in the organisation of government unmodified by any tendencies 
towards popular freedom. fn France accordingly feudal government runs its log- 
- icalcareer. The royal power, that central force which partly has originated, and 

- partly owes its existence to the conquest, is first limited in its action by the very 
_ agencies that are necessary to its continuance; then it is reduced to a shadow. The 
_ shadow is still the centre round which the complex system, in spite of itself, revolves; 
_ itis recognised by that system as its solitary safeguard against disruption, and its wit- 
~ -ness of national identity; it survives for ages, nctwithstanding the attenuation of 
_ its vitality, by its incapacity for mischief. In course of time the system itself loses 


oy. 


aes Dit 


i | 


pre 


tas 


a vem 


c? 


* 


4 


4). | SCYCLOPADIA-OF @ 5 = Sffeatzons 


~ its original energy, and the central force gradually gathers into itself all-the-mem-_ 


~ou a field exceptionally favourable, prepared and levelled. by Roman agency under a — 


= ~ 4 - fe = r. 


a - eal 


bers of the nationality in detail, thus concentrating all the powers which in earlier _ 
struggles they had won from it, and incorporating in itself those very forces which — 
the teudatories had imposed as limitations on the sovereign power. Soits character — 
of nominal suzerainty is exchanged for that of absolute sovereignty. The only — 
checks on the royal power had been the fendatories; the crown has outlived them, — 
absorbed and assimilated*their functions; but the increase of power is turned not to. 

the strengthening of the central force, but to the personal interests of its possessor. 
Actnal despotism becomes systematic tyranny, and its logical result is the explosion — 
which is called revolution. .'The constitutional history of France is thus the summa- © | 
tion of the series of feudal development, in- a. logical sequence which is indeed un- — 
paralleled in the history of any great state, but whica is thoroughly in harmony with ~~ 
the national character, forming it and formed by it.. We see in it the German sys- 
tem, modified by its work of foreign conquest, and deprived of its home safeguards, _ 


wv 


civil system which was capable of speedy amalgamation, and into whose language : 
most of the feudal forms readily translated themselves. as. ik 


Finglish National Unity, 1155-1215 Ap, _ 


The period is one of amalgamation, of consolidation, of continuous growing —~ 
together and new development, which distinguishes the process of organic life from - 
that of mere mechanic contrivance, internal law from external order. o gn 
‘The nation becomes one and realises-its oneness; this realisation is mecessary * 
before the growth can begin.. It is completed under Henry II. and his sons, It ~ 
finds its first distinct expression in Magna Carta. It isa result, not perhaps of the- — 
design and purpose of the great king. but of the conyerging lines of the policy by 
which he tried to raise the people at large, and to weaken the feudatories and the ~ 
principle of fendalism in them, Henry is scarcely an English king, but he is still 
jess a French feudatory. In his own eyes he is the creator of anempire. Hernics— — 
England by Englishmen and for English purposes, Normandy by Normans and for — 
Norman purposes; the end of all his policy being the strengthening of his own — 
power. Herecognises the true way of strengthening his power, by strengthening 
the basis on which it rests, the soundness, the security, the sense of a common ~ 
interest in the maintenance of peace and order. - , ~ Seotiee 4 
The national unity is completed in two ways. The English have united; the 3 


_English and the Normans have united also. The threefold division of the districts, — 


- pears after the reign of Stephen. Theterms are become archaisms which occur in 


the Dane law, the West-Saxon and the Mercian Jaw, which subsisted so long, disap- : 


the pages of the historians in a way that proves them to have become obsolete; the 
writers themselves are uncertain which shires fall into the several divisions.. Traces — 
of slight differences of custom may be discovered in the varying rules of the county ~ 
courts, which, as Glanvill tells us, are so numerous that it is impossible to put them 
ow record; but they are now mere local by-laws, no real evidence of permanent divis-« 
ions of nationality.. In the same way Norman and Englishmen are one. Frequent ~ 
intermarriages have so united them, that without a careful investigation of pedigree 
it cannot be ascertained—so at least the author of the ‘Dialogus de Scaccario’ - 
aflirms—who is Engtish and who Norman. If this be considered a loose statement, — 
for scarcely two generations have passed away since the Norman blood was first in- 
troduced, it is conclusive evidence as to the common consciousness of union. The 
earls, the greater barons; the courtiers, might be of pure Norman blood, but they = 
were few in number; the royal race was as much English as it wag Norman. The 3 
aumbers of Norman settlers in England are easily exaggerated; it is not probable — 
tbat except in the baronial and knightly ranks the infusion was very great, and it is 3 
very probable indeed that, where there was such infusion, it gamed ground by peace=- 
able settlement and marriage. It is true that Norman lineage was vulgarly regarded 
as the more honourable, but the very fact that it was vulgarly so regarded would lead 

to its being claimed far more widely than facts would warrant: the bestowal of Nor- — 
man baptismal names would thus supplant, and did supplant, the o!d English ones, — 
and the Norman Christian name would then be alleged as proof of Norman descent. a 
But it is far from improbable, though it may not bave been actually proved, that the- 
vast majority of surnames derived from English places are evidence of pure English ~ 


PE Peg oe 


’ > be d . Se aoe 


©) ENGLISH LITERATURE, - 0. a 


descent, whist only those which are derived from Norman places afford even a pre- 
sumptive evidence of Norman descent. The subject.of surnames scarcely rises into 
prominence before the fourteenth century; but an examination of the indices to the 
Rolls of the Exchequer and Curia Kegis shews a continuous increase in number and 
importance of persons bearing English names: as early as the reign of Henry I. we 
find among the barons Hugh of Bochland, Rainer of Bath,-and Alfred of Lincoln, 
 with-many otaer names which shew either that Englishmen had taken Norman 
names in Baptism, or that Normans were willing to siuk their local surnames in the 
mass of the national nomenclature. : 
~The union of blood would be naturally expressed in unity of language, a point 
which is capable of being more strictly_tested.. Although French is for along 
period the language of the palace, there is no break in the continuity of the English 
as a literary language. It was the tongue, not only of the people of the towns aid 
~ villages. but of a large proportion of those who could read and could enjoy the pur- 
— suit of knowledge. The growth of the vernacular literature was perhaps retarded 
- by the infiux of Norman lords and clerks, and its character was no doubt modified 
- by foreign influences under Henry IT. and_his sons, as it was in a far greater degree 
' affected by the infusion of French under Henry III. and Edward 1.; but it was never 
‘stopped. It was at its period of slowest growth as rapid in its development as were 
most of the other literatures of Europe. Latin was still the language of Jearning, 
> -of law, and of ritual. ‘the English had to struggle with French as well as with 
' Jatin for its hold on the sermon and the popular poem; when it had forced its way 
to light, the books in which it was used had their own perils to utdergo from the - 
’~ contempt of the learned and the profane familiarity of the ignorant. But the fact 
~~ that it survived, and at last prevailed, is sufficient to prove its strength. 


' A ‘Short History ofthe English People,’ by Joun RicHarp 
'~ GREEN, Examiner in the Schoolof Modern History, Oxford, 1875, 
* has been exceedingly popular. "Though somewhat inaccurate in de: 
tails, the-work is lively, spirited, and picturesque, and must be in- 
valuable in imbuing young minds with a love of history, and espe- 
_ cially of that of the British nation. The opening sentence, for exam- 
- pie, at once arrests attention: . 

eee Old England. 


_ ~ For the fatherland of the English race we must look far away from England ~ 
itself. Im the fifth century after the birth of Christ, the one country which bore the 
» name of England was what we now call Sleswick. a district-in the heart of the penin- 
> sula which parts the Baltic from the porthern’seas. Its pl*9<ant pastures, its black- 

_ timbered homesteads, its prim little townships looking down on inlets of purple - 
water, were then but a wild waste of heather and sand, girt along the coast. with sun- 
_ less woodland, broken only on the western side by meadows which crept down to 
_ the marshes and the sea. The dwellers in this district were one out of three tribes, 
- all belonging to the same Jow German branch of the Teutonic family, who. at the. 
- moment when history discovers them, were bound together into a confederacy by 
_ the ties of a common blood.and a common speech. To the north of the English lay- 
__ the tribe of the Jutes. whose name is still preserved in their district of Jutland. To 
- the south of them the tribe of the Saxons wandered over the sandflats of Holstein, 
~ and along the marshes of Friesland and the Elbe. How close was the union of these 
‘tribes was shewn by their use of a common name, while the choice of this name 
. points out the tribe which, at the moment when we first meet them, must bave been 
> strongest and most powerful in the confederacy. Although they were all known as 
_. Saxons by the Roman people, who touched them only on their ‘southern border 


Re 
4 
& 


_ where the Saxons dwelt, and who remained ignorant of the very existence of the 
_ English or the Jutes, the three tribes bore among themselves the name of the cen- 
' tral tribe of their league, the name of Englishmen. 


Mr. Gr2en has also published a volume of ‘Stray Studies’ (1876), in 
' which are some fine descriptive sketches of foreign placcs—Cannes, 
_ San Remo, Venice, Capri, &c. 


42 CYCLOPEDIA OF fro"1876. 


SIR, THOMAS ERSKINE MAY. | 


& eX 


A continuation to Hallam’s ‘ Constitutional History,’ though not 
expressly designated as such, appeared in 1861-63, entitled ‘The 


Constitutional History of England since the Accession of George III.’ | 


(1760-1860), by Str THomas Ersxrne May, K.C.B., three vclumes. 
To the third edition (1871) a supplementary chapter was added, 
bringing down the political history of the country to the passing of 
the Ballot Bill in 1871. The work is able and impartial, and forms a 
valuable repertory of political information and precedents. ‘Con- 
tinually touching upon controverted topics,’ says the author, ‘I have 
endeavoured to avoid as far as possible the spirit and tone of contro- 
versy. But, impressed with an earnest conviction that the develop- 
ment of popular liberties has been safe and beneficial, I ds not affect 
to disguise the interest with which I have traced it through all the 
events of history.’ The historian was born in 1815, and was called 
to the bar in 1888.. In 1856 he was appointed Clerk-assistant of the 


House of Commons, and in 1871 he succeeded to the higher office of 


Clerk. He had previously (in 1866) been made a Knight Commander 
ofthe Bath. Sir Thomas has wiitten several treatises on the law, 
usages, and privileges of Parliament, and contributed to the ‘ Edin- 
burgh Review’ and other journals. : 


‘ 


Free Constitution of British Colonies. ; 


It has been the destiny of the Anglo-Saxon race to spread through every quarter 
of the globe their courage and endurance, their vigorous industry, and their love of 
freedom. Wherever they have founded colonies, they have borne with them the 
Jaws and institutions of England as their birthright, so far as they were applicable to 
an infant settlement. In territories acquired by conquest or cession, the existing 
laws and customs of the people were respected, until they were qualified to share the 
franchises of Englishmen. Some of these—held only as garrisons—others peopled 
with races hostile to our rule, or unfitted for freedom—were necessarily governed 
upon different principles. But in quitting the soil of England to settle new colonies, 
Englishmen never renounced her freedom. Such being the noble principle of Eng- 
lish colonisation. circumstances favoured the early development of colonial liberties. 
The Puritans, who founded the New England colonies, having fled from the oppres- 
sion of Charles I., carried with them a stern love of civil liberty, and established re- 
publican institutions. The persecuted Catholics who settled in Maryland, and the 
yroscribed Quakers who took refuge in Pennsylvania, were little less democratic. 
Other colonies founded in America and the West Indies, in the seventeenth century, 
merely for the purposes of trade and cultivation, adopted institutions—less demo- 
cratic, indeed, but founded on principles of freedom and self-government. Whether 
established as proprietary colonies, or under charters held direct from the crown, the 
colonists were equally free. ; 

The English constitution was generally the type of these colonial governments. 
The governor was the viceroy of the crown; the legislative council, or upper 
chamber, appointed by the governor, assumed the place of the House of Lords; and 
the representative assembly, chosen by the people, was the express image of the 
House of Commons. This miniature parliament, complete in all its parts, made 
laws for the internal government of the colony. The governor assembled, prorogued, 
and dissolved it: and signified his assent or dissent to every act agreed to by the 


chambers. The Upper House mimicked the dignity of the House of Peers, and the ~ 


Lower House insisted on the privileges of the Commons, especially that of origina- 
ting all taxes and grants of n.oney for the public service. The elections were also 


J 


74 


eee reek 


— 


fh Oe =F te’ S art: 4 hl - > a, 
ee io we bie a Es 


Sway) ENGLISH LITERATURE. 83 


“eonducted after the fashion of the mother-country. Other laws and institutions 


were copicd not less faithfuily. * 

Every colony was a little state, complete in its legislature, its judicature, and its 
executive administration. But at the sume time, it acknowledeed the sovereignty of 
the mother-country, the prerogatives of the crown, and the legislative supremacy of 
parliament. The assent of the king’or his representative, was required to give 
validity to acts of the colonial legislature ; his veto annulled them; while the imperial 


parliament was able to bind the colony by its acts, and to supersede all local legisla- 


tion. Every colonial Judicature was also subject to an appeal to the king in council, 
at Westminster. The dependence of the colonies, however, was little felt in their 


. Internal government. They were secured from interference by the remoteness of the 


mother-country, and the ignorance, indifference, and preoccupation of her rulers. 
In matters of imperial concern, England imposed her own policy, but otherwise left 
them free. Asking no aid of her, they escaped her domination. All their expendi- 


. ture, civil and milita:y, was defrayed by taxes raised by themselves. They provided 
_for their own defence against the Indians, and the enemies of England. During the 


Seven Years’ War the American colonies maintained a force of twenty-five thousand 
men, at a cost of several millions. In the words of Franklin: ‘They were governed 
at he emypenee to Great Britain of only a little pen, ink, and paper: they were led by 
a thread.’- 


CLEMENTS R. MARKHAM—H. M. STANLEY—WILLIAM MASSEY. 


The British consul in Abyssinia, Mr. Cameron, and other Europ- 
eans, having been. detained captives by Theodore, emperor of Abys- 
sinia (1868), an expedition was fitted out for their release, under the 
command of Sir Robert Napier (now Lord Napier of Magdala), 
which resulted in the defeat of the Abyssinians, the conquest of their 
capital city, Magdala, and the recovery of the English captives, The 
emperor, ‘Theodore, committed suicide. .A ‘ History of the Abyssin- 


ian Expedition’ was published in 1869 by CLEMENTS ROBERT Mark- 


HAM, who accompanied the expedition as geographer. Mr. Mark- 


_ ham had served in the navy, and in the expedition in search of Sir 


John Franklin. He was born in 1880, is author of ‘Travels in Peru 
and India,’ a ‘ Life of the Great Lord Fairfax’ (1870), ‘ Spanish. Irri- 
gation’ (1867), and various geographical papers. A volume by 
Henry M. STanuey, the adventurous special correspondent of the 
‘New York Herald,’ appeared in 1874, entitled ‘Coomassie and 
Magdala, the Story of two British Campaigns in Africa.’ Mr. Stan- 
ley said: ‘ Before proceeding to Abyssinia as a special correspondent 


‘ot the ‘‘ New York Herald,” Lhad been employed for American jour- 


nals—though very young—in the same capacity, and witnessed 
several stirring scenes in our civil war. I had seen Americans fight: 
J had seen Incians fight; I was glad to have the opportunity of seeing 
how Englishmen fought. In Abyssinia I first saw English soldiers 
prepared for war.’ And Mr. Stanley acknowledged that more bril- 


. liant successes than attended these two campaigns which England. 


undertook in Africa, in behalf of her honour, her dignity, humanity, 
and justice, are not recorded in history. 

‘A History of England during the Reign of George III.,’ by W1- 
LIAM MaAssry, M.P., is a popular work, exhibiting no great research, 
but impartially and pleasantly written. It deals chiefly with the 
progress of society, and the phases of social life and manners. 


: a —— F< ~ ‘ ¥ 
x — 


ae CYCLOPADIA OF 


: Gambling in the Last Century: ~ Patel 


The vice which, above all others, infested English society during the greater part 
of the eighteenth century, was gaming. Men aud women, the old_and the young, 
beaux and statesmen, peers and apprentices,,the learned and polite, as well as the 
ignorant and vulgar, were alike Involved in the vortex of play. Horse-racing, 
cock-fighting, betting of every description, with the ordinary resources of cards and 


dice, were the chief employment of many, and were tampered with more or-tess by “ 
almost every person in the higher ranks of life. The proprictary clubs—White’s, = 
Brookes’s, Boodle’s—were originally instituted to evade the statute against public > 


_~ gaming-houses. But every fashionable assembly was a gaming-house. Large balls: 
aud routs had not yet come in vogue. <A ball seldom consisted of more than ten or 


twelve couples; and the practice of collecting a crowd of fine people to do nothing, ~ — 
is an invention of recent date. When a lady received company, card-tables were c 
provided for all the guests; and even where there was dancing, cards formed the 

principal part of the entertainment. Games of skill were seldom played. Brag, ~§ 


crimp, basset,.ombre, hazard, commerce, spadille—the very names of which are — 
hardly known to the present generation—furnished the excitement of play. and 
enabled people of fashion to win and lose their money without*mental effort. Whist 
was not much in vogue until a later period, and was far too abstruse and slow to 
suit the depraved taste which. required unadulterated stimulants. The ordinary 

“stakes at these mixed assemblies would, at the present day, be considered high, even 

~ at clubs where a rubber is still allowed. The consequences of such gaming were. ~~ 
often still more lamentable than those which usually attend such practices. It 
would happen that a lady Jost more than she could venture to confess to a husband 
or father. Her creditor was probably a fine gentleman, or she became indebted to 4 
‘some rich admirer for the means of discharging her liabilities. In either eycnt, the — 
result may be guessed. In the one case, the debt of honour was liquidated on the 
old principle of the law-merchant, according to which there was but one alternative 
to payment in purse. In the other, there was likewise but one mode in which 
the acknowledgement of obligation by a fine woman would be acceptable to a man — 
of the world. : 


AN 


he « 


EDWARD A. FREEMAN. Shey, 


A copious and excellent ‘History of the Norman Conquest’ has 
been published (1867-1876) by Epwarp A. FREEMAN, author of ~~" 
various historical works. Mr. Freeman was born at Harborne, Staf- 3 
fordshire, in 1823; was elected scholar of Trinity College, Oxford, in ~ 
1841 ; filled the office of examiner in law and modernhistory in 1857- 
1864; and was created honorary D.C.L. in 1870. He began his career 
as a writer on architecture, having published in 1846 a volume on - 
‘Church Restoration,’ and in 1849 a ‘ History of Architecture.’ This 
was followed by the ‘ Archifectural Antiquities of Gewer’ in 1850, 
which reached a second edition in 1851, as did also the “Window > ~ 
Tracery of England,’ which had also been published in the previous — 
year. ~The ‘ Architecture of Landaff Cathedral’ followed, and then ~ 
the ‘ History and Conquest of the Saracens’ in 1856, Yhe ‘History 
of Federal Government’ appeared in 1863. The first volume of ‘The 
Norman Conquest of England’—which was merely introductory— 
appeared in 1867, and the second in 1868, both reaching a second =~ 
edition in 1870, whilst the third volume was published in 1869, the : 
fourth in 1872, and the fifth in 1876. The ‘ Popular Old English His- 

tory’ was published in 1871, as well as ‘ Historical Essays,’ collected _ 
from various reviews. Mr. Freeman’s ‘ History of the Norman Con- 
quest ’ may be ranked among the great works of the present century. 


oi, (and Ss ee = 
* See 1 et 


NJ- *. ENGLISH LITERATURE.” ~ 45 


Death of. William the Conqueror, Sept, 9, 1087. 


_ . The death-bed of William was a death-bed of all formal devotion, a death-bed of 
penitence which we may trust was more than formal. The English Chronicler 
-- (William of Malmesoury], after weighing the good and evil in him, sends him out of 
-_ the world with a charitable prayer for his soul’s rest; and his repentance, late and fear- 
' ful as it was, at once marks the distinction between the Conqueror on his bed of 
death and his successor cut off without a thought of penitence in the midst of his 
-crimes. He made his will. he mammon of unrighteousness which he had gathered 
together amid the groans and tears of Hngland he now stroye so to dispose of as to 
pave his way to an everlasting habitation. All his treasures were distributed among 
the poorand the churches of his dominions. <A special sum was set apart for the 
rebuilding of the churches which had been burned at Mantes, and gifts in money 
’-and books ard ornaments of every kind were to be distributed among all the churches 
of England according to. their rank. Hethen spoke of his own life and of the 
> arrangements which he wished to make for his dominions after his death. The Nor- 
mans, he said, were a brave and unconquered race; but they needed the curb of a 
» strong and arighteous master to keep them in the path of order. Yet the rule over 
- them must by all law pass to Robert. Robert was his eldest born; he had promised . 
' him the Norman succession before he won the crown of England, and he had received 
_ the homage of the barons of the Duchy. Normandy and Maine must therefore pass 
* to Robert, and for them he must be the mau of the French king. Yet he well knew 
_ how sad would be the fate of the land which had to be ruled by one so proud and 
_ foolish, and for whom a career of shame and sorrow was surely doomed. 
But what was to be done with Englind? Now at last the heart of William smote 
~ him. -To England he dared not appoint-a successor ; he could only leave the dis- 
posal of the isiand realm to the Almighty Ruler of the-world. ‘the evil deeds of his 
_ past life crowded upon hissoul. Now at last his heart confessed that he had won 
' England by no right, by no claim of birth: that he had won the English crown by 
_ wrong, and that what he had won by wrong he had no right to give to another. He 
--had won his realm by warfare and bloodshed; he had treated the sons of the English 
_ 5011 with needless harshness; he had cruelly wronged nobles and commons; he had 
spoiled many men wrongfully of their inheritance; he had slain countless multitudes 
_ by hunger or by the sword. The harrying of Northumberland now rose. up before 
his eyes in all its blackness. The dying man now told how cruelly he had burned 
" and plundered the land, what thousands of every age and sex among the nowle na- 
_ tion which he had conquered had been done to death at his bidding. The sceptre of 
> the realm which he had won by so many crimes he dared not hand over to any but, 
_ toGodalone. Yet he would not hide his wish that his son William, who had ever 
_ been dutiful to him, might reign in England afte: him. He would send him beyond 
_ the sea, and he wouid pray Lanfranc to-place the crown upon his head, if the Pri- 
_ mate in his wisdom deemed that such an act could be rightly done. 
-___Of the two sons of whom he spoke, Robert-was far away, a banished rebel; 
_ Wiiliam was by his bedside. By his bedside also stood his youngest son, the Eng- 
~ lish Aitheling. Henry the Clerk. ‘And what dost thou give to me, my father?’ said 
the youth. ‘Five thousand pounds of silver from my hoard,’ was the Conqueror’s 
' answer. ‘But of what use isa hoard to me if I have no place to dwellin2?’ ‘Be 
' patient, my son, and trust in the Lord, and let thine elders go before thee,’ It is 
perhaps by the light of later events that our chronicler goes on to make William tell 
_ his youngest son that the day would come when he would sueceed_ both his brothers: 
- in their dominions, and would be richer and mightier than either of them. The king 
_ then dictated a letter to Lanfranc, setting forth his wishes with regard to the kingdom. 
He sealed it and gave it to _his son William, and bade him, with his last blessing and 
his last kiss, to cross at once into England. William Rufus straightway set forth 
_ for Witsand, and there heard of his father’s death. Meanwhile Henry, too, left his 
_ father’s bedside to take for himself the money that was left to him, to see that 
~ nothing was lacking in its weight, to call together his comrades on whom he could 
> trust, and to take measures for stowing the treasure in a place of safety. 
__ And now those who stood around the dying king began to implore his mercy for 
_ the captives whom he held in prison. He granted the prayer. ... : = 
___- The lust earthly acts of the Conqueror were now done. He had striven to make 
_ his peace with God and man, and to make such provision as he could for the children 


46 CYCLOPADIA.OF © <7? *-[10 1846, 
and the subjects whom he had left behind him. And now his last hour was come. 
On a ‘thursday morning in September, when the sun had aneee risen upon the 
earth, the sound of the great bell of the metropolitan minster struck on the ears of 
the dying king. He asked why it sonnded. He was told that it rang for prime in 


2 iS oe 
0, 
29 


i 
a 


the church of our Lady. William lifted his eyes to heaven, he stretched forth his — 


hands, and spake his last words: ‘lo my Lady Mary, the Holy Mother of God, I 
commend myself, that by her holy prayers sbe may reconcile me to her dear Son, our 
Lord Jesus Christ.? He prayed, and his soul passed away. William, king of the 
English and duke of the Normans, the man whose fame has filled the world in his 
own and in every following age, had gone the way of all flesh. No kingdom was left 
ae ros but his seven feet of ground, and even to that his claim was not to be un- 
isputed. 

The death of a king in those days came near to a break-up of all civil society. Till 
a new king was chosen and crowned, there was no longer a power in the land to pro- 
tect or to chastise. All bonds were loosed; all puplic authority was in abeyance; 
each man had to look to his own as he best might. No sooner was the breath out of 
William’s body than the great company which had patiently watched around him 
during the night was scattered hither and thither. The great men mounted their 
horses and rode with all speed to their own homes, to guard their houses and goods 
against the outburst. of lawlessness which was sure to break forth now that. the land 
had no longer a ruler. Their servants and followers, seeing their lords gone, and 


deeming that there was no longer any fear of punishment, began to make spoil of 


the royal chamber. Weapons, clothes, vessels, the royal bed and its furniture, were 
carried off, and for a whole day the body of the Conqueror lay well-nigh bare on the 
floor of the room in which he died. ~ 


With the fourth volunie of his history Mr. Freeman ended what he 
termed his tale—the tale of the Norman Conquest of England. He 
had recorded the events which made it possible for a foreign prince 
to win and to keep England as his own. In the fifth volume he 
traced the results of the Conquest—the fusion of races—which was 
accomplished with little or no violence during the reign of William’s 
son, Henry—and the important changes that then took place in the 
language and arts of the English people. 5 


JOHN HILL BURTON. 


The history of Scotland was left by Mr. FrRAseR TyTLER at the » 


period of the union of the crowns under James VI. A subsequent por- 
tion has been fully treated by Mr. Joun Hitt Burton, advocate, in a 
work, entitled ‘History of Scotland from the Revolution to the Ex-- 


> 


tinction of the last Jacobite Insurrection’ (1689-1748), two volumes, — 


1858. This work has received the approbation of Lord Macaula 
and all other historical readers; it is honestly and diligently executed, 
with passages of vigorous and picturesque eloquence—as the account 
of the battle of Killiecrankie, and the massacre of Glencoe. We 
subjoin part of the historian’s notice of the Scottish language and 


literature. 


The Scottish Language after the Period of the Revolution. 


The development of pure literature in Scotland had; for half a century after the 
Revolution, to struggle with a peculiar difficulty arising out of the tenor of the na- 
tional history. The languages of England and cf Lowland Scotland, speaking of 
both in a general sense, were as entirely taken from a northern Teutonic stock com- 
mon to both, as the languages of Essex and Yorkshire. Like other national charac- 
pristics, the language of Scotland took a direction severing itself from that of Eng- 


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BURTON. | _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 47 


S 


_ land after the War of Independence. Centuries elapsed, however, ere the distinctive 


peculiarities of each had gone far in its own direction, and away from the other. The 


earliest material change was in the language of England by the infusion of the Nor- 


man, while Scotland kept closer to the Old Saxon stock. ‘Thus itis that Scottish 
writers of the age of Gower and Chaucer—such as Barbour, the Archdeacon of Ab- 
erdeen, and Wyntoun, the monk of Lochleven—wrote a language more intelligible to 
the present age than that of their English contemporaries, because it is not so sensi- 
bly tinged with Gallicisms. France had subsequently, as we have seen, a great £0- 
cial and constitutional influence in Scotland, which brought a few foreign terms into 
use, but it scarcely touched the structure of the language. This gradually assumed 
a purely national, or, as it came to be deemed when Scotland was becoming absorbed 
into the British community, a provincial tongue. The Scottish poets of the sixteenth 
century wrote in a language as different from the English as we might suppose the 
Norse of the same age to be from the Danish. John Knox, who lived much in 


_ England, was charged with the affected employment of English novelties, because he 
attempted so to modify the Scottish peculiarities as to make his works read- 


able to his fiiends beyond the Border. It was felt, indeed, in his day that the Scottish 


- tongue-was becoming provincial, and those who desired to speak beyond a mere 


home audience wrote in Latin. Hence arose that class of scholars headed by Bu- 
chanan, who almost made the language of Rome vernacular to themselves. ‘Those 
who are acquainted with the epistolary correspondence of learned Scotsmen in the 
seventeenth century, will observe how easily they take to Latin—how uneasy and 
diffident they feelin the use of English. Sometimes, indeed, the ancient language is 
evidently sought asa relief, when the writer is addressing one to whom he cannot 
use a Scottish expression, while he is unable to handle the corresponding English 
idiom. But Latin was dying away as the common language of literature and sci- 
ence. Each great nation was forming her own literary tongue. The revolution was 
completed within the time embraced in this history. But Scotland had not kept an 
independent literary language of her own, nor was she sufficiently expert in the use 
of that which had been created in England. Hence, in a great measure, we can dis- 


- tinctly account for the literary barrenness of the country. The men may have ex- 


isted, but they had not the tools. An acquaintance with the correspondence of Scots- 


_ men, for the first half century after the Revolution, shews the extreme difficulty 


which even those who were high in rank dnd well educated felt in conveying their 
thoughts through a dialect imperfectly resembling the language of ‘The Spectator.’ - 
Any attempt to keep up a Scottish literary language had been abandoned in prose 
before the Revolution. In verse, incidental causes made it seem asif the struggle 
were still continued. The old Scottish melodies, so mysterious in their origin, never 
ceased to have the charm of musical association for the people. 


Mr. Burton subsequently completed his Scottish history with seven 
more volumes, ‘The History of Scotland from Agricola’s Invasion to 
the Revolution of 1688’ (1867-1870). These latter volumes fully sus- 
tained the author’s reputation for research, discrimination, and liter- 
ary ability. A second edition, carefully revised, has been published. 
Mr. Burton has made further additions to our knowledge of Scottish 
literature and society by his valuable ‘Life and Correspondence of 
David Hume,’ 1846, his ‘ Lives of Lord Lovat and Duncan Forbes of, 
Culloden,’ 1847—both works written from family papers and other 
original sources of information—and his ‘ Narratives from Criminal 
Trials in Scotland.’ In 1862 he produced a very amusing and inter: 
esting volume, ‘The Book-Hunter,’ containing ‘sketches of the ways 
of book-collectors, scholars, literary investigators, desultory readers, 
and other persons whose pursuits revolve round books and literature.’ 
In 1864 appeared ‘The Scot Abroad,’ two volumes—a work, like the 
former, consisting of sketches and anecdotes, and referring to the 
relations of Scotland and Scotsmen with foreign countries. As a 


ing mine he has been a successful labourer : his ‘ Political and Social 
Economy,’ 1849, is a little volume giving a clear and popular sum~- 
mary of this science, and he has extracted from the mass of Jeremy 
Bentham’s works a very readable collection of ‘Benthamiana.” To 
the “ Westminster Review,’ ‘Blackwood’s Magazine,’ and other lit- 
erary journals, Mr. Burton has been an occasional contributor. 
This able and indefatigable littérateur is a native of Aberdeen, the 
son of a military officer, and born August 22,1609. Tle was adiit- 
ted to the Scottish barin 1831. In 1854 he was appointed secretary 
-to the Prison Board of Scotland. Mr. Burton has received from 
Edinburgh University the degree of LL.D. 
~ Among other notable contributions to history may be cited the fol- 
lowing: ‘Scotland in the Middle Ages,’ 1860, and ‘ Sketches of Early — 
Scotch History,’ 1861, by Cosmo INNxEs (1798-1874). Mr. Innes was- 
Professor of History in the University of Edinburgh, and the two 
yolumes we have named contain the substance of his lectures. They 
are interesting works as illustrating the social progress, the church — 
organisation, the university and home life of the people, and are 
written in a pleasing, graphic style. Less popular, but more exact, 
‘is ‘Scotland under Her Karly Kings,’ 1862, by E. WinL1AM RoBErt- 
s0N, which contains a history of the kingdom to the close of the thir- 
teenth century. . 


* MISS STRICKLAND. 


Miss AGNES STRICKLAND (1801-1874), authoress of historical me- 
moirs of the Queens of England and Scotland, was a native of Suf- 
folk, daughter of Thomas Strickland, Esq., of Reydon Hall. Her 
first publication was a poetical narrative, ‘ Worcester Field, or the 
Cavalier; she also wrote a tale, ‘Demetrius; but she soon struck > 
into that path for which she seemed best fitted—historical composi- 
tion. She wrote historic scenesand stories for ehildren, and in 1835 
produced the ‘Pilgrims of Walsingham,’ constructed on the plan of 
Chaucer’s ‘Canterbury Pilgrims.’ She then, aided by a sister, Miss 
Elizabeth Strickland, entered upon her elaborate work, ‘ Lives of the 
Queens of England from the Norman Conquest,’ twelve volumes, 
1840-49. Of this work, a second edition was published in 1851, in 
eight volumes. The English history was followed by. ‘ Lives of the 
Queens of Scotland and English Princesses connected with the Regal 
Succession of Great Britain,’ eight volumes, 1850-59... The life of 
Mary, Queen of Scots, in this work is written with great fullness of 
detail and illustration, many new facts having been added by study of 
the papers in the Register House, Edinburgh, and documents in the 
possession of the Earl of Moray and the representatives of other an- 
cient families. The collection of Mary’s letters by Prince Labanoff 


ease ee ke 5 .: ee 
eee ce aad Sipe Sain por, a re as Sie a : < = 
" sTRICKLAND.] -~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. pete SE he 


ae ee 


Ee also afforded new materials, not available to previous historians of 
_ the unfortunate queen. In 1868 Miss Strickland published ‘ Lives of * 
~ the Seven Bishops.’ In 1871 she received a pension of £100 a year. 
: 


Queen Mary and the Lords of Council at Lochleven Castle, 


6 The conspirators, calling themselves the Lords of Secret Council, having com- 
pleted their arrangements for the long-meditated project of depriving her of her 
crown, summoned Lord Lindsay to Edinburgh, and on the 23d of July delivered to 


~ 


a 


 hinrand Sir Robert Melville three deeds, to which they were instructed to obtain her 
‘signature, either by flattering words or absolute force. The first contained a declara- 


re 


x tion, as if from herself, ‘ that, beiug in infirm health,and worn out with the cares of 
1 See area she had taken purpose volunturily to resign her crown and office to her 
5 earest son, James, Prince of Scotland.’ In the second, ‘her trusty brother James, 
_ Earl of Moray, was constituted regent for the prince her son, during the minority of 
_ the royal infant.’. The third appointed a provisional council of regency, consisting 
- of Morton and the other Lords of Secret Council, to carry on the government till 


_. Moray’s return; or, in case of his refusing to accept it, till the prince arrived at the 
legal age for exercising it himself. Aware that Mary would not easily be induced to 
- execute such instruments, Sir Robert Melville was especially employed_to cajole 
her into this political suicide. That ungrateful courtier, who had been employed 
_ and trusted by his unfortunate sovereign ever since her return from France, and 
had received nothing but benefits from her, undertook this office. Having obtained 
_ a private-interview with her, he deceitfully entreated her to ‘sign certain deeds that 
-- would be presented to-her by Lindsay as the only means of preserving her life, which, 
~ he assured her, was in the most imminent danger.’ Then he gave her a turquoise 
_ ring, telling her ‘it was seni to her from the Karls of Argyle, Huntly, azd Athole, 
Secretary Lethington, and the Laird of Grange, who loved her majesty, and had by 
that token accredited him to exhort her to avert the peril to which she would be ex- 
posed, if she ventured to refuse the requisition of the Lords of Secret Council, whose 
- designs; they well knew, were to take her life, either secretly or by_a mock-trial 
_ among themselves.’ Finding the queen impatient of this insidious advice, he pro- - 
' duced a letter from the English ambassador Throckmorton, out of the scabbard of 
_ his sword, telling her ‘he had concealed it there at the peril of his own life, in order 
_ to convey it to her ’—a paltry piece of acting, worthy of the parties by whom it had 
been devised, for the letter had been written for the express purpose of inducing 
_ Mary to accede to the demission of her regal dignity, telling her, as if in confidence, 
_ ‘that if was tke queen of England's sisterly advice that she should not irritate those” 
_ who had her in their power, by refusing the only concession that could save her life ; 
_ and observing that nothing that was done under her present circumstances could be 
_ of any force when she regained her freedom.’ Mary. however, resolutely refused té 
P Bien the deeds; declaring, with truly royal courage, that she would not make here 
_ Self a party to the treason of her own subjects, by acceding to their lawless requisi- 
_ tion. which, as she truly alleged. ‘ proceeded only of the ambition of a few, and was 
_ far from the desire of her people.’ : : 
' _ The fair-spoken Melville having reported his ill success to his coadjutor Lord 
_ Lindsay, Moray’s brother-in-law, the bully of the party, who had been selected 
_ for the honourable office of extorting by force from the royal captive the concession 
_~ she denied, that brutal ruffian burst rudely into her presence, and, flinging the deeds 
- violently upon the table before her,.told her to sign them without delay, or worse 
_ would befall] her. ‘What!’ exclaimed Mary, ‘shall Il set my hand to a deliberate 
falsehood, and, to gratify the ambition of my nobles, relinquish the office God hath 
given to me, to ny son, an infant little more than a year old, incapable of governing 
_the realm, that my brother Moray may reign in his name?’ She was. proceeding to 
demonstrate the unreasonableness of what was required of her, but Lindsay con- 
_ temptuously interrupted her with scornful laughter ;: then, scowling ferociously upon 
ther, he swore witha deep oath, ‘that if-she would not sign those instruments, he 
would do it with her heart’s blood, and cast her-into the lake to feed the fishes.’ 
' Full well did the defenceless woman know how capable he was of performing his 
threat, having seen his rapier reecking with human blood shed in her presence. when 
he assisted at the butchery of her unfortunate secretary. The ink was scarcely dry 


os 


J 


50 CYCLOPEDIA OF - [ro 1876. 


of her royal signature to the remission she had granted to him for that outrage ; but, 
reckiess of the fact that he owed his life, his torfeit lands, yea, the very power of 
injuring her, tv her generous clemency, he thus requited the grace she had, in evil 
hour for herself, accorded to him. Her ‘heart was too full to continue the unequal 
contest. ‘1am not yet five-and-tweuty,’ she pathetically observed ; somewhat more 
she would have said, but her utterance failed her, and she began to weep with 
hysterical emotion. Sir Robert Melville, affecting an air of the deepest concern, 
whispered in her ear an earnest entreaty for her *to save her life by signing the 
papers,’ reiterating ‘that whatever she did would be invalid because extorted by 
force.’ 

Mary’s tears continued. to flow, but sign she would not, till Lindsay, infuriated 
by her resolute resistance, sware ‘ that having begun the matter, he would also finish 
it then and there,’ forced the pen into her reluctant hand, and, according to the 
popular version of this scene of lawless violence, grasped her.arm in the struggle so 
rudely, as to leave the prints of his mail-clad fingers visibly impressed. In an access 
of pain and terror, with streaming eyes and averted head, she affixed her regal sig- 
nature to the three deeds, without once looking upon them. Sir Walter Scott 
alludes to Lindsay’s barbarous treatment of his hapless queen in these nervous lines: 


And haggard Lindsay’s iron eye, 
That saw fair Mary weep in vain. _ > 


George Douglas the youngest son of the evil lady of Lochleven, being present, . 
indignantly remonstrated wiih his savage brother-in-law, Lindsay, for his miscon- 
duct; and though hitherto employed as one of the persons whose office it was to 
keep guard over her, he became from that hour the most devoted of her friends and 
-champions, and the contriver of her escape. His elder brother, Sir William Douglas, . 
the custellan, absolutely refused to be present; entered a protest against the wrong 
that. had been perpetrated under his roof; and besought the queen to give him a 
letter of exoneration certifying that he had nothing to do with it, and that it was 
against his consent—which letier she gave him. 


This oft-repeated story of Moray’s deceit and Lindsay’s ferocity 
cannot be accepted as historical truth. Private journals and corres- 
pondence have thrown much light on modern English history. 
Family pride or cupidity has in some instances led to undue disclo- 
sures of this description, breaking down the barrier between public 
and private life; and already most of the secrets of the courts of | 
George III. and IV., with domestic details and scandal, have been* 
published. We have had the ‘ Diaries and Correspondence of the 
f£arl of Malmesbury,’ four volumes, 1845-44; the ‘ Grenville Papers,’ 
four volumes, 1852-53; the ‘Memorials and Correspondence of 
Charles James Fox,’ edited by Lorp Jonn Russeut, three volumes, 
1853-54; the ‘Correspondence of the Marquis of Cornwallis,’ three 
volumes 1859 and ‘Memoirs of the Court of George LV.,’ 1820-80, 
by the Duke of Buckingham, two volumes, 1859; &c. ‘The late emi- 
nent statesman, Str Ropert PEEL (1788-1850), solicitous concerning 
his reputation for political. integrity, left behind him ‘Memoirs, 
explanatory cf his views and conduct on the Roman Catholic 
question, 1828-29; the government of 1834-35; and the repeal of the: 
corn-laws, 1845-46. The work was published, in two volomes, 1856- 
57, but is only a meagre collection of public papers and stale argu 
iments, 

The ‘History of the Captivity of Napoleon at St. Telena, from the 
Letters and Journals of the late Sir Hudson Lowe,’ by Mz. WILLIAM 


Ba Ley >See We ate . Po ~ 
5 Ri i ; : BE es : 


_STRICKLAND.}. ENGLISH LITERATURE. BL 


Forsytu, barrister, three volumes, 1858, is a painful and humilia- 
ting record. ‘The conduct of the exiled military chief was marked 
by disingenuous artifice and petty misrepresentation—by weakness 
- and meanness almost incredible. But Sir Hudson Lowe was not the 
fit person to act as governor: he was sensitive, quick-tempered, and 
of a blunt, unpleasing address. 
__~ Among other works well deserving of study are the ‘ Lectures on 
-. Modern History, from the Irruption of the Northern Nations to the 
_ Close of the American Revolution,’ two volumes, 1848, by Win.iamM 
_ Smytu (1764-1849), some time Professor of Modern History in Cam- 
_ bridge. The successor of Mr. Smyth as historical lecturer in the 
university of Cambridge, Sir JAMES STEPHEN, published ‘Lectures 
on the History of France,’ two volumes, 1851. Sir James was well 
known from his long connection with the Colonial Office as under- 
_ secretary—which office he resigned in 1848—and for his eloquent 
critical and ‘historical contributions to the ‘Edinburgh Review.’ 
Some of these he collected and published under the title of ‘Essays 
_ on Ecclesiastical Biography,’ two volumes, 18538. ° Sir James died in 
- 1859, aged 70. 

The writings of Mr. THomas Wrient, a distinguished archeolo- 
gist, in illustration of early English history, are valuable. These are 
*Biographia Britannica Literaria,’ or biography of literary characters 
of Great Britain and Ireland, during the Anglo-Norman and Anglo- 
- Saxon periods, two volumes, 1842-46; and ‘The Celt, the Roman, 
and the Saxon,’ 1852. Other short contributions connected with the 
Middle ages have been produced by Mr. Wright, and he has edited 
the ‘Canterbury Tales’ of Chaucer, and the ‘ Visions of Piers 
Ploughman.’ : 

The ‘Criminal Trials in Scotland,’ from 1428 to 1624, by Roprerr 
-Prircarrn, W.S.—who died in 1855—form also a valuable contribu- 
tion to the history of domestic life and manners. Of a different 
character, but delightfully minute and descriptive, is a volume by - 
Mr. Rosert Waite, Newcastle (1802-1874), a ‘History of the Bat- 
tle of Otterburn,’ fought in 1388, with memoirs of the chiefs engaged 
in the conflict. The same author has written a copious ‘History of 
_ the Battle of Bannockburn,’ 1871. The ‘Archeology and Prehistoric 
- Annals of Scotland,’ by Mr. Danret Wixson, Professor of English 
Literature in Toronto College, Canada, published in 1851 ; and ‘ Cal- 
_ edonia Romana,’ a descriptive account of the Roman antiquities of 
Scotland, published in 1845, embody the results of long and careful 
study. Mr. J. J. A. Worsaan, a Danish archeologist, has given 
an ‘Account of the Danes and Norwegians in England, Scotland and 
~ Jreland,’ in 1852. Mr. Worsaae was commissioned by the King of 
_ Denmark to investigate the memorials of the ancient Scandinavians 
which might still be extant in this country. DEAN Sranuey has 
brought local knowledge and antiquarian studies to bear upon gen- 
‘eral history in his ‘Memorials of Canterbury,’ 1855; in which we 


ee 
in Bei oa 


> 


», y 


~aea 


ar 


Cae) > a. 


82> 7 *S.*CYCLOPADIA OFS" = ye = =|te Teyom 
oh s : 4 2 ex : - EN Spay é AT: 2 
have details of the landing or Augustine, the murder of Thomas-2. — 
Becket, the Black Prince, and Becket’s shrine. . oie 
' Family histories are good helps to the general historian. Sir” 
Walter Scott hung with delight over the quaint pages of ‘old Pits. 
cottie,’ or the ‘ History of the Houses of Douglas and Angus,’ by ~ 
David Hume of Godscroft, 1644. The great novelist edited another ~ 
work of the same kind, the ‘Memorie of the Somerviles,’ written by — 
a Lord Somerville of the times of Charles I. One of the most in-- 
teresting and complete works of domestic annals is one published in- 
1840; ‘Lives of the Lindsays, or a Memoir of the Houses of Crawford | 
~ and Balcarres, by Lord Lindsay,’ four volumes. The Lindsays were 
of the race ofthe Normans that settled in England under the Con-— 
queror, and two brothers of the family established themselves in ~ 
Scotland in the twelfth century. . é peat 
A ‘History of Roman Literature’ has been written by JoHn 
' Duntop, Esq. From the earliest period to the Augustan age is com? , 
prised in two volumes, and a third volume is devoted to the Augustan 
age. Mr. Dunlop is author also of a ‘ History of Fiction,’ three vol-_ 
umes, 1814. _ His latest production was ‘ Memoirs of Spain during the 
Reigns of Philip IV. and Charles I%.,’ 1621 to 1700, two volumes 1834. 
Mr. Dunlop was a Scottish advocate, sheriff of Renfrewshire; he 
died in'1842. fe 
Some ‘ Historical Memoirs’ by Mr. Marx Napter, advocate, pos- 
-gess interest if not value. The first is ‘Memoirs of John Napier. of 
Merchiston’ (born 1550, died 1617). It is remarkable that so emi- 
nent a man as the inventor of logarithms should have been without a 
special biographer until the year 1°34, the date of Mr. Mark Napier’s~ 
book. The strange combination it presents of abstruse theological 
studies, a belief in the art of divination and other superstitions, and 
great scientific acquirements, all meeting in the character of the old 
Scottish laird, a solitary student in fierce tumultuous times, gives a 
picturesqueness and attraction to the story of his life. Mr. Napier’s 
next work, ‘Memoirs of the Marquis of Montrose,’ two volumes, 
1856, contains original letters of the military hero, and other docu- 
ments from charter-rooms, essential to the history of Montrose. Mr. 
Napier in 1859 produced the ‘Life and Times of John Graham of- 
Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee,’ three volumes. Mr. Napier writes” 
in the spirit of a keen partisan. ‘ with no attempt,’ he says, ‘ to | 
by the purists in composition.’ Indeed his writing’ is such as we 
should expect the Baron of Bradwardine to indite if he took up th pa 
historic pen, though the Baron would have.had more courtesy tor 
wards opponents. Mr. Napier, however, is eager in pursuit of infor- 
mation, and gives his discoveries unmutilated. ‘This veteran defender 
of the Jacobite chiefs was in 1820 admitted a memberof the Scottish” 
bar, and is sheriff of Dumfriesshire “ ee 


LOCKHART.] © “ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~~ 58 


Ake MR. LOCKHART—DBHAN STANLEY. 


. ~ : 
Several important biographical works have already been noticed in 
‘connection with the authors whose lives were related. The number 
- Of new works in this department of our literature continues daily to 
increase, but it is only necessary to notice such as have an original 
- character, or derive special interest from the name and talents of the 
biographer. 
_  -Wlemoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott, Bart., by J. G. Locx- 
- HART, Esq.; his Literary Executor,’ seven volumes, 1837, makes the 
“nearest approach, in fullness of detail, literary importance, and . 
- general interest, to Boswell’s ‘Life of Johnson.’ The near relation- 
ship of the author to his subject might have blinded his judgment, 
yet the Life is written in a fair and manly spirit, without either sup- 
- pressions-or*misstatements that could alter its essential featyres: 
* Into the controversial points of the memoir we shall not enter: the 
author has certainly paid too little deference and regard to the feel- 
/ ings of individuals ; and in most of his conclusions with regard to 
i the Messrs. Ballantyne, we believe him to have been wrong ; yet far - 
- more than enough remains to enable us to overlook these blemishes. 
- The fearless confidence with which all that he knew and believed is 
laid before the public, and Scott presented to the world exactly as he 
- was in life—in his schemes of worldly ambition as in his vast literary 
- undertakings—is greatly to be admired, and well deserves its meed of 
* praise. The book, in the main, exhibits a sound and healthy spirit, 
~ calculated to exercise a great influence on contemporary literature. 
_ Asan example and guide in real life, in doing and in suffering, it is 
- equally valuable. ‘The more,’ says Mr. Lockhart, ‘the details of 

 Scott’s personal history are revealed and studied, the more power- 
- fully will that be found to inculcate the same great lessons with his 
works. Where else-shall we be better taught how prosperity may be 
“extended by bencficence, and adversity confronted by exertion ? - 
~ Where can we see the ‘‘ follies of the wise” more strikingly rebuked, 
and a character more beautifully purified and exalted than in the 
“passage through affliction to death ? His character seems to belong 
to some elder and stronger period than ours ; and, indeed, I cannot 
help likening it to the architectural fabrics of other ages which. he 
“most delighted in, where there is such a congregation of imagery and 
tracery, such endless indulgence of whim and fancy, the sublime 
blending here with the. beautiful, . and there contrasted with the gro- 
tesque—half perhaps seen in the clear daylight, and half by rays 
- tinged with the blazoned forms of the past—that one may be apt 
7 to get bewildered among the variety of particular impressions, and 
~ uot feel either the unity of the grand design, or the height and solid- 
ness of the structure, until the door has been closed on the labyrinth 
© of aisles and shrines, and you survey it from a distance, but still 


within its shadow.” 


54. CYCLOP#DIA OF — 


« 
. 


In 1843 Mr. Lockhart published an abridgment of his Life of 4 


Scott, embracing only what may be called more strictly narrative, to 
which he made some slight additions. One of these we subjoin : - 


The Sons of Great Men. 


The children of illustrious men begin the world with great advantages, if they 
know how to use them; but this is hard and rare. There is risk that in the flush of 
youth, favourable to all illusions, the filial pride may be twisted to personal vanity. 
isorowth, it is apt to do so with a severity that shall 


‘When experience checks this misgr 
each the best sources of moral and intellectual development. The great sons of 
yreat fathers have been few. It is usual to see their progeny smiled at through life. 


for stilted pretension, or despised, at best pitied. for an inactive, inglorious pitta “4 
The shadow of the oak is broad, but noble plants seldom rise within that circle. It 
was fortunate for the sons of Scott that his day darkened in the morning of theirs. , — 
The sudden calamity anticipated the natural effect of observation and_ the collisions 
of society and business. All weak, unmanly folly was nipped in the bud, and soon — 
withered to the root. They were both remarkably modest men, but in neither had 


the@etter stimulus of the blood been arrested. 

Much light is thrown on the Seott and Ballantyne dispute, and on 
the Scotch literature of the period, by ‘ Archibald Constable, and his 
Literary Correspondence ; a Memorial by his Son, Thomas Consta- _ 
ble,’ three volumes, 1878. 

Mr. Lockhart’s ‘Life of Burns,’ originally published in 1828, made — 
a valuable addition to the biographical facts in Dr. Currie’s memoir ~ 
of the poet. It is finely written, in a candid and generous spirit, and 
contains passages—that describing Burns’s appearance among the 
savans of Edinburgh, his life at Ellisland, &c., which mark the hand ~ 


of the master. 


ate eee i he a os 


eS eee ae 


Pt al Se er on een a 


Burns on his Farm at Ellisland. 


'It is difficult to imagine anything more beautiful, more noble, than what such a 
ee as Mrs. Dunlop might at this period be supposed to contemplate as the pro- | 
able tenor of his [Burns’s] life. What fame can bring of happiness he had already 
tasted ; he had overleaped, by the force of his genius. all the painful barriers of SO- _ 
ciety ; and there was probably not a man in Scotland who would not have thought — 
himself honoured by seeing Burns under his roof He had it in his own power to — 
place his poetical reputation on a level with the very highest names, by proceeding — 
in the same course of study and exertion which had originally raised him into pub- — 
lic notice and admiration. Surrounded by an affectionate family, occupied but not — 
engrossed by the agricultural labours in which his youth and early manhood had de- _ 


lighted, communing with nature in one of the loveliest districts of his native land, : 


and, from time to time, producing to the world some immortal addition to his verse 
—thus advancing in years and in fame, with what respect would not Burns have been — 
thought of ; how venerable in the eyes of his contemporaries—how hallowed in those — 
of after-generations, would have been the roof of Ellisland, the ficld.on which he ~ 
‘bound ey day after his reapers,’ the solemn river by which he delighted to wal- — 
der! The plain of Bannockburn would hardly have been holier ground. «= 
As a reviewer, Mr. Lockhart’s critiques were principally biogra-— 
phical; and his notices of Campbell, Southey, Theodore ook, Jef-— 
frey, and others will be recollected by most readers of the ‘ Quarterly — 
Review.’ The sharp, clear, incisive style, and the mixture of scho-— 
lastic taste with the tact of the man of the world, distinguish them 
ali. The biography of Burns afterwards received minute examina= 
tion and additional facts from Dr. Robert Chambers and Dr, P.j 


Hately Waddell. = 


tee fe 


- | 
— 


- LOCKHART.) ENGLISH LITERATURE. 58 


‘The Life and Correspondence of Dr. Arnold,’ by Artnur P. 
STANLEY (now dean of Westminster), two volumes, 1844, is valuable 
as affording an example of a man of noble, independent nature, and 
also as furnishing a great amount of most interesting information 
relative to the public schools of England, and the various social and 
political questions which agitated the country from 1820 to 1840. — 
Whether agreeing with, or dissenting from, the views of Dr. Arnold, 
_ it is impossible not to admire his love of truth and perfect integrity of 
character. In intellectual energy, decision, and uprightness he re- 
-sembled Johnson, but happily his constitutional temperament was as 
elastic and cheerful as that of Johnson was desponding and melan- 
~choly. We add a few scraps from Arnold’s letters and diary, which 
form so interesting a portion of Dean Stanley’s memoir. 


Few Men take Life in Earnest. 


T meet with a great many persons in the course of the year, and with many whom 
JT admire and like; but what I feel daily more and more to need, as life every year 
rises more and more before me in itstrue reality, is to have intercourse with those 
who take life in earnest. It is very painful to me to be always on the surface of 
things; and I feel that literature, science, politics, many topics of far greater interest 
_ than mere gossip or talking about the weather, are yet, as they are generally talked 
about, still upon the surface—they do not touch the real depths of life. It is notthat 
I want much of what is called religious conversation—that, I believe, is often on the 
surface, like other conversation—but I want a sign which one catches as by a sort of 
_ masonry, that a man knows what he is about in life, whither tending, in what cause 
engaged ; and when I find this, it seems to open my heart as thoroughly, and with as 

- fresh a’ sympathy, as when I was twenty years younger. 


Tlome and Old Friends. 


These are times when I am least of allinclined to loosen the links which bind me 
- to my oldest and dearest friends; for I imagine we shall all want the union of all the 
- good men wean get together ; and the want of sympathy which I cannot but feel 
- towards many of those whom I meet with, makes me think how delightful it would 
be to have daily intercourse with those with whom I ever feel it thoroughly. What 
people do in middle life, withont a wife and children to turn to, I cannot imagine ; 
_ for [ think the affections must be sadly checked and chilled, even in the best men, 
by their intercourse with people such as one usually finds them in the world. Ido 
not mean that one does not meet with good and seusible people; but then: their 
minds are set, and our minds are set, and they will not, in mature age, grow into 
each other; but with a home filled with those whom we entirely love and sympathise 
with, and with some old friends, to whom one can open one’s heart fully from time 
‘to time, the world’s society has rather a bracing influence to make one shake off 
mere dreams of delight. 
. London and Mont Blane. 


August 1, 1887.—We passed through London, with which I was once so familiar ; 
and which now I almost gaze at with the wonder of a stranger. That enormous 
city, grand beyond all other earthly grandeur, sublime with the sublimity of the sea 
or of mountains, is yet a place that I should be most sorry to call my home. 
- fact, its greatness repels the notion of home; it may be a palace, but it cannot bea 
home. How different from the mingled greatness and sweetness of our mountain 
-yalleys! and yet he who were strong in body and mind ought to desire rather, if he 
“must do one, to spend all his life in London. than all his life in Westmoreland. For 
“not yet can energy and rest be united in one, and this is not our time and place for 


rest, but for energy. 
a August 2, 1839,—-1 am come oui alonc, my dearest, to this spot, to see the morning 


oe 


] 


: a 


 S 
% 
* 


odie cs ta Be af oot , *s MS p> eee 
m ~ br ot : = r eS 
56 CYCLOP-EDIA OF 3 = 3 pasos 8 76a 


. So ey ma ae 

gun on Mont Blane and on the lake, and to look with more, I trust, than ‘otitward | 
eyeson this glorious scene. Ii is overpowering, like all other intense beauty, if you~ 
dwell upon it; but I contrast it immediately with our Rugby horizon, and our. life of~ 
duty there, and our cloudy sky of England—clouded socially, alas! far more darkly - 
than physically. But, beautiful as this is,~and peaceful, may I never breathe a wish- 
to retire hither, even with you and our darlings, if it were possible; but may I he - 
‘strengthened to labour, and to do and to suffer in our own beloved country and > 
church, and to give my life, if so called upon. for Christ’s cause and for them. - And — 
if—as I trust it will—this rambling and this beauty of nature in foreign lands, shall 
have strengthened me for my work at home, then we may both rejoice that we haye 
had this little parting. 2h 


x 


~ = eS GG 


STR WILLIAM STIRLING-MAXWELL. 


The ‘Cloister Life of the Emperor Charles V.,’ 1852, by WILLIAM | 
Stiriine, of Keir (mow Sir William Stirling-Maxwell, Bart.), sup-— 
plies deficiencies and corrects errors in the popular account of the 
emperor in Robertson’s History. He had access-to documents un: | 
known to Robertson, and was, besides, more familiar with Spanish — 
literature. This work, it must be confessed, destroys part of the © 
romance of the life of Charles, while it adds materially to our knowl- 
edge of it. For example, Robertson states that the table of the em-— 
peror was ‘neat and plain,’ but Sir William draws a very different © 
picture of the cuisine: — ite 


~~ . ae nai 


- its ag 
Epicurean Habits of the Emperor Chartes V. : 


In this matter of eating, as in many other habits, the emperor was himself a true” 
Fleming. His early tendency to gout was increased by his indulgence at table, which — 
generally far exceeded his feeble powers of digestion. Roger Ascham, standing ‘hard 
by the imperial table at the feast of golden fleece,’ watched with wonder the emperor's — 

~ progress through ‘ sod beef, roast mutton, baked hare,’ after which * he fed well offa_ 
capon,’ drinking also, says the Fellow of St. John’s, ‘the best that ever I saw} he | 
had his head in the glass five times.as long as any of them, and never drank‘ess than ~ 
a good quart at once of Rhenish wine.’ Eating was now the only physical gratifica~— 
tion which he could still enjoy, or was unable to resist. He continued, therefore, t6— 
dine to the last upon the rich dishes, against which his ancient and trusty confessor, — 
Cardinal Loaysa, had protested a quarter of a century before. The supply of his ible 
‘Was a main subject of the correspondence between the mayordomo and the secretary 
of state, The weekly courier from Valladolid to Lisbon was ordered to change his 
route that-he might bring, every Thursday, a provision of eels and other rich fish — 
(pescado grueso) tor Friday’s fast. There was a constant demand for anchovies, — 
tunny, and other potted fish, and sométimes a complaint that the tronts of the Goun- 
try were too small; the olives, on the other hand, were too large, and the emperor 
wished. instead, for olives of Perejon. One day, the seeretary of state was asked” 
for some partridges from Gama, a place from whence -the emperer remembers 
that the Connt.of Orsono once sent him, into Flanders, some of the best partridges 
‘in the world. Auother day, sausages were wanted ‘of the kind which” the” 
queen Juana, now in glory, used to pride herself in making, in the Flemish 
~fashion, at Tordesillas, and for the receipt for which the secretary is referred to. 
the Marquess of Denia,’ Both orders were punctually executed. The sausages, 
~ although sent to a Jand supreme in that » anufacture, gave great satisfaction. Of 
the partridges, the emperor said that-they used to be better, Onter pe NOW Orel 
the remainder to be pickled, The emperor’s weakness being generally known OF 
soon discovered, dainties of all kinds were sent to him as presents. Mutton, pork 
and game were the provisions most easily obtained at Xarandilla; but they 
dear. The bread was indifferent, and nothing was good and abundant but chestnar¢ 
the staple food of the people. But in a very few days the castle larder wanted f 
nothing. One day the Count of Oropesa sent an offering of game; another day 


= 
— 
Lo a 


eS a _~ ~ 


. , > Pings : ~ 
>, 2 


MAXWELL.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 2 


pair of fat caives arrived fromthe archbishop of Zaragoza; the archbishop of Toledo 
and the Duchess of Frias were constant and magnificent in their gifts of venison, 
fruit, and preserves ;. and supplies of ali kinds came at regular intervals from Seville, 
and from Portugal. Luis Quixada, who kuew the emperor’s habits and constitution 
well. beheld with dismay these long trains of mules Jaden, as it were, with gout and 
bile. He never acknowledged the receipt of the good things from Valladolid with- 
out adding some dismal forebodings of consequent mischief; and along with an 
order he sometimes couveyed a hint that it would be much better if no means were 
found of executing it. If the emperor made a hearty meal without being the worse for 
it. the mayordomo noted the fact with exultation : and he remarked with complacency 
his majesty’s fondness for plovers, which he considered harmless. But his office of 
urveyor was more commonly exercised under protest; and he interposed between 
is master and an eel-pie as, in other days, he would have thrown himself between 
the imperial person and the point of a Moorish lance. : 


The retirement of the emperor took place on the 3d of February 
1557. He carried with him to his cloister sixty attendants—not 
twelve, as stated by Robertson; and in his retreat at Yuste he wielded 
the royakpower as firmly as he had done at Augsburg or Toledo. Kis 
‘regular life, hovever, had something in it of monastic quiet—his 
time was measured out with punctual attention to his various em- 
ployments; he fed his pet birds or siuntered among his trees and 
flowers, and joined earnestly in the religious observances of the 
monks. The subjoined scene is less strikingly painted than in Rob- 
ertson’s narrative, but is more correct: 


The Emperor performs the Funeral Service for Himself. 


About this time [August 1558], according to the historian of St. Jerome, his 
- thoughts seemed to tun more than usua! to religion andits rites. Whenever during 
_ his stay at Yuste any of his friends, of the degree of princes or knights of the fleece, 
had died, he had ever been punctual in doing honour to their memory, by causing 
_ their obsequies to be performed by the friars; and these lugubrious services may be 
said to have formed the festivals of the gloomy_life of the cloister. The daily masses 
said for his own soul were always accompanied by others for the souls of his father, 
mother, and wife. But now he ordered further solemnities of the funeral kind to be 
erformed in behalf of these relations, each on a different day. and attended them 
imself, preceded by a page bearing a taper, and joiing in the chant, in a very de- 
vout and audible manner, out of a tattered prayer-book. These rights ended, he 
- asked his confessor whether he might not now perform his own funeral, and so do 
- for himself what would soon have to be done for him by others. Regla replied that 
_ his majesty, please God. might live many years, and that when his time came these 
' services would be gratefully rendered. without his taking any thonght about the mat- 
ter. - ‘ But,’ persisted Charles, ‘ would it not be good for my soul?’ The monk said, 
that certainly it would ; pious works done during life being far more efficacious than 
| * 5 . 
when postponed till after death. Preparations were therefore at once set on foot: 
a catafa’que, which had served before on similar occasions, was erected ; and on tire 
following day, the 30th of August, as the monkish historian relates, this celebrated 
Service was actually performed. The high altar. the catafalque, and the whole 
church shone with a blaze of wax-lights; the friars were all in their’places, at the 
- altars, and in the choir, and the household of the emperor attended in deep monrne- 
ing. ‘The pious monarch himself was there, attired in sable weeds. and bearing a 
_ taper, to see himself interred and to celebrate his own obsequies.’ While the solemn 
_ mass for the dead was sung, he came forward and gave his taper into the hands of 
the officiating priest, in token of his desire to yield his soul into the hands of his 
_ Maker. High above, over the kneeling throne and the gorgeous vestments, the 
~ flowers, the curling incense, and the glittering altar. the same idea shone forth in 
_ that splendid cauvas whereon Titian had pictured Charles kneeling on the threshold 
_ of the heavenly mansions prepared for the blessed... . 


me oF.L.V.8—3 


k 


2 age a 


x 


E> ‘a 


38 i CYCLOPAIDIA OF = [ro 1876, 


The funern)-rites ended, the emperor d.ned in his western alcove. He ate ‘tittle, 
fut he remained fora great part of the afternoon sitting in the open air, and bask. 
fnz in the sun, which, as it descended to the hcrizon, beat strongly upon the white 
walls. Feeling a violent pain in his head, he returned to his chamber and lay down, 
Mathisio, whom he had sent in the morning to Xarandrilla to attend the Count of 
_ Oropesa 15 his illness, found him when he returned still suffering considerably, and 
attributed the pain to his having remained too long in the hot sunshine. Next morning 
he was somewhat better, and was able to get up and go to mass, put still felt op- 
pressed, and complained much of thirst. He told his confessor, however, that the 
service of the day before had done him good. The sunshine again tempted him into 
his open gallery. Ashe sat there, he sent for a portrait of the empress, and hung 
for some time, lost in thought, over the gentle face, which, with its blue eyes, 
auburn hair, and pensive beauty, somewhat resembled the noble countenance of that — 
other Isabella, the great queen of Castile. He next called for a picture of Our Lora — 
Praying in the Garden, and then for asketch of the Last Judgment, by Titian. 
Having looked _ his last upon the image of the wife of his youth, it seemed as if he 
were now bidding farewell, in the contemplation of his other favourite pictures, to 
the noble art which he had loved with a love which cares, and years, and sickness 
could not quench, and that will ever be remembered with his better fame. Thus oc- — 
cupied, he remained so long abstracted and motioniess, that Mathisio, who was on 
the watch, thought it right to awake him from his reverie. On being spoken to, he © 
turned round and complained that he was ill. The doctor felt his pulse, and pro-— 
nounced him in a fever. Again the afternoon sun was shining over the great walnut — 
tree, full into the gallery. From this pleasant spot, filled with the fragrance of the ~ 

arden and the murmur of the fountain, and bright with glimpses of the golden — 

Vera, they carried him to the gloomy chamber of his sleepless nights, and laid him - 
on the bed from which he was to rise 10 more. = a 


The emperor died in three weeks after this time—on the 21st of 
September 1558. Sir William Stirling-Maxwell’s narrative, we need 
hardly add, is at once gracefvl and exact. Its author has written 
another Spanish memoir—‘ Velasquez and his Works,’ 1855. There 
was little to tell of the great Spanish painter, whose life was uni-— 
formly prosperous; but Sir William gives sketches of Philip TV. and 
his circle, and adds many critical remarks and illustrations. He — 
prefers Velasquez to Murillo or Rubens. Sir William Stirling-Max-— 
well succeeded to the baronetcy and estate of Pollok (Renfrewshire) — 
in 1865. He was born at the paternal seat of Keir, in Perthshire, in~ 
1818; is an M.A. of Cambridge University, and LL.D. of the uni- | 
versities of Edinburgh and St. Andrews. , 4 


Velasquez’s Faithful Colour-grinder. She TS Oe 


Juan de Pareja, one of the ablest, and better known to fame as the slave of Velas- — 
quez, was born at Seville in 1606. His parents belonged to the class of slaves then 
numerous in Andalusia, the descendants of negroes imported in large numbers into 
Spain by the Moriscos in the sixteenth century ; and in the African hue and features — 
of their son, there is evidence that they were mulattoes, or that one or other of them 
was a black. It is not known whether he came into the possession of Velasquez by 
purchase or by inheritance, but he was in his service as early as 1623, when he 
accompanied him to Madrid. Being employed to clean the brushes, grind the col- 
ours, prepare the palettes, and do the other menial work of the studio, and living 
amongst pictures and painters, he early acquired an acquaintance with the imple-— 
ments of art, and an ambition to use them. He therefore watched the proceedings — 
af his master, and privately copied his works with the eagerness of a lover and the 
secrecy of a conspirator. In the Italian journeys in which he accompanied Velasquez, — 
he seized every opportunity of improvement; and in the end he became an artist of 
no mean skiJi. But his nature was so reserved, and his candle §0 jealously concealed 
under its bushel, that he had returued from his second visit to Rome, and had reached — 

fs 


= ifs eee See ar. es ‘ ; 
i> : = 
MAXWELL. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 59 
_ the mature ago of forty-five, before his master became aware that he could use the 
__ brushes which he washed. When at last he determined on laying aside the mask, he 
_ contrived that it should be removed by the hand of the king. Finishing a small pic- 
_ ture with peculiar care, he deposited it in his mastéz's studio, with its face turned to 
_ the wall. A picture so placed arouses curiosity, and is perhaps more certain to 
_ attract the eye of a loitering visitor than if it were hung up for ine purpose of being 
seen. When Philip IV. visited Velasquez, he never failed to cause the daub or the 
_ masterpiece that happened to occupy such a position to be paraded for his inspec- 
5 tion. He therefore fell at once into the trap, and being pleased with the work, asked 
_ for the author. Pareja, who took care to be at the royal elbow, immediately fell on 

his knees, owning his guilt, and praying for his majesty’s protection. “The good-na- 
_ tured king, turning to Velasquez, said: ‘You see that a painter like this ought not to 
_ Yremain a siave.’ Pareja, kissing the royal hand. rose from the ground a free man. 
_ His master gave him a forma] deed of manumission, and received the colour-grinder 
asascholar. The attached follower, however, remained with him till he died; and 
_-continued in the service of his daughter, the wife of Mazo Martinez, until his own 
~ death, in 1670. 


: G. H. LEWES. 


_ Mr. Grorcr Henry Lewes, eminent as a philosophical essayist, 
 citic and biographer, has written two novels—‘ Ranthorpe,’ 1847; and 
~ Rrose, Blanche, and Violet,’ 1848. In the former, he traces the 
_ moral influence of genius on its possessor, and though there is little 
_ artistic power evinced in the plot of the tale, it is a suggestive and 
able work. In his second novel, which is longer and much more 
skilfully constructed, Mr. Lewes aims chiefly at. the delineation of 
character. His three sisters, Rose, Blanche and Violet, are typical 
_ dfdifferent classes of character—the gay, the gentle and the decided; 
and as each of the ladies forms an attachment, we have other char- 
acters and contrasts, with various complicated incidents and love- 
passages. The author, however, is more of a moral teacher than a 
_ story-teller, and he sets himself resolutely to demolish what he con- 
_siders popular fallacies, and to satirise the follies and delusions 
_ prevaleut in society. Here is one of his ethical positions: 


Superiority of the Moral over the Intellectual Nature of Man. 


_ Strength of Will is the quality most needing cultivation in mankind. Will is 
the central force which gives strength and greess to character. We overestimate 
_ the value of ‘lalent, because it dazzles us; and we are apt to underrate the import- 
ance of Will, because its works are less shinirz. ‘Talent gracefully adorns life; but 
_4t is Will which carries us victoriously through the struggle. Intellect is the 
~ torch which lights us on our way; Will is the strong arm which rough-hews the 
path forus. The clever, weak man sees all the obstacles on his path; the very 
‘orch he carries, being brighter than that of most men, enables him, perhaps, to sce 
_ what the path before him may be directest, the best—yet it also enables him to see 
~ the crooked turnings by which he may, us he fancies, reach the goal without encoun- 
tering difficulties. If. indeed, Inteilect were a snn, instead of a torch—if it irradi- 
tated every corner and crevice—then would man see how, in spite of every obstacle 
_ the direct path was the only safe one, and he would cut the way throngh by manful 
labour. But constituted as we are. it.is the clever, weak men who stumble most—the 
_ strong men who are most virtuous and happy. In this world, there cannot be virtue 
- without strong Will; the weak ‘know the right, and yet the wrong pursue.’ 
. No one, I suppose, wif accuse me of deifying Obstinacy, or even mere brute 
‘Will; nor of depreciating Intellect. But we have had too many dithyvrambs in 
_ honour of mere Intelligence; and the older I grow, the clearer I see that Intellect 


: > (TO 876, - 


60 . CYCLOP/EDIA OF . 


y 


is not the highest faculty in man, although the most brilliant. Knowledge, afterall, ~ 
isnot the greatest thing in life; 1t is not the ‘be-all and the end-all here.’ Lifeis — 
not Science. ‘The ight of Intellect is truly a precious light ; but its aim and end is + 
simpiy toshine. ‘the morsl nature of inan is more sacred in my eyes than his intel- 

lectual nature. I know they cannot be divorced—thaé without intelligence we — 
should be brutes—but it is the tendency of our gaping, wondering dispositions to — 
give pre-eminence to those faculties which most astonish us. Strength of character — 
seldom, if ever, astonishes; goodness, lovingness, and quiet self-sacrifice are worth 
all the talents in the world. ' " 


And in the following we have a sound, healthy doctrine which has 
also received the support of Thackeray: ; r 


Real Men of Genius resolute Workers. ‘a 


There is, in the present day, an overplus of raving about genius, and its pre- — 
scriptive rights of vagaboadage, its irresponsibility, and its insubordination to all — 
the laws of common sense. -Common sense is so prosaic! Yetit appears from the — 
history of art tnat the real men of genius did not rave about anything of the kind. 
They were resolute workers, not idle dreamers. ‘hey knew that their genius was — 
not a frenzy, not a supernatural thing at all, but simply the colossal proportions of 
faculties which, in’a lesser degree, the meanest of mankind shared with them.. They 
knew that whatever it was, it would not enable them to accomplish with success the 
things they undertook, unless they devoted their whole energies to the task. - _ 

Would Michael Angelo have built St. Peter’s, sculptured the Moses, and made — 
the walls of the Vatican sacred with the presence of his gigantic pencil, had he — 
awaited inspiration while his works were in progress? Would Rubens have dazzled 
all the gilleries of H1rope, had h2 allowed his brush. to hesitate ? would Beethoven 
and Mozart have poured out their souls into such abundant melodies? would Goethe _ 
haye written the sixty volumes of his works—had they not often, very often, sat y 
down like dradges to an unwilling task, and found themselves speedily engrossed — 
with that to which they were so averse ? + “ % 

‘Use the pen,’ siys the thoughtful anl subtle author: ‘there is no magic in it; ~ 
but it keeps the mind from staggering about.” This is an aphorism which should he — 
priuted in letters of gold over the studio door of every artist. Use the pen or the — 
brush ; do not pause, do not trifl2, have no misgivings; but keep your mind from 
Staggering about by fixing it resolutely on the matter before you, and -then all that — 
youcan do you will do; inspiration will not enable you to do more. Write or paint: — 
act, do not hesitate. If what you have written or painted should turn out imperfect, — 
you can correct it, and the correction will be more efficient than that correction which ~ 
takes place in the shifting thoughts of hesitation. You will learn from your failures _ 
infinitely more than from the vazue wandering reflections of a mind loosened from ~ 
its moorings; besau32 the failure is absolute. it is precise, it stands bodily before you, — 
your eyes and judgmnt cannot be juggled with, you know whether a certain verse is — 
harm9i0us, whether the rhyme is there or not there; but in the other case you not 
only can juggle with yourself, but do so, the yery indeterminateness of your thoughts — 
mikes you do so ; as long as the idea is not positively clothed in its artistic form, it — 

. 


’* 


is impossible accurately to say what it will be. The magic of the ven lies in theeon- 
ceatratios of your thoughts upon one subject. Let your pen fall, begin to. trifle — 
wit biotting-paper, look at the ceiling, bite your nails, and otherwise dally with your — 
purpose, and yon waste your time. scatter your thoughts, and repress the nervous — 
energy necessary for your task. Some men dally and dally, hesitate and trifle until — 
the last possib!e moment, and when the printer’s boy is knocking at the door, they — 
begin; necessity guading them, they write with singular rapidity, and with singular 
success; they are astonished at themselves. What is the secret? Simply this; they — 
-have had no time to hesitate. Concentrating their powers upon the one object bes — 
fore them, they have done what they cow/ld do. <3 
Impatient reader! if I am tedious, forgive me. These lines may meet the eyes of 
some to whom they are specially addressed, and may awaken thoughts in their minds — 
not unimportant to their future career. Forgive me, if only because I have taken — 
what is called the prosaic side! I have not flattered the shallow sophisms which — 
would give a gloss to idleness and incapacity. I have not ayuiled myself of the _ 


| 


a 


} 


~LEWES.} _ - ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 61 


“~ 


splendid tirades, so easy to write, about the glorious privileges of genius. My 


- *preaching’ may be very ineffectual, but at anyrate it advocates the honest dignity 
_ Of labour; let my cause excuse my tediousness. 


Mr. Lewes isa native of London, born in 1817. He received his 
education partly abroad and partly from Dr. Burney at Greenwich. 


- Being intended for a mercantile life, he was placed in the office of a 


Russian merchant, but soon abandoned it for the medical profession. 
From.this he was driven, it is said, by a feeling of horror at witnessing 
surgical operations, and he took to literature asa profession. His 


principal works are a ‘Biographical History of Philosophy,’ four 


volumes, 1845; ‘The Spanish Drama, Lope de Vega and Calderon,’ 
1846; ‘ Life of Maximilien Robespierre,’ 1849; ‘Exposition of the 
Principles of the Cours de Philosophie wositif of Auguste Comte,’ 


1858; ‘The Life and Works of Goethe,’ two volumes, 1855; ‘ Sea-side 


Studies at Ufracombe, Tenby, the Scilly Isles, and Jersey,’ 1857. In 
the ‘Physiology of Common Life,’ two volumes, 1870, Mr. Lewes 
has made a very readable and instructive compendium of informa- 


_tion on subjects which ‘come home to the business and bosoms of 


men '—such as food and drink, mind and brain, feeling and thinking, 


dife and health, sleep and dreams, &c. We quote a passage which 


may be said to be connected with biography: 


Children of Great Men—Hereditary Tendencies. 


\ 
If the father bestows the nervous system, how are we to explain the notorious in- 
feriority of the children of great men? There is considerable exaggeration afloat on 
this matter, and able men. have been called nullities because they have not manifested 


the great talents of their fathers; but allowing for all over-statement. the,palpabie 


fact of the inferiority of some to. their fathers is beyond dispute, and has helped to 
foster the idea of all great men owing their genius to their mothers; an idea which 
will not bear confrontation with the facts. Many men of genius have had remarka- 
ble mothers; and that one such instance could be cited is sufficient to prove the error 
‘both of the hypothesis which refers the nervous system to paternal influence, and of 


the hypothesis which only refers the preponderance to the paternal influence. If the 


- male preponderates, how is it that Pericles, who ‘ carried the weapons of Zens upon 


his tongne,’ produced nothing better than a Paralus and a Xanthippus? How came 


‘the infamous Lysimachs from the austere Aristides? How was the weighty intel-~ 
lect of Thucydides left to be represented by an idiotic Milesias and a stupid Stepha- 
~ nus? When was the great soul of Oliver Cromwell in his son Richard? Who were 


- the inheritors of Henry IV. and Peter the Great? What were Shakspeare’s children 


and Milton’s daughters? What was Addison’s only son [daughter]? an idiot. Un- 
less the mother preponderated in these and similar instances. we are without an expla- 
nation ; for it being proved as a law of heritage, that the individual does transmit his 


qualities to his offspring. it is only on the supposition of both individua.s transmitting 


their organisations, and the one modifying the other, that such anomalies are conceiv- 
able. When the paternal infitence is not counteracted, we see it transmitted. Hence 
the common remark, ‘ Talent runs in families.’ The proverbial phrases, ‘esprit 


des Mortemarts,’ and the * wit of the Sheridans,’ imply this transmission from father 


to son, Bernardo Tasso was » considerable poet, and his son Torquato inherited his 
faculties, heightened by the inflaecnce of the mother. The two Herschels, the two 
Colmans, the Kemble family, and the Ooleridges, will at once occur to the reader ; 


but the most striking example known to us is that of the family which boasted Jean 


* 
< 


= 


‘ 
be 
See 
fet 


o> 


~ 
yes 


Sebastian Rach as the culminating illustration of a musical genius, which, more or 
fas) o 


- fess. was distributed over three hundred Bachs. the children of very various mothers, 


Here a sceptical reader may be tempted to ask how a man of genius is ever pro- 
duced, if the child is always the repetition of the parents? How can two parents of 


62 | CYCLOPEDIA OF | “fro 1876, 


erdinary capacity produce a child of extraordinary power? We must consider the ° 


phenomenon of atavism, or ancestral influence, in which the child manifests strikin 
resemblance to the grandfather or grandmother, and not to the father or mother. It 


is to be explained on the supposition that the qualities were transmitted from the — 


grandfather to the father, in whom they were masked by the presence of some anta- 
gonistic or controlling influence, and thence transmitted to the son, in whom, the 
antagonistic influence being withdrawn, they manifested themselves. We inherit 
the nervous system no Jess than the muscular and bony, and-with the nervous system 
we inherit its general and particular characters—that is to say, the general sensibility 
of the system, and the conformation of the brain and sensory ganglia, are as*much 
subject to the law of transmission as the size and conformation of the bony and 
muscular structures are; this being so, it is evident that all those tendencies which 
depend on the nervous system will likewise be inherited; and even special aptitudes, 
such as those.for music, mathematics, wit, and so on, will be inherited: nay, even 
acquired tendencies and tricks of gesture will be inherited. But this inheritance is 
in each case subject to the influence exercised by the other parent; and very often 


this influence is such as to modify, to mask, or even to entirely suppress the mani- 4 


festation. 


Mr. Lewes has also been an extensive contributor to the reviews and 


other periodicals ; and he is said to have edited for nearly five years 
a weekly paper, ‘The Leader.’ 


English readers are now becoming familiar with both the life and — 


writings of the great German Goethe. Mr. Carlyle first awakened at- 


tention in this country to the poet’s personal history, as well as to the 


just appreciation of his genius. Since then Mr. OXENFoRD has trans- ~ 


lated the ‘ Autobiography’ and *Eckerman’s Conversations ; Mrs. 
Austin has given us ‘Goethe and his Contemporaries,’ of which 
Faulk’s Reminiscences form the nucleus; and Mr. Lewes has pre- 
sented the public with the ‘ Life and Works of Goethe, with Sketches 


F 


of his Age and Contemporaries,’ 1855. We have the-man and all 4 


his ‘environments’ before us. Goethe's mother seems to have given 


him everything, as Mr. Lewes remarks, which bore the stamp of dis-- 


tinctive individuality. She was a lively, joyous little woman. ‘Order 
and quiet,’ she said, ‘are my principal characteristics. Hence, I des- 
patch at once whatever I have to do, the most disagreeable always 
first, and I gulp down the devil without looking at him. When all 
has returned to its proper state, I defy any one to surpass me in good- 
humour.’ 
Goethe’s mother was just eighteen when he was born, ‘I and my 
Wolfgang,’ she said, ‘have always held fast to each other, because 
we were both young together.’ It is pleasing to know that she lived 
to hail him the greatest citizen of Weimar and the most popular 
author of Germany. The father, a councillor of Frankfort, was 
somewhat cold and formal, but he appears to have been indulgent 
enough to the wayward genius, his son. Mr. Lewes enters at length 
into the poet’s college life at Leipsic and Strasburg, and has had 


access to various unpublished sources of information. The first lit-— 


erary work of Goethe, his drama of ‘Gétz von Bertichingen ’—writ- 
ten in 1771, but not published till 1773—is a vivid picture cf wild 
robber life and feudal times. It caught the fancy of Sir Walter 
Scott, who became its translator; but though highly popular in its 


= 2) 


aes 


- 


ee = te 


eS 


5 SS i eae t 
? : za = - 


agwes] —  —- ENGLISN LITERATURE. — ; 63 


_ day, this tragedy gives but faint indication of the depth or delicacy 
of feeling and the subtle imagination that ‘ interpenetrates’ ‘ Werther. 


The poet, it is well known, wrote from genuine impulses. He was, 
or fancied himself, desperately in love with Charlotte Buff. Char- 
lotte, however, was betrothed to a friend of the poet, Kestner, and a 
complication of passion and disappointment agitated the affectionate 


trio. Charlotte and Kestner were married, and Goethe sought relief 
in his own peculiar way by embodying the story of their love and 
_hisown feelings, with the addition of ideal circumstances, in his 

‘philosophical romance’ of ‘ Werther.’ The romance was published 


in 1774, and Mr. Lewes says: ‘ Perhaps there never was a fiction 
which so startled and enraptured the world. Men of all kinds 


-and classes were moved by it. It was the companion of Napoleon, 


when in Egypt; it penetrated into China. To convey in a sentence 
its wondrous popularity, we may state that in Germany it became a 


_people’s book, hawked about the streets, printed upon miserable 


paper, like an ancient ballad; and in the Chinese- empire, Charlotte 
and Werther were modelled in porcelain.’ In this country also, 
despite its questionable morality and sentimentalism, it had an im- 
mense popularity in an English version. 

Carlyle touches on one cause of this success: ‘ That nameless un- 
rest, the blind struggle of a soul in bondage, that high, sad, longing 
discontent which was agitating every bosom, had driven Goethe 


almost to despair. All felt it; he alone could give it voice, and here 


lies the secret of his popularity.’ A spirit of speculation was 
abroad, men were disgusted with the political institutions of the age,. 
and had begun to indulge in those visions of emancipation and free- 
dom which, in part, led to the French Revolution. Like Ossian’s 
Poems—which were at first as rapturously received—the ‘ Sorrows of | 


_ Werther’ find little acceptance now in this country.* In the original 


the work is a masterpiece of style. ‘We may look through German 
literature in vain for such clear sunny pictures, fullness of life, and 
delicately managed simplicity: its style is one continuous strain of 


music.’ The real and the ideal hid been happily blended. Goethe 
~ Was now a literary lion; and the Duke of Weimar 
_prince—visiting Frankfort, insisted on his spending a few weeks 


the reigning 


at his court ‘On the 7th of November 1775, Goethe, aged 


- twenty-six, arrived at the little city on the banks of the Ilm [Wei- 


* Thackeray’s ballad on the story is more popular: 


_ Werther had a love for Charlotte So he sighed, and pined. and ogled, 
Such as words could never utter; And his passion boiled ai d bubbled, 
Would you know how first he met her? —‘Ti!l he blew his silly brains out, 
She was cutting bread and butter. And no more was by it troubled. 
‘Char'otte was a married lady. Charlotte, having seen his body 
And amoral man was Werther, Borne before heron a shutter, 
And for all the wealth of Indies, Like a well-conducted porson, 
Would do nothing for to hurt her. Went on cutting bread and butter. 


64 -» CYCLOP-EDIA OF 


duchy the immortal renown of a German Athens.’ Mr. Lewes de- — 
scribes Weimar in the eighteenth century. 


mar], where his long residence was to confer on an insignificant 


Picture of Weimar. 


Weimar is an ancient city on the Ilm, a small stream rising in the Thuringian 
forests, and losing itself in the Saal, at Jena, a stream_on which the sole navigation _ 
seems to be that of ducks, and which meanders peacefully through pleasant vallsys,_ 
except during the rainy season, when mountain torrents swell its current and over-_ 
flow its banks. The Trent, between Trentham and Stafford—‘ the smug and silver — 
Trent,’ as Shakspeare calls it—will give you an idea of thisstream. ‘The town is 
charmingly placed in the Iim valley, and stands some eight hundred feet above the 
level of the sea. ‘ Weimar,’ says the old topographer Mathew Merian, ‘is Weinmar — 
because it was the wine-market for Jena and its environs. Others say it was be- | 
cause some cne here in ancient days began to plant the vine, who was hence Called ~ 
Weinmayer. But of this each reader may believe just what he pleases.’ ; 

On a first acquaintance Weimar seems more like a village bordering a park, than 
a capital with a court, and haying all courtly environments. It is so quiet, so sim- 
ple; and although ancient in its architecture, has none of the picturesqueness whica — 
delights the eye in most old German cities. The stone-coloured, light-brown and — 
apple-green houses have high-peaked, slanting roofs, but no quaint gables; no ca- _ 
prices of arcitectural fancy, none of the mingling of varied styles which elsewhere. 
charm the traveller. One learns to love its quiet, simple streets, and pleasant patns, 
fit theatre for the simple actors moving across the scene; but one must live there 
some time to discover its charm. The aspect it presented when Goethe arrived was 
of course very different from that presented now; but by diligent inquiry we may 
get some rough image of, the place restored. First be it noted that the city walis — 
were still erect; gates and portcullis still spoke of days of warfare. Within these 
walls were six orseven hundred houses, not more. most of them very ancient. Un- — 
der these roofs were about seven thousand inhabitants, for the most part not hand- — 
some. ‘The city gates were strictly guarded. No one could pass through them in ~ 
cart or carriage without leaving his name in the sentinel’s book; even Goethe, min- — 
ister and favourite, could not escape this tiresome formaljty, as we gather from one — 
of his letters to the Frau Von Stein, directing her to go out alone, and meet him be- — 
yond the gates, lest their exit together should be known, During Sunday service a — 
chain was thrown across the streets leading to the church to bar out all passengers— 
a practice to this day partially retained: the chain is fastened, but the passengers 
step over it without ceremony. There was little safety at night in those silent streets ; 
for if you were in no great danger trom marauders. you were in constant danger of. 
breaking a limb in some hole or otier, the idea of lighting streets not having pre- — 
sented itself to the Thuringian mind. In the year 1685 the streets of London were — 
first lighted with lamps; and Germany, in most things a century behind England, ~ 
had not yet ventured on that experiment. Jf in this 1854 Weimar is still innocent of_ 
gas, and perplexes its inhabitants with the dim obscurity of an occasional oil-lamp — 
slung on acord across the streets, we may imagine that in 1775 they had not even 
advanced so far. And our supposition is exact. : 

A century earlier, stage-coaches were known in England; but in Germany, pub- 
lic- conveyances, very rude to this day in places where no railway exists. were few 
and miserable, nothing but open carts with unstuffed seats. Diligences on springs 
were unknown before 1800; and what they Were even twenty years ago many rea’ers © 
doubtless remember. Then as to speed; if you travelled post, it was said with pride 
that seldom more than an hour’s waiting was necessary before the horses were got 
ready, at least on frequented routes. Mail travelling was at the rate of five English © 
miles in an hour and a quarter. Letters took nine days from Berlin to (a & 
which in 1854 require only twenty-four hours. So slow wasthe communication of — 
news, that, as we learn from the Stein correspondence, so great an event as the — 
death of Frederick the Great was only known as a rumor a week afterwards in Carls- © 
bad. ‘By this time,’ writes Goethe, ‘you must know in Weimar if it be true.’ — 


4 


With these facilities it was natural that men travelled but rarely, and mostly on 
- 4 

= 

oe 


ENGUISH ‘LITERATURE. 65 


borsshack: What the inns were may be imagined from the unfrequency of travellers, 
and the general state of domestic comfort. 
<i The absence of comfort and Scary taxuPy as distinguished from ornament— 
~ may be gathered from the memoirs of the time, and from such works as Bertuch’s 
‘Mode Journal.’ Such necessities as good locks, doors that shut, drawers opening 
. easily, tolerable knives, carts on springs, or beds fit for a Christian of any other than 
_ the‘ German persuasion,’ are still rarities in Thuringia; but in those days when sew- 
ers were undreamed of, and a post-oftice was a chimera, all that we moderns consider 
t ~ comfort was necess: ily fabulous. The furniture, even of palaces, was extremely 
Berle: In the houses of wealthy bourgeois, chairs and tables were of common fir: 
- not until the close of the eighteenth century did mahogany make its appearance. 
es.  Looking-glasses followed. The chairs were ‘covered with a coarse green cloth; the 
“tables likewise; and carpets are only now beginning to loom upon the national 
5 ema us a possible luxury. The windows were hung with woollen curtains when the 
extravagance of. curtains was ventured on. Easy ‘chairs were unknown ; the only 
Bar mi-chair allowed was the so-called Gr andfather’s chair, which was reserved for ‘Hid 
ee of gray hairs, or the feebleness of age. 
= The salon’ de reception, or drawing-room, into which greatly honoured visitors 
x were shewn, had of course, a kind of Sunday splendour, not dimmed by week-day 
~ familiarity. There hung the curtains; the walls were adorned with family portraits 
ps or some work of extremely ‘ native talent; ;’ the tables alluring the eye with china in 
3 guise of cups, vases, impossible shepherds, and very allegorical dogs. Intothisroom 
‘the honoured visitor was ushered; and ‘there, no matter what the hour, he was 
_ handed refreshment of some kind. This custom—a compound product of hospitality 
x and bad inns—lingered until lately im England, and perhaps is still not unknown in 
8s ‘provinciai towns. 
On eating and drinking was spent the surplus now devoted to finery. Noone then, 
~, except gentlemen of the first w ater, boasted of a gold snuff-box; even a gold- 
_ headed cane was an unusual elegance. The dandy contented himself with a silver 
“watch. The fine lady blazoned herself with a gold watch and heavy chain; but it 
was an heirloom! ‘lo see a modern dinner service glittering with silver, glass 8, and 
china, and to think that even the nobility in those days ate off pewter, is enough to 
_make the lapse of time very vivid to us. A silver tea-pot and tea-tray were held as 
- princely magnificence. The manners were rough and simple. The journeymen ate 
5° the same table with their masters, and joined in the coarse jokes which then 
fe for hilarity. Filial obedience was rigidly enforced, the stick or strap not un- 
requently aiding parental authority. Even the brothers exercised an almost pa- 
_ ternal authority over their sisters. Indeed, the ‘position of women’ was by no 
means such as our women can conceive with patience; not only were they kept 
sy under the paternal, marital, and fraternal yoke, but society limited their actions by 
” tts prejudices still more than it does now. No woman, for instance, of the better 
_ class of citizens could go out alone; the servant-girl followed her to church, to a 
ale or even to the promenade. ame 
e foregoing survey would be incomplete without some notice of the prices of 
‘things, the more so as we shal! learn hereafter that the pension Karl August gave 
- Schiller was 200 thalers—about £60 of our money—and that_the salary Goethe re- 
_ Ceived as Councillor of Legation, was only 1200 thalers—about £200 per anpnum. On 
_ Yeading this, Mr. Smith jingles the loose silver in his pockets, and, with that superb 
_ British pride, redolent of consols, which makes the family of Smith so accurate a 
judge of all social positions, exclaims: ‘ These beggarly Germans; I give my head 
» clerk twice the-sum !? 


At the little court, Goethe was all but idolised. He dressed in the 
costume which he had assigned to his ‘ Werther,’ and the dress was 
adopted by the duke and the courtiers. Tt was not very sentimental, 
as Mr. Lewes suggests, being composed of blue coat and brass buttons, 
top-boots and leather breeches, s surmounted by powder and pig- tail! 
The duke, Karl August, though patronising literature in the person 
_of Goethe, seems to have been somewhat idle and dissipated; the. 


66 CYCLOP-EDIA OF {0 i 


Dowager-duchess Amalia was more intellectual. There was also a 
Baroness von Stein, wife of the Master of the Horse, who captivated — 
Goethe, and the attachment lapsed into a léaison, not uncommon in — 
that court, but which Mr. Lewes passes over too ‘slightly, as a matter 
of course. The poet, however, applied himself to business, was 
made President of the Chamber, Minister of the War Department, ~ u 
and, finally, elevated to the nobitity. Henceforth he is Von Goethe. 
He gets tired, however, of public life; travels into Italy: and, by 
consent of the duke, is released, after ‘his return to W eimar, from 
official duties. His passion for the Frau von Stein now cooled—all - 
his love-scenes are dissolving views; but in the autumn of 1788, E 
Goethe, ‘walking in the much-loved park, was accosted by a fresh, 
young, bright- looking girl, who, with many reverences, handed nit 
a petition.’ The netition contained a request that the great poet 
would exert his influence to procure a post for a young author, ‘the | 
brother of the maiden who then addressed him, and whose name ~ 
was Christiane Vulpius. Christiane was humble in rank, clever, but _ 
not higily gifted—‘ not a Frau von Stein.’ She was, however, | 
elevated to the same bad eminence in the poet’s regard, and, fifteen 
years afterwards, when ason had been born to them—when ‘ Wilhelm : 
Meister,’ the ‘ Faust,’ and * Lyrics’ had placed Goethe at the head of — 
German authors—he married Christiane Vulpius. The ‘sunset,’ 
which Mr. Lewes put at the head of ‘Book the Seventh,’ had then 
commenced. But stirring incidents still remained—the battle of. 
Jena and sack of Weimar, and, subsequently, the gratifying interview _ 
with Napoleon. Love-passages also were interposed, and the Sexa~ 
-genarian poet ‘deposited with deep emotion many a sad experience” 
in his fiction and poetry. All this German sentimentalism seems as — 
unlike real life as the scenes in the sparkling comedies of Congreve 
or Wycherley. Goethe at seventy was younger, Mr. Lewes says, than | 
many men atfifty. The second part of ‘Faust’ was completed in his — 
eighty-first year, and at eighty-two he wrote a scientific paper on 
philosophic zoology. In his latter years his daughter-in-law kept. 
house for him, Christiane having died in 1816. The poet survived 
her nearly sixteen years. Mr. Lewes thus describes the last scene; =, 


Death of Goethe. ; 


The following morn‘ng—it was the 22d March 1832—he tried to walk a little up and 
down the room, “but, after a turn, he found himself too feeble to continue. Reseat- 
ing himself in the easy chair, he chatted cheerfully with Ottilie [his daughter-in-law ¥ 
on the approaching spring, which would be sure to restore him, He had no idea of — 
his end being so near. ‘lhe name of Ottilie was frequently on his lips. She sat be- 
side him, holding his hand in both of hers. It was now observed that his thoughts — 
began to wander incoherently. ‘See.’ he exclaimed, ‘ the lovely woman’s head, with 
black curls, in splendid colours—a dark background!’ Presently he saw a piece of ~ 
paper on the floor, and asked them how they could leave Schiller’s Vee s so carelessly 
lying about. Then.he slept softly, and, on awakening. asked for the aretches! he had 
just “Seen—the sketches of his dream. In silent anguish they awaited the close now . 
so surely approaching. His speech was beccming less end less distinct. ‘The las 
Ww Ons audible were, More light! ‘The final darkness grew apace, aud he whose nee 


mr aa - - 


Nie 


S 

ne 
~ Be 
a | 


- LEWES.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 67 


- 


_ . nal longings kad been for more light, gave a parting cry for it as he was passing 
~ _under the shadow of death. He continued to express himself by signs, drawing let- 
ters with his forefiuger in the air while he had strength; and finally, as life ebbed, 
drawing figures slowly on the shawl which covered his legs. At half-past twelve he 
-. composed himself in the corner of the chair. The watcher placed a finger on her lip 
~ to intimate that he was asleep. If sleep it was, it was a sleep in which a life glided 

~ fro the wor.d. He woke no more. 


The influence which Goethe’s writings exercised on all the litera- 
_ fure of Europe has been noticed by Carlyle, and is fully traced by 
-- Mr. Lewes. He gives copious analyses of the principal works— 
-_ especially the ‘ Faust ’—and on all points of the poet’s history and 
his ‘romances of the heart’ (more properly of the imagination) we 
_ have ample details. No more original or exhaustive memoir has ap- 
eared since Lockhart’s ‘ Life of Scott.’ A new edition of Mr. 
ewes’s work, still further improved, was published in 1875. 


MRS. OLIPHANT. 


~ To Mrs. OnrpHant, the distinguished novelist, we are indebted 
— for two volumes of ‘ Historical Sketches of the Reign of George IL.,’ 
- 1869, which appeared first in ‘Blackwood’s Magazine.’ These con- 
sist of a series of short biographies, political, literary, and fashiona- 
ble. Queen Caroline and Walpole head the list, and to these suc- 
 ._ ceed the ‘man of the world’ (Chesterfield), the. ‘woman of fashion’ 
~. (Lady Mary Wortley Montagu), the ‘poet’ (Pope), the ‘ Young 
Chevalier’ (Charles Edward), the ‘reformer’ (John Wesley), the 
-‘sailor ° (Anson), the ‘ philosopher’ (Berkeizy), the ‘novelist’ (Rich 
ardson), the ‘szeptic’ (David Hume), and the ‘ painter’ (Hogarth) 
~The portraits in this little gallery are drawn with truth and nice dis » 
crimination, and give the reader a good idea of all the leading charac. 
teristics, the tastes and opinions, prevailing in the reign of the second 
Gecrge. Besides these Historical Sketches, Mrs. Oliphant has writ- 
_ten two original and interesting biographies—the ‘ Life of Edward 
Irving,’ and the ‘ Memoir of Count Montalembert,’ the latter ‘a chap- 
ter of recent French history,’ in which Montalembert was for thirty 
years, till his death in 1870, a conspicuous actor. 
4 The Rev. Edward Irving (1792-1834) was a remarkable man, who, 
like George Whitefield, enjoyed amazing popularity as a preacher, 
_ but whose writings fail to give even a faint idea of his power and 
influence. De Quincey considered him ‘the greatest orator of his 
times;’ Coleridge and Carlyle were his intimate friends; George Can- 
ning heard the Scotch minister preach the ‘most eloquent sermon he 
ever listened to; Sir James Mackintosh, too, was a hearer, and 
treasured up a saying of Irving’s while praying for an orphan 
— family, ‘thrown upon the fatherhood of God.’ Wazlitt, Wordsworth, 
and Scott. were all more or less attracted by this meteor, and for a 
~ time a whole host of distinguished, noble, and fashionable persons 


i. 


7 
~. 
an 
/) 4 


68 ~~ CYCLOP-EDIA OF 


witnessed his manifestations.* Around him in London were ‘mad 
extremes of flattery, followed by madder contumely, by indifference 
and neg'sct’ (Carlyle). Edward Irving was a native of Annan, Dum- 
friesshire; was educated at the university of Edinburgh; then assist- 
ant to Dr. Chalmers in Glasgow; afterwards minister of the Scottish 
Church in Hatton Garden, London, whence he removed to a larger 
church built for him in Regent Square. Whilst officiating in the 
latter, he was charged with heresy, and ultimately ejected_by the — 
trustees of the church, and deposed from the ministry by the presby- — 
tery of Annan, by whom he had been licensed. One of his delu- — 
sions was a belief that the millennium would come in less than forty - 
years. The heresy charged against him was maintaining the doc- | 
trine of ‘the fallen state and sinfulness of our Lord’s human nature’ 
—the oneness of Christ with us in all the attributes of humanity. He — 
had also introduced at his church manifestations of miraculous — 
gifts and prophecy and unknown tongues, occasioning scenes of — 
excitement and disorder. A number of his hearers still clung to” 
him, and a sect of ‘Irvingites’ was formed, which is now represented 
by a body of Christians under the name of the ‘ Apostolic Catholic. 
Church.’ Irving was profoundly convinced of the truth of what he — 
preached. ‘ He clave to his belief as to his soul’s soul,’ says Mr. Car-. ~ 
lyle, * toiling as never man toiled to spread it, to gain the world’s ear 
for it—invain. Ever wilder waxed the confusion without and within. — 
The misguided, noble-minded had now nothing left to do but die. 
He died the death of the true and brave.’ His ceath took place at 
Glasgow, December 8, 1884, in the forty-second year of his age. His 
last words were: ‘If I die, I die unto the Lord. Amen.’ Mrs. Oli- 
phant adds: ‘Scarce any man who knew him can yet name, without 

a softened voice and dimmed eye,.the name of Edward Irving—true ~ 
friend and tender heart—martyr and saint.’ When we open the ~ 
works of Irving this mournful speil is broken. They are mostly — 
written in a stilted, unnatural style. Their very titles betray them: 
7.e., ‘For the Oracles of Ged,’ Four Orations; ‘For Judgment to 
Come, an Argument in Nine Parts,’ 1828; and ‘For Missionaries of. 
the Apostolical School, a Series of Orations in Four Parts,’ 1825. 
Irving aiso published several volumes of ‘Sermons, Lectures and 

_ Discourses.’ <A collection of the writings of the once popular divine 
has recently (1864-65) been published by his nephew, the Rey. G. 


- 


* The personal appearance of Irving aided the effect of his preaching. Hewasa — 
tall, athletic man, with dark, sallow complexion and commanding features, long — 
glossy black bair, and with a very obvions squint. Sir Walter Scott, who met him 
one day at a dinner-party, says: ‘I could hardly keep my eyes off him while we were 
at table. He put mein mind of the devil disguised as an angel of light, so ill did 
that horrible obliquity of vision harmonize with the dark tranquil features of his 
face, resembling that of our Saviour in Italian pictures, with the hair zarefully ar- 
ranged in the same manner.’ It was a question with the ladies whether his squint — 
was a grace or a deformity! One lady said he might have stood as a model for St, 
John the Baptist. ? 


‘ 


* 


“mks. OLIPHANT.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 69 


Dod 

Carlyle. ‘To the present generation,’ says Mr. G. Carlyle, ‘ Edward 
_ Irving as a preacher and an author may be said to be unknown,’ but 
the attempt to revive the writings has not, we believe, been success- 
ful. The ‘Life,’ as told by Mrs. Oliphant, and illustrated by his 
own journals and correspondence, constitutes his best and most 
_ durable memorial. 

ee! Loreign Memories. 


4 
a There are some landscapes in the world in which foreign memories, alien to the 
_ place, and in some cases less touching and momentous than the natural local as- 
- sociations, thrust themselves in, and obscure to the spectator at once the nationality 
_ and individual character of the spot. The English traveller, when he climbs the 
~ height of Tuscnlum, has a scene before him full of the grandest memories ofa past 
_-which is the common inheritance of the whole civilised world, His boyish lessons, 
, his youthful studies, if they have done anything for him, have qualified him to 
~ identify every hillock, and hear a far-off voice out of every tomb. Or, if it is not 
- old but modern Rome that charms him, there are a hundred lights on that Campagna, 
a thousand influences of sound and sense about, enough. to move the least imagin- 
_ ative soul. Rome lying distant on the great plain—and the dome that Bnovarotti 
~ hung between earth and heaven. standing out the one thing visible, full of sugyestions 
- of the treasures lying under and about it—are sufficient to overbrim the eager brain. 
~ How is it that, as we stand upon the wistful plateau with that great scene before ns, 
_ Rome and her memories fade from our eyes? ‘Shrivelling like a parched scroll’ 
the plain rolls up and passes away. The Highland hills all black with storms, the 
lonely, desolate, northern seas, the wild moors and mountain-passes. rise up a sad 
_ phantasmagoria over the gray olives and clustering vines. It is the wild pibroch thar 
_ rings in.our ears; it is the heather that rustles below onr feet, and the chill of the 
- north that breathes into our faces. Why? Because yonder in the Duomo a line of 
inscription has canght the traveller’s eye. obliteratizg Frascati and Rome, and all 
Italian thoughts: ‘ Karolus EFdoardus, Filius Jacobi.’ These are the words; and 
__ there lies the high heart mouldered into dust, which once beat against the breast of 
_ the Young Chevalier! ... 


~ Shipwrecked, weary of life, shamed by his knowledge of better things, consumed . 


by vain longings for a real existence such as never could be his, the Chevalier sank ag, 
God help us! so many sink into the awful abyss. To forget his misery, to deadéen 
_ the smart of his ruin. what matters what he did? He Jost in shame, in oblivion und 
painfal decay, the phantasm which was life no longer—with other fantastic shadows 
—ill-choseh wife, ill-governed household, faithless and foolish favourites, a staring 
‘silly spectator-crowd—flitting across the tragic mist. A merciful tear springs to the 
eye, obscuring the fatal outlines of the last sad picture. ‘There sank a man in wreck 
and ruin who was a noble prince when the days were. If he fell into degradation at 
_ the last, he was once as gallant, as tender. as spotless a gentleman as ever breathed 
_ English air or trod Scottish heather. And when the spectator stands by Canova’s 
marble in the great basilica, in the fated land where, with ail the Ceesars, Charles 
_ Edward has slept for nearly a century, it is not the silver trumpets in the choir. nor 
the matchless voices in their Agnus Dez, that haunt the ear in the silence; but some 
rude long-drawn pibroch note, wailing overland and sea, wailing to earth and heaven, 
for a lost cause, a perished house, and, most of all, for the darkening, and shipwreck. 
_ and ruin of a gracious and princely soul. 


George Whitefield and the Bristol Colliers. 

The colliers of Kingswood, near Bristol. were proverbial for their aavage charac- 
ter and brutality. They bad no place of worship. near them, and nobody so much as 
_ as dreamt of inquiring whether by chance they too might have souls to be saved. 
_ The wandering evangelist [Whitefield] saw. and with that instinct or inspiration 
_ which in a great crisis often seems to direct the instrument of Providence, saw his 
_ opportunity at a glance. On the afternoon of Saturday, Febrnary 17, 1739, breaking 
_ the iron decorum. of the church, but not a single thread of the allegiance which 
‘bound him to her, he took his stand on a little summit in the benighted heathen dis- 
_ wict, and proclaimed to the gaping amazed populace the message they had never 


yo il ee 


“A 


ry 


er 


70 CYCLOPEDIA OF ——_—sf'r0. 1876, 


heard before. Ere long, thousands gathered round him, eager to see so new athing, 


~to hear so strange acommunication. Under the spring sunshine they gathered, ‘in — 
an awful manner, in the profoundest silence,’ says the preacher, moved to the heart 
by the unhoped-for magnitude of his own work. The rude miners stood still as” 
death, turning their dark countenance towards him, weeping white tears down their — 
grimy, coal-stained cheeks. Ever since barefooted friars had wandered that way, 
with the wide and elastic commission of Rome, had preachers stood in England by 
field and hedgerows, calling the lost sheep to the fold. The eightee: th-century 
preacher, in his curled wig and comely bands, is no such picturesque figure as the 
Jranciscan ; but yet nothing could have been more impressive than the scenes he — 
descripes with an evident awe upon his own mid. ‘ The trees and hedges were full,’ © 
he says; ‘all was hushed when I began.’ Sometimes as many as twenty thonsand 
collected around the little hill—at times a thrill of emotion ran through the crowd, 
hey wept aloud together over their sins; they sang together with that wonderful 
voice of a multitude which has something in it more impressive than any music, — 
The sun fell aslant over the sea of heads; the ‘solemnity of approaching evening’ 
stole over the strange scene. Through the preacher’s minute, monotonous diary, 
there throbs a sudden fullness of human feeling as he records it. It was sometimes — 
almost too much for him. And as he tells us the story at this long distance, we are ~ 
stil touched by the tears in his voice. ; 
»DR. WILLIAM REEVES. b 

In 1857, Dr. Witir1AM Rexrves, Dublin, published an edition of 
Adamnan’s ‘Life of St. Columba’ (Vita Sancti Columbee: Auctore — 
Adamnano Monasterii Hiensis), edited for the Irish Archeological 
Society. Adamnan was the ninth abbott of Hy or Iona, founded by © 
Columba, the great apostle of the Western Highlanders or Scoto-— 
Irish, said to be born in the year 521, arrived in Scotland from Ireland © 
in 563, died in 597. It appears from Adamnan’s narrative that Col- 
umba required an interpreter when communicating with the king of 
the Picts. It is stated, however, that before his death he had founded 
above one hundred monasteries, and three hundred churckes, and had 
ordained three thousand clergy. So much could not have been done ~ 
in one life-time if the Scoto-Irish and Pictish tongues had been radi- 
cally different Dr. Reeves printed Adamnan’s ‘ Life’ from a manu- 
script of the eighth century, with the various readings of six other 
manuscripts preserved in different parts of Europe. He added copious” 
notes and dissertations illustrative of the early history of the Colum- - 
ban institutions in [reland and Scotland. The work evinces immense 
research, learning, and paticnt investigation. . 


LORD CAMPBELL. 


The legal biographies of Jonn, LonpD CAMPBELL, supply a blank 
that had often been felt in the record of British worthies, and they 
convey in a diffuse but agreeable way a general knowledge of his- 
tory, political and social, and of constitutional law and principles. Had 
proper research been exercised, they would have been valuable. Tho 

'* Lives of the Chancellors and the Keepers of the Great Seal of Eng- 
land, from the Earliest Times till the Reign of George IV.,’ extend to 
seven volumes, published in 1845-47; and the ‘ Lives of the Chief 
Justices of England, from the Norman Conquest till the death of 
Lord Mansfeld,’ form two volumes, 1842. ‘The style of the noble 


ib, ** ) = #2 S- Se “ ie 2" 57, ¥ ‘y * 7 4 
ase ory aE sg a pe Ng eae 
Pati : % ” : ; ? 
* 32, “ a = 
a. a : ce , a 
eee t - 


~ camepett.] _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 71 


pe Picerapher : ‘s often loose and careless, and there are many inaccuracies 
n dates and facts; but there are few more pleasant books than the 
x Lives of the Chancellors,’ and it has been eminently successful.. In 
his later biographies, Lord Campbell had the advantage of original 
_ papers, as well as some personal knowledge of the chancellors. The 
_ whole of Lord Loughborougb’s papers were communicated to him by 
Lord Rosslyn; he obtained many of Erskine’s letters, and also letters 
‘of Lord Eldon. A love of anecdote and gossip seasons these me- 
-moirs, while, in conclusion, the noble author sums up tke merits and 
at demerits of each of his subjects with judicial impartiality and often 
- with discrimination. Lord Campbell himself succeeded to the wool- 
~-sack—the crowning glory of a long, laborious life. He was born 
September 15, 171, the son of a Scottish minister, Dr. George 
S<Gamapbell, of Cupar, Fife. Having received his education, and taken 
his degree as A.M. at the university of St. Andrews, he repaired to 
London, entered himself of Lincoln’s Inn, and while keeping his 
terms, officiated as reporter and critic for the ‘ Morning Chronicle.’ 
He was called to the bar in 1806, and though retarded in promotion 
__ by his Whig principles, he was invested with the silk gown in 1827, 
~ andin 1830 was returned to parliament for the borough of Stafford. 
B _Tn 1884 he was appointed attorney general; in 1841, lord chancellor 
- of Ireland, with a peerage; in 1850, chief justice of England; and in 
1859, lord chancellor—a fortunate and brilliant career, Ww ith an old 
_ age of physical and intellectual vigour rarely paralleled. aoe its pos- 
: sessor failed to command general respect. Hedied June 28, 1861. In 
~ 1869 more than eight years after his death, appeared eae of Lord 
~ Lyndhurst and Lord Brougham,’ which had been written but not 
finally revised by Lord Campbell, as a-continuation of his Lives of 
the Lord Chancellors. This is a gossiping, untrustworthy work, 
_ written in a mean, depreciatory spirit. 


oa 
- 
> 
= 


-. JAMES SPEDDING. 


he ‘betters and Life of Francis Bacon’—Lord Bacon—collected 
_ and edited, with a commentary, by JAMES SPEDDING, M.A. (1874), is 
a a work of great research and labour, extending to seven volumes. 
It is supplementary to the edition of Lord Bacon’s works, collected 
and edited by Mr. Spedding, Mr. R. L. Ellis, and Mr. D. D. Heath, 
__ which also extends to seven volumes. The publication of the Works 
4 and Life was spread over the long period of seventeen years, during 
_ which the care and research of the editors seem never to have relaxed. 
_ Mr. Spedding says his object was to enable _ posterity to “form a true 
3 conception of the kind of man Bacon was,’ and accordingly he gives 
- an unusually full record of a more than ‘unusually full life. The 
~~ question of legal guilt Bacon himself admitted. The moral culpa- 
bility Mr. Spedding does not consider so clear, considering the cor- 
_ rupt practices of the age, and the philosopher's carelessness as to 
_ money and household management. 


fs 
ice ¢ 


4 Z 


>. J 
73 . ~e-CYE€LOP.-EDIA_ OF fro 1876; Bi. 
_ I knownothing more inexplicable than Bacon’s unconsciousness of the state of hia — 
own case, unless it be the case itself. ‘hat he, of all men, whose fault had always 
been too much carelessness about money—who, though always too ready ‘o borrow, _ 
to give, to lend, and to spend, had never been either a bargainer, or a grasper, or a 
hoarder, and whose professional experience must have continually reminded him of  — 
the peril of meddling with anything that could be construed into Corruption—that he ~ 
should have allowed himself on any account to accept money from suitors while their 
cases were before him, is wonderful. ‘Vhat he should have done it without feeling at 
the time that he was laying himself open to a charge of what in law would be called 
bribery, is more wonderful still. That he should have done it often, and not lived 
under an abiding sense of insecurity—from the consciousness that he had secrets to 
conceal, of which the disclosure would be fatal to his reputation, yet thesafe keeping __ 
did not rest solely with himself—is most wonderful of all. Give him credit for noth- 
ing more than ordinary inteiligence and ordinary prudence—wisdom for a man’s self 
—and it seems almost incredible. And yet I believe it was the fact. The whole 
course of his behaviour, from the first ramour to the final sentence, convinces me” | 
that not the discovery of the thing only, but the thing itself, came upon him as a 
surprise; and that if anybody had told him the day before that he stood in denger of — 
a charge of taking bribes, he would have reccived the suggestion with unaffected in- 
credulity. How far I am justified in thinking so, the reader shall judge for himself ; 
for the impression is derived solely from the tenor of the correspondence. 


A ‘History of England’ from the year 1830 to 1874 has been pub- 
lished in three volumes by Win1aAM-Nassau Mo.esworta, vicar of — 
Spotland, Rochdale. Mr. John Bright, M.P., has commended this _ 
work as a book ‘honestly written,’ and ‘calculated to give greatiin-- — 
formation to the young men of the country.’ The work appears to 
merit the commendation, and it aims at no higher praise. We quote 
a brief notice of a memorable national loss and solemnity: 5 


Death of the Duke of Wellington. 


During the interval between the dissolution and re-assembly of Parliament (1852) 
an event occurred which deeply stirred the heart of the whole nation, from the Queen 
on the throne to the lowest and meanest of her subjects. The Duke of Wellington, 
who had attained to the 84th year of his age, had for some time past been becoming 
more and more infirm. On the 14th of September his feebleness had very percepti- 
bly increased. and at about a quarter past three in the afternoon of that day he tran- 
quilly breathed his last at Walmer Castle, where he was then residing. The qualities - 
which caused him to be regarded with such deep reverence and admiration by the 
great majority of his fellow-countrymen, and made his decease, at the end of so long 
a Kife, to be deeply and sincerely regretted, were admirably described in wordswhich 
Mr. Gladstone quoted from a former speech of Lord John Russell, and waich he elo- ~ 
quently complimented and applied to the present occasion. “ 

‘While many of the actions of his life, while many of the qualities he possessed, 
are unattainable by others, there are lessons which we may all derive from the life 
and actions of that illustrious man. It may never be given to.another subject of the 
British crown to perform services so brilliant as he performed; it may never be 
given to another man to hold the sword which was to gain the independence of 
fiurope, to rally the nations around it, and while England saved herself by her con- 
stancy, to save Europe by her example; it may never be given to another man, after 
having attained such eminence, after such an unexampled series of victories, to shew 
equal moderation in peace as he has shewn greatness in war, and to devote the re- __ 
mainder of his life to the cause of internal and external peace for that country — 
which he has so served; it may never be given to another man to have equal autho- — 
‘ity both with the sovereign he served and with the senate of which he was to the 
end avenerated member; it may never be given to another man after such a career — 
to preserve even to the last the full possession of those great faculties with which he — 
was endowed, and tocarry on the services of one of the most important departments — 
of the state with unexampled’ regularity and success, even to the latest day of his — 


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_ $PEDDING.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 73 
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_ life. These are circumstances, these are qualities which may never again occur in 
- -the history of this country. But there are qualities which the Duke of Weliington 
— dispiayed of which we may all act in humble imitation: that sincere and uusceusing 
~ devotion to our country ; that honest and upright determination to act for the bene- 
fit of the country on every occ’ ion; that devoted loyalty. which, while it made him 
ever anxious to serve the crown, never induced hiin to conceal from the sovereign 
tiat which he believed to be the truth; the devotedness in the constant performance 
of duty ; that temperance.of his life, which enabled him at all times to_give bis mind 
- and his faculties to the services which he was called on to perform; that regular, 
consistent, and unceasiug piety by which he was distinguished at all times in his 
life: these are qualities that are attainable by others, and these are qualities which 
shou!d not be lost as an example.’ 
q A public funeral was of course decreed, and never in any country was such a sol- 
emnity celebrated. The procession was planned, marshalled, and carried out, with 
~ adiscretion, a judgment, and a-good taste, which reflected the highest honour on the 
civil and inilitary authorities by whom it was directed. Men of every arm and of 
- every regiment in the service, for the first and last time in the history of the British 
~ army, marched together on this occasion. But what was more admirable still was 
_ the conduct of the incredible mass of sympathetic spectators, who had congregated 
from all parts of the kingdom, aud who formed no insignificant proportion of its 
_- population. From Grosvenor Gate to St. Paul’s Cathedral there was not one foot of 
- vnoccupied ground; nota balcony, not a window, that was not filled; and as far as 
- conid be observed, every face ainidst that vast multitude wore an expression of re- 
_ spectful sorrow.. An-unbroken silence was maintained as the fureral cortége moved 
slowly and solemnly forward to the mausoleum prepared to receive the remains of 
England's greatest warricr in the centre of the sinpendous masterpiece of Wren’s 
_- architectural genius. 


HEPWORTH DIXON. 


_ ‘The lives of John Howard,’ 1850 ; ‘ William Penn,’ 1851 (revised 
edition, 1872); and ‘Admiral Blake,’ 1852, by Mr. Wiutiam Usp. 
wortH Dixon, may also be characterised as original biographies. 
_ In the cases of Howard and Blake, Mr. Dixon had access to family 
_ papers, and in that of Penn he has diligently studied the records of 
_ tne period and the now neglected works of the Quaker legislator. In 
_ this memoir Mr. Dixon has combated some of the statements of Lord 
_ Macaulay relative to Penn. We have already indicated our impres- - 
- sion that the noble historian had taken too low and unfavcurable an 
. estimate of Penn’s character and motives, and it is impossible, we 
think, to read Mr. Dixon’s memoir without feeling how greatly Penn 
- transcended most of the public men in that venal period of English 
history. As a specimen of the biographer’s style, which is occasion- 
_ ally too ornate, we extract part of his account of the death of Blake. 
_ The last great exploit of the admiral had been his punishing the cor- 
sairs, and freeing the Christian captives at Sallee, on the western 
coast of Africa. 


The Death of Admirwl Blake, August 27, 1657. 


4 This crowning act of a virtuous and honourable life accomplished. the dying ad- 
_ ‘iralturned his thonghts anxiously towards the green hills of his native jand. “The 
_ letter of Cromwell. the thanks of parljament, the jewelled ring sent to him by an ad- 
Iniring country, all reached him together out at sea. These tokens of grateful re- 

_ Membrance caused him a profound emotion. Without after-thought, without selfish 
‘impulse, he had served the Commonwealth day and night. earnestly, anxiously, and 

_ With rare devotion. England was grateful to her hero. With the letter of thanks 
_ from Cromwell, a new set of instructions arrived, which allowed him to return with 


, 


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i 


74 CYCLOPAIDIA OF roe TB Bee 
part of his fleet, leaving his squadron of some fifteen or twenty frigates to ride be ~ 
fore the Bay of Cadiz and intercept its traders: with their usual deference to his 
judgment aud experience, the Protector and Board of Adimiralty left theappointment 
of the command entirely with him; and as his gallant friend Stayner was gone to 
¥ngland, where he received a knighthood and otuer well-won honorrs from the goy- 
aynient, he raised Captain Stouks, the hero of Porto Ferino, and a commanderof 
rare promise, to the responsible position of his vice-admiral in the Spanish seas, 
Hoisting his pennon on his old flagship, the S¢. George, Blake saw forthe Jast time I 
i>e spires and cupolas, the musts and towers, before which he had kept his long and 
4 torious vigils. While he putin for fresh water at Cascaes Road, he was very - 
weak. ‘I beseech God to strengthen him,’ was the fervent prayer of the English ~ 
resident at Lisbon, as he departed on the homeward voyage. While the ships rolled 
through the tempestuous waters of the Bay of Biscay he grew every day worse and 
worse. Some gleams of the old spirit broke forth as they approached the 
latitude of England. He inquired often and anxiously if the white cliffs were yet 
in sight. He longed te behold the swelling downs, the free cities, the goodly churches é 
of his native land. But he was now dying beyond all doubt. Many of his favourite > 
ofiicerssilently and mournfully crowded round his bed, anxious to catch the last tones 
of a voice which had so often called them to glory and victory. Others stood at the ¥ 
poop aud forecastle, eagerly examining every speck and line on the horizon, in hope > 
of being first to catch the welcome glimpse of land. Though they were coming home 
crowned with laurels, gloom and pain were in every face. At last the Lizard’wasan- 
nounced. Shortly afterwards, the bold cliffs and bare hills of Cornwall loomed out 
grandly in the distance. But it was now too late for the dying hero. He had sent ~ 
for the captains and other great officers of his fleet to bid them farewell; and while 
they were yet in his cabin, the undulating hills of Devonshire, glowing with the tints 
of early autumn, came full in view. As the ships rounded Rame Head, the spires - 
and masts of Plymouth, the woody heights of Mount Edgecombe, the low island of 
St. Nicholas, the rocky steeps of the Hoe, Mount Batten, the citadel, the many pictu- 
resque and familiar‘features of that magnificent harbour rose one by one to sight. But 
the eyes which had so yearned to behold this scene once more were at that very in- 
stant closing in death. Foremost of the victorious squadron, the St. George rode 
with its precious burden into the Sonnd; and just as it came into full view of the 
eager thousands crowding the beach, the pier-heads, the walls of the citadel, or dart- 
ing in countless boats over the smooth waters between St. Nicholas and the docks, — 
ready to catch the first glimpse of the hero of Santa Cruz, and salute,nim with a true — 
English welcome, he, in his silenf cabin, in the midst of his lion-hearted comrades, — 
now sobbing like little children, yielded up his soul to God. d 


Mr. Dixon is a native of the West Riding of Yorkshire, born in 
1821. He was entered of the Middle Temple, but devoted himself 
to literature, and in 1853 became editor of the ‘Atheneum.’ This 
weekly literary journal, often quoted in our pages, was established 
about the year 1828, and has certainly done more for modern literary 
history and bibliography than any other work of this century. Mr. — 
Dixon relinquished his connection with the ‘Atheneum’ in 1869, 
and has since become a voluminous author. His chief works are— 
‘The Holy Land,’ 1865; ‘New America,’ 1867; ‘Spiritual Wives,’ - 
1868: ‘Free Russia,’ 1870; ‘Her Majesty’s Tower,’ four volumes, _ 
1871: ‘ The Switzers,’ 1872; ‘History of Two Queens,’ 1874; &c. 


The Black Man—the Red Man—the Yellow Man.—From ‘New America.’ — 


The Black Man, a true child of the tropics, to whom warmth is like the breath of — 
life, flees from the bleak fields of the north. in which the waite man repairs his fibre 
and renews his blood; preferring the swamps and sayannahs of the south. where, — 
among palms, cotton-plants, and sugar-canes, he finds the rich colours in which his — : 
eye delights, the sunny heats in which his blood expands. Freedom would not 
tempt him to go northward into frost and fog. Even now, when Massachusetts and — 


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~~ Connecticut tempt him by the offer of good wages, easy work, and sympathisin 
people, he will not goto them. He only just endures New York; the most hardy o 
his race will hardly stay in Saratoga and Niagara beyond the summer months. 
Since the south has been made free to Sam to live in, he has turned his back on the 
cold and friendly north, im search of a brighter home. Sitting in the rice-tivld, by 
the cane-brake, under the mulberry-trees of his darling Alabama, with his kerchief 
round his head, his banjo on his Kuee, he is joyous as a bird, singing his endless and 
foolish roundelay, and teeling the sunshine burn upon his face. The negro is but a 
local fact in the country ; having his proper home in a corner—the most sunny cor- 
ner—of the United States. 
The Red Man, once a hunter of the Alleghanies, not less than of the prairies and 
the Rocky Mountains, has been driven by the pale-face, he and his squaw, his elk, 
e his buffalo, and his antelope, into the far western country ; into the waste and deso- 
late lands. lying westward of the Mississippi and Missouri, ‘The exceptions hardly 
break the rule. A band of picturesque pedlers may be found at Niagara; Red 
- Jackets, Cherokee chiefs and Mohawks; selling bows and canes, and generally 
_ sponging on those youths and damsels who roam about the Falls in search of oppor- 
tunities to flirt. A colony, hardly of a better sort, may be found at Oneida Creek, 
in Madison County ; the few sowing maize, growing fruit, and singing psalms; the 
many starving on the soil, cutting down the oak and maple, alienating the best acres, 
pining after their brethren who have thrown the white man’s giftin his face, and gone 
away with their weapons and war-paint. Red Jacket at the Falls, Bill Beechtree at 
Oneida Creek—the first selling beaded work to girls, the second twisting hickory 
~canes for boys—are the last representatives of mighty nations, hunters and warriors, 
who at one time owned the broad lands from the Susquehannah to Lake Erie. Red 
Jacket will not settle; Beechtree is incapable of- work. The red-skin will not dig, 
and to beg he is not ashamed. Hence, he has been pushed away from his place, 
driven out by the spade, and kept at bay by the smoke of chimney fires. A wild 
man of the plain and forest, he makes his home with the wolf, the rattlesnake, the 
buffalo, and the elk. When the wild beast flees, the wild man follows. The Alle- 
ghany slopes, on which, only seventy years age, he chased the elk and scalped the 
white women, will hear his war-whoop, see his war-dance, feel his scalping-knife, no 
more. In the western country he is still a figure in the landscape. From the Mis- 
souri to the Colorado he is master of all the open plains; the forts which the white 
imen have built to protect their roads to San Francisco. like the Turkish block- 
houses built along the Syrian tracks, being mainly of use as a hint of their great re- 
serve of power, ‘The red men find it hard to lay down a tomahawk, to take up a hoe3 
some thousands of them only yet have done so; some hundreds only have learned 

- from the whites to drink gin and bitters, to lodge in frame-houses, to tear up the 
soil, to forget the.chase, the war-dance, and the Great Spirit. 

The Yellow Man, generally a Chinese, often a Malay, sometimes a Dyak, has 
been drawn into the Pacifie states from Asia, and from the Eastern Archipelago, by 
the hot demand for labour; any kind of which comes to him asa boon. From dig- 

4 ging in the mine to cooking an omelet and ironing a shirt. he is equal to everything 

y which dollars can be gained. Of these yellow people there are now sixty thou- 
sand in California, Utah, and Montana; they come and go; but many more of them 
come than go. As vet these harmless crowds are weak and useful. Hop Chang 
keeps a laundry; Chi Hi goes out as cook; Cum Thing is a maid-of-all-work. 
Yhey are in no man’s way, and they labour for a crust of bread. To-day, those yel- 
low men are sixty thousand strong. They will ask for votes. They will hold the 
balance of parties. In some districts they will make.a majority; selecting the 
judges, forming, the juries, interpreting the laws. Those yellow men are Buddhists, 
professing polygamy, practising infanticide. Next year is not more sure to come in 
its Own season, than a great society of Asiatics to dwell on the Pacific slopes. A 
Suddhist church, fronting the Buddhist churches in China and Ceylon, will rise in 
California, Oregon, and Nevada. More than all, a war of Jabour will commence be- 
tween the races which feed on beef and the races which thrive on rice; one of those 
wars in which the victory is not necessarily with the strong. 


A Hundred Years of White Progress.—From the ‘ White Conquest.’ 


The European races are spreading over every continent, and mastering the isles 
and islets of every sea. During those hundred years some powers have shot ahead, 


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76 CYCLOPEDIA OF (ro 1876, 


and some have slipped into the second rank. Austria, a hundred years ago, the lead- 
ing power in Europe, has been rent.asunder and has forfeited her thronein Germany. 
Spain, a hundred, years .ago, the first colonial empire in the world, has lost her 
coicnies and conquests, and has sunk into a third-rate power. France, which little 
more than a hundred years ago possessed Canada, Louisiana, the Mississippi Valley, 
the island of Mauritius, and a strong hold in Hindustan, has lost all those posses- 
sions, and exchanged her vineyards and corn-fields on the Rhine for the snows of 
Savoy and the sands of Aigiers. Piedmont and Prussia, on the other hand, have 
sprung into the foremost rank of nations. Piedmont has become Italy, with a 


capital in Milan and Venice, Florence and Naples, as well asin Rome. Still more ~ 


striking and more glorious has been the growth of Prussia. A hundred years ago 
Prussia was just emerging into notice as a small but well-governed and hard-fighting 


country, with a territory no larger than Michigan, and a population considerably less - 


than Ohio. In a hundred years this small but well-governed and hard-fightin 

Prussia has become the first military power on earth. Kussia, during these hundre 

years, has carried her arms into Finland. Crim ‘Tartary, the Caucasus. and the Mo- 
hammedan Khanates, extending the White empire on the Caspian and the Euxine, 
and along the Oxus. and Jaxartes into Central Asia. Vaster still have been the 
marches and the conquests of Great Britain, her command of the ocean giving her 
facilities which are not possessed by any other power. Within a hundred years or 
thereabouts, she has grown from a kingdom of ten millions of people into an empire 
of two hundred and twenty millions, with a territory covering nearly one-third of 
the earth. Hardly less striking than the progress of Russia acct England has been 
that of the United States. Starting with a population no larger than that of Greece, 
the Republic has advanced so rapidly that in a hundred years she has become the 


— 


third power as to size of territory, the fourth as to wealth of population in the ; 


world. 


‘Sol and population are the two prime elements of power. Climate and fertility ~ 


count for much; nationality and compactness count for more: but still the natural 
basis of growth is land, the natural basis of strength is population. Taking these 
two elements together, the Chinese were, a hundred years ago, the foremost family 
of mankind. They held a territory covering three millions of square miles, and a 
population counting more than four hundred millions of souls. But what a change 


has taken place! China has been standing still, while England, Russia, and America: 


have been conquering, planting, and annexing lands. 


JOHN FORSTER. 


This indefatigable literary student and biographer was a native of » 


Newcastle, born in 1812. Coming early to London, he studied at — 


the London University, and became a contributor to periodical works. 
He was called to the bar, but never practised. In 1834 he joined 
the ‘ Examiner’ newspaper as assistant editor, and on the retirement 
of Mr. Albany Fonblanque, he became sole editor, and continued so 


for ten years. He was induced, through friendship with Charles — 


Dickens, to become, in 1846, editor of the ‘ Daily News,’ but held 
that laborious office for only about eleven months. His future life 
was devoted to literary labours—chieily to historical and literary 


‘biographies. His principal works are—‘ Statesmen.of*the Common- — 


wealth of England,’ 1831-4; ‘Life of Oliver Goldsmith,” 1848; ~ 
‘Biographical and Historical Essays,’ 1859; ‘Arrest of the Five 


Members by Charles I.; ‘Debates on the Grand Remonstrance,’ 
1860; ‘Sir John Eliot, a Biography,’.1864; ‘Walter Savage Landor, 
a Biography,’ 1868; and ‘ Life of Charles Dickens,’ three volumes, 
- 1871-4. In 1875 Mr. Forster published the first volume of a new 
‘Life of Jonathan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick’s,’ which was to be 


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~ completed in three volumes. This volume is enriched with much 


~ new and valuable information, and like all Mr. Forster’s biographies, 


a the work promised to be thoroughly exhaustive. 


‘ Swift’s later time, when he was governing Treland as well as his 


_ deanery, and the world was filled with the fame of Gulliver, is,’ 
_ says Mr. Forster, ‘ broadly and intelligibly written. But as to all 


the rest, his life is a work unfinished ; to which no one has brought 


- the minute examination indispensably required, where the whole of | 


-a career has to be considered to get at the proper comprehension 
of certain parts of it. The writers accepted as authorities for the 


_ obscurer portion are found to be practically worthless, and the defect 


A 


is not supplied by the later and greater biographers. Jobnson did 
him no kind of justice, because of too little liking for him ; and Scott, 
- with much hearty liking, as wellas a generous “admiration, had too 
much other work to do. Thus, notw ithstanding noble passages in 
both memoirs, and Scott’s per vading tone of healthy, manly wisdom, 


- it is left to an inferior hand to attempt to complete the tribute begun 


by those distinguished men.’ 

- “Mr. Forster lived to publish only one volume. We may add that 
- the biographer was successful in life. His name stood well with pub- 
_lishers and readers. In 1855 he was appointed Secretary to the Lunacy 
~ Commission, and in 1861 a Commissioner in Lunacy. ‘Few English- 
men of this generation,’ says a friendly writer in the ‘Times,’ have 


combined such unflinching firmness and honesty of purpose with 


* such real tenderness and sympathy for all with whom they were 
_ brought into contact. Many there were who, at first sight, thought 
~ John Forster obstinate and overbearing, who, on further acquaint- 


ance, were ready to confess that, in reality, he was one of the tender- 


est and most generous of men.’ Mr. Forster bequeathed his books 
Band manuscripts to the nation—a valuable bequest—and they remain 
in the South Kensington Museum. A similar bequest was made by 
_ Mr. Forster’s friend, ALEXANDER Dyce (1798-1869), the editor of 
Shakspeare and of the dramatic works of Peele, Greene, Marlowe, 
and Beaumont and Fletcher. Mr. Dyce was horn i in Edinbur ch, son 
of General Dyce, in the Honourable East India Company’s Service, 
_ Having studied at Edinburgh University and at Excter College, Ox- 
ford, he entered into holy orders, and was successively curate in 
. Fowey, Cornwall, and Nayland in Suffolk. Mr. Dyce was a faithful 
aud learned editor. His latest employment was revising the second 
edition of his Shakspeare; and the third edition was published by Mr. 
Forster in 1874. 


The Literary Profession and Law of Cop wright —From Forster's ‘Life 
of Oliver Goldsmith.’ 

‘It were well,’ said Goldsmith, on one occasion, with bitter truth, ‘if none but 

_ the dnnces.of society were combined to render the profession of an author ridiculous 


7 or unhappy.’ The profession themselves have yet to learn the secret of co-operation ; 
they have to put away internal jealousies; they have to claim for themselves, as poor 


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78 CYCLOP.EDIA OF 


Goldsmith, after his fashion, very loudly did, that defined position from which — 
eater respect, and more frequent consideration in public life. could not long be ~ 
withheld; in fine, they have frankly to feel that their vocation, properly regarded, — 
ranks with the worthiest. and that. on all occasions. to do justice to it, and to each 
other, is the way to obtain justice from the world. If writers had been thus true to — 
themselves, the subject of ccpyright might have been equitably settled when atten- 
tion was first drawn to it; but while De Foe was urging th. author’s claim, Swift was _ 
calling De Foe a fellow that had been pilloried, and we have still to discuss.as in 
forma pauperis the rights of the English author. *s 
Confiscation is a hard word, but after the decision of the highest English court, — 
it is the word which alone describes fairly the statute of Anne, for encouragement of ~ 
literature. That is now superseded by another statute, having the same gorgeous 
name, and the same inglorious meaning; for even this last enactment, sorely re- — 
sisted as it was, leaves England behind any other country in the world, in the amount — 
of their own property secured to her authors. In some, to this day, perpetual copy- 
right exists ; and though it may be reasonable, as Dr. Johnson argued that it was, to ~ 
surrender a part for greater efficiency or protection to the rest, yet the commonest — 
dictates of natural justice might at least require that an author’s family should not be — 
beggared of their inheritance as soon as his own capacity to provide for them may — 
have ceased. In every continental country this is cared for, the lowest term secured — 
by the most niggardly arrange ent being twenty-five years; whereas in England it — 
is the munificent number of seven. Yet the most laborious works, and often the ~ 
most delightful, are for the most part of a kind which the hereafter only can repay. — 
The poet, the historian, the scientific investigator, do indeed find readers to-day; but — 
if they have laboured with success, they have produced books whose substantial re-~ 
ward is not the large and temporary, but the limited and constant nature of their © 
sale. No consideration of morai right exists, no principle of economical science can 7 
be stated, which would justify the seizure of such books by the public, before they — 
had the chance of remunerating the genius and the labour of their producers.  —~ s 
But though parliament can easily commit this wrong, it is not in such case the ~ 
quarter to look to for redress. There is no hope of a better state of things till the © 
author shall enlist upon his side the power of which parliament is but the inferior ex- _ 
pression. The true remedy for literary-~vrongs must flow from a higher sense than — 
has at any period yet prevailed in England of the duties and responsibilities assumed 
by the public writer, and of the social consideration and respect that their effectual — 
dscharge should have undisputed right to claim. The world will be greatly the — 
gainer, when such time shall arrive, and when the biography of the man of genius — 
shall no longer be a picture of the most harsh struggles and mean necessities to 4 
which man’s life is subject, exhibited as in shameful contrast to the calm and classic — 
glory of his fame. With society itself rests the advent of that-time.* 


ee 


* It may be interesting to compare Mr. Forster’s view of Goldsmith and the supposed — 
neglect of authors with the opinion of Lord Macaulay: ‘Goldsmith has sometimes been — 
represented asamanof genius, cays lines tated by the world.and doomed to struggle with © 
difficulties, which at last broke his heart. But no representation can be more remote — 
from the truth. He did. indeed, go through much sharp misery before he had done any= _ 
thing considerable in literature. Butafterhis name had appeared on the title-page of The — 
Zraveller, he had none but himself toblame for his distresses. His averageincome.during — 
the last seven years of his life. certainly exceeded £160 a year: and £100 a year jankedle 
among the incomes ofthat day. at least.as high as £300 a year would rank at present. A 
single man living in the Temple with £100a year might then be cal'ed opulent. Not 
one in ten of the yonng gentlemen of good families who were studying the law there had 
somuch. But all the wealth which Lord Clive had brought from Bengal, and Sir Law- 
rance Dundas_from Germany. joined together, would not have sufficed for Goldsmith. — 
He spent twice as much as he had. He wore fine clothes gave dinners of several courses, | 
peed court to venial beauties. He had also.it should be remembered. to the honour of his — 
eart. thougn not of his head, a guinea. or five. or ten, according to the state of his purse, 
ready for any tale of distress. true or false. But it was not in dress or feasting. in pro- 
miscuous amours or promiscuous charities. that his chief expense lay. He had been from _ 
boyhood a gambler, and at once the most sanguine and the most unskillful of gamblers. 
For a time he put off the day of inevitable Tuin by temporary expedients He obtained 
advances from bookselleis. by promising to execute works which he fever begun. But at * 
\sngth this source of supply failed. He owed more tLan £2000 and he saw no hope of. 
WStrication from his embarassments. His spirits and health gayeway.’ | ae £ 


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 -MAssoN.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 79 
a PROFESSOR MASSON—SIR JAMES STEPHEN, 


— The ‘Life of John Milton, narrated in. connection with the Politi- 


7 ‘eal, Ecclesiastical, and Literary History of his Time,’ volume i, 1608- 
- 1639, by Davip Masson, Professor of Rhetoric and English Litera- 
ture in the university of Edinburgh, promises to be by far the most 
~ accurate as well as the fullest memoir of the great poct. » ‘As if to 
~ oblige biography in this instance to pass into history, Milton’s life di- 
vides itself with almost mechanical exactress into three periods, cor- 
responding with those of the contemporary social movement—the 
first extending from 1608 to 1640, which was the period of his educa- 
_ tion and of his minor poems; the second extending from 1640 to 
- 1660, or from the beginning of the civil wars to the Restoration, and 
forming the middle period of his polemical activity as a prose-writer; 
and the third extending from 1660 to 1674, which was the period of 
his later muse and of the publication of ‘‘ Paradise Lost.” It is the 
. pian of the present work to devote a volume to each of those periods.’ 
_ Such is the herculean task Mr: Masson has laid out for himself. He 
has cleared up many doubtful points in the poet’s pedigree and aca- 
demical career, and given a great mass of interesting information, 
_ literary, historical, and ecclesiastical, conveyed in vigorous and often 
‘eloquent language. A second volume of the ‘ Life of Milton’ was pub- 

~ lished in 1871, and a third in 1873. 


Character of Archbishop Laud. 

What with one means of influence, what with another. Laud, in the year 1632, 

- being then in the sixtieth year of his age, was the dominant spirit in the English 

~ Church, and one of the chiefs of the English state. One would fain think and speak 

‘with some respect of any man who has been beheaded : much more of one who was 

beheaded for a cause to which he had conscientiously devoted his life, and which 

~ thousands of his countrymen, two centuries after his death, still adhere to, still 

exp@ind, still uphold, albeit with the difference, incalculable to themselves, of all 

that time nas flung between. But it is impossible to like or admire Laud. The 

nearer we get to him, the more all soft iilusion falls off, and the more Gistinctly we 

__ have before us the hard reality as D’Ewes and others saw it. of a ‘little. low, red- 

~ faced man,’ bustling by the side of that king of the narrow forehead’ and the melan- 

_ choly Vandyck air, or pressing his-notions with a raspy voice at the council-board 

till Weston became peevish and Cottington wickedly solemn, or bowing his head in 
churches not very gracefully. 

When we examine what remains of his mind in writings, the estimate is not en- 
hanced. Thetexture of his writing is hard, dry, and coimmon; sufficiently clear as 
to the meaning, and with no insincerity or superfluity, but without sap, radiance. or 
force. Occasionally, when one of his fundamental topics is touched, a kind of dull 
heat rises. and one can see that the old man was in earnest. Of anything like depth 

_ or comprehensiveness of intel'ect, there is no evidence; much less of what is under- 
' stood by genius. There is never a stroke of original insight ; never a flash of intel- 
lectual generality. In Williams there 7s genius; notin Laud. Many of his humble 
clericai contemporaries, not to speak of such known men as Fuller and Hacket, 
_ must have been greatly his superiors in talent—more discerning men, as well as 
more interesting writers. That very ecclesiastical cause which Laud so conspicu- 
ously defended, has had, since his time, and has at this day in England, far abler 
heads among its adherents. How was it. then, that Laud became what he did be- 
‘come, and that slowly, by degrees, and against opposition? how was it tbat his pre- 
cise personality and no other worked its way vpwards, through the clerica] and acade- 
mic clement of the time, to the very top of ah, and there fitted itself into the very 


- = 


80 /-CYCLOPEDIA OF ~~? [toq8y6.05 


socket where the joints of things met? Parvo regitur mundus intellectu. A small 
intellect, once in the position of government, may svftice for the efficial forms of it; 
and with Land’s laboriousness and tenacity of purpose. his power of maintaining” 
his place of minister, under-such a master as Charles, needs be no mystery. Solong — 
as the proprietor of an estate is satisfied, the tenants must endure the bailiff, what- 
ever the amount of his wisdom. Then, again, in the last stages of Laud’s ascent, 
he rose through Buckingham and Charles, to beth of whom surely his nature, with- — a 
out being great, may have recommended itself by adequate affinities. oo 
Still, that Land impressed these men when he did come in contact with them, and a 
that, from his original position as a poor student in an Oxford college, he rose step_ 2 
by step to the point where he could come in contact with them, are facts not ex- 
plicable by the mere supposition of a series of external accidents. Perhapsitisthat.  — 
a nature does not always or necessarily rise by greatness, or intrinsic superiority to. 
the element about it, but may rise by peculiarity, or proper capillary relation tothe 
the element about it. When Lord Macaulay speaks of Laud_as intellectually an : 
‘imbecile,’ and calls him ‘a ridiculous old bigot,’ he seems to Omit that peculiarity “ 
which gave Laud’s nature, whatever its measure by a modern standard, so much ~ t 
force and pungency among his contemporaries. To have hold of the surrounding 
sensations of men, even by pa‘n and irritation, isa kind of power: and Laud had § 


that kind of power from the first. He affected strongly, if irritatingly, each suc- 
cessive part of the body-politic in which he was lodged. As a fellow of a college, — - 
he was more felt than liked; as a master of a college, he was still felt, but not liked; “f 
when he came first about court, he was felt still, but still not liked. And why was 2 
he felt? Why, in each successive position to which he attained, did he affect sur- a 
rounding sensation so as to domineer? For one thing, he was a man whose views, if 


few, were extraordinarily definite. His nature, if not great, was very tight. Early 
in life he had taken up certain propositions as to the proper theology of the Angli- 
can Church, and had combined them with certain others as to the divine right of ° 
Prelacy, and the necessity and possibility of uniformity in creed and worship. 
These few very definite propositions, each answering to some tendency of 
society or of opinion at the time in England, he had tied and knotted 
round him as his sufficient doctrinal outfit. Wherever he went, he carried 
them with him and before him, acting upon them with a brisk and incessant per-- 
severance, without regard to circumstances, or even to establish notices of what was ~ 
fair, high-minded, and generous. Thus, seeing that the propositions were of a kind — 
npon which some conclusion or other was er might be made socially imperative, he 
could force to his own conclusions ali laxer, though larger natures, that were tending 
lazily the same way, and, throwing a ccntinually increasing crowd of such and of 
others behind him as his followers, leave only in front of him those who oppose@ to ~ 


Pann ee EY 8 eres oe te 


his conclusions as resolute contraries. His indefatigable official activity contributed 
to the result. Beyond all this, however, and adding secret force to it all, therewas 
something else about Laud. Though the system which he wanted to.enforce was” | 


one of strict sectilar form, the man’s own being rested on a trembling basis of the 
fantastic and unearthly. Herein Jay one notable, and perhaps compensating differ- 
ence between his narrow intellect and the broad but secular genivs of Williams. In _ + 
that strange diary of Laud, which is one of the curiosities of our literature, we see 2 
him in an aspect in which he probably never wished that the public should know > — 
him. His hard and active public life isrepresented there hut casually, and we sce the 
man in the secrecy of his own thoughts, as he talked to himself when alone. 
We hear of certain sins, or, at least, ‘unfortunatenesses,’ of his early and past life, t 
which clung about his memory, were kept by anniversaries of sadness or penance, 
aud sometimes intruded grinning faces throngh the gloom of the chamber when — gf 
all the house was asleep. We see thet, after all, whether from such causes or 
from some forni of constitutional melancholy, the old man, who walked so briskly 
and cheerily about the court, and was so sharp and unhesitating in all his notions of — 
what was to be done in secret, carry in him some sense of the burden of life’s mys- 
tery, and feel the air and earth to some depth around him to be full of sounds and 
agencies unfeatured and unimaginable. At any moment they may break through! | 
The twitter of two robin redbreasts in his room. as he is writing a sermon. sets hig > 
heart beating ; a curtain rustles—whose hand touched it ?. Above all he has a belief 
in revelation through dreams and coincidences; and as the very definiteness of his — 
scheme of external worship may have been a refuge to him from that total mystery, — x 


SAA, 


a p 
7% 
eps! 


Ae 3 oe act 5 . E F : x - 
Neiiscon)  < -» ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 81 


the skirts of which, and only the skirts, were ever touching him, so tn his dreams 
and small omens he seems to have had, in his daily advocacy of that. scheme, some 
petty sense of near metaphysical aid. Out of his many dreams we are fond of this 
one: ‘January 5 [1626-7]. Epiphany Eve and Fricay, in the night I dreained, he 
says, ‘that my mother, jong sce dead, stood by my bed, and drawing aside the 
clothes a little, looked pleasantly upon me, and that I was glad to see het with somerry 
an aspect. She then shewed to mea certam old man, long since deceased, whom, 
while alive, I both knew and loved. He seemed to lie upon the ground merry enough, 
but with a wrinkled countenance. His name was Grove. While I prepared to saluce 
him, I awoke.’ Were one to adopt what seems to have been Laud’s own theory, 
might not one suppose that this wrinkled old man of his dream, squat on the super- 


+ 7 4 7¢ * Ia 5 it ¢ a 4 
~ natura! ground near its confines with the natural, was Laud’s spiritual genius, and so 


; dpe pig te : : + iHdng 
that what of the supernatural there was in his policy consisted mainly of moni 
from Grove of Honae 2 ‘he question would still remain—at what depth back among 
the dead Grove was permitted to roam ? 


“Mr. Masson has published ‘ Essays Biographical and Critical,’ 1856; 
‘British Novelists and their Styles,’ 1859; ‘Recent British Philoso- 
phy,’ 1865; ‘The Life of William Drummond of Hawthornden, 
1873; &c. Mr. Masson has also been a copious contributor to our 


_ reviews, magazines, and other literary journals. He is a native of 


Aberdeen (born Dec. 22, 1822), and enjoys universal respect as a 
genial and accomplished author, professor, and member of the lite- 
rary society of the Scottish capital. 


Luther’s Satan. 


Milton’s Satan and Goethe’s Mephistopheles are literary performances ; and, for 
what they prove, neither Milton nor Goethe nee! have believed in a devilat all. Lu- 


_ther’s devil, on the other hand. was a being recognised by him as actually existing— 
as existing, one might say, with a vengeance. ‘| he strong conviction which Luther 


had on this point is a feature in his character. The narrative of his life abounds in 
anecdotes. shewing that the devil with him was no chimera, no mere orthodoxy, no 
fiction. In every page of his writings we have the word Teufel, Teufel, repeated 
again and again. Occasionally there occurs an express dissertation upon the nature 


and functions of the evil spirit ; and one of the longest chapters in his ‘ Table-talk ? 


vA 


is that entitled ‘The Devil and. his Works’—indicating that his conversation with 


his friends often turned on the subject of Satanic agency. Terfel was actually the 
strongest signification he had; and whenever he was excited to his highest emotional 


pitch, it came in to assist his utterance at the climax, and give him a corres- 
ponding powerful expression. ‘This thing I will do,’ it was common for him to 


say, ‘in epi of all who may oppose me, be it duke, emperor, priest. bishop, cardinal, 
~ pope, or devil.’ Man’s heart, he says, is a ‘Stock, Stein, Eisen, Teufel, hart Herz’ 
- (a stock, stone, iron, devil, hardheart). And it was not a mere vague conception he 
- -had of this being, such as theology might oblige. On the contrary, he had observed 
_ him as a man would his personal enemy, and in so doing had formed a great many 


vase’ 
? 


i 


conclusions regardipg his powers and his character. In general, Luther’s devil may 
be defined as a personification. in the spirit of Scripture. of the resisting medium 
which Luther had to coil his way through—spiritual fears. passionate uprisings, 
fainting resoiutions, within himself; error, weakness, envy, in those around him}; 
and, without, a whole world howling for his destruction. It is in effect as if Luther 
had said: ‘Scripture reyeals to me the existence of a great accursed heing, whose 
function it is to produce evil. It is for me to ascertain the character of this being, 
whom I, of all men, have to deal with. And how am I to do so except by observing 
him working? God knows [have not far to go in quest of his manifestations. 
And thus Luther went on filling up‘the scriptural proposition with his daily experl- ~ 
ence. He was constantly gaining a clearer conception of his great personal antago- 
nist, constantly stumbling upon some more concealed irait in the spirit’s eharacter. 


‘The being himself was invisible; but men were walking in the midst of his mani- 


aS 

, ie 
=) 
—— - 


7 


82 | CYCLOPADIA OF 


festations. History to Luther was not a physical course of events. It was God acti 
ing and the devil opposing. 2 
London Suburbs— Hampstead. 34 ; 
London, with all the evils resulting from its vastness, has suburbs as richand — 
eautiful, after. the English style of scenery, as any in the world: and even now, 
despite the encroachments of the ever-encroaching- brick and mortar on the sur- — 
rounding country, the neighborhood of Hampstead and Highgate, near London, ig _ 
one in which the lover of natural beauty and the solitary might well delight. ‘The 
ground is much the highest round London; there are real heights and hollows, so 
that the omnibuses coming from town have put on additional horses; you ascend - 
steep roads, lying in part through villages or quaint shops, and old high-gabled brick 
houses, still distinct trom the great city, though about to be devoured by it—in part ~ 
through straggling lines of villas, with gardens and grassy parks round them, and> 
here aud there an old inn; and from the highest eminences, when the view is clear, _ 
you can see London left behind, a mass of purplish mist, with domes and steeples visi- 
ble through it. When the villages end, you are really in the country. ‘here is the 
Heath, on the Hampstead side—an extensive tract of knolls and liitle gleus, covered 
here and there with furze, ali abloom with yellow in the summer, when the larks- 
may be heard singing over it; threaded here and there by paths with seats in them, _ 
or broken by clumps of trees, and blue rusty-nailed palings, which inelose old- — 
fashioned family-houses and shrubberies, where the coachman in livery may be seen ~ 
talking lazily to the gardener, but containing also sequestered spots where one might. — 
wander a:one for hours, or lie concealed amid the sheltering furze. At night, Hamp-~— 
stend Heath would be as ghastly a place to wander in as an uneasy spirit could de- 
sire. In every hollow seen in the starlight, one could fancy that there had been a. 
_ murder; nay, tradition points to spots where foul crimes have been committed, or 
where, in the dead of night. forgers, who had walked, with discovery on their track, — 
along dark intervening roads from the hell of lamp-lit London, had lain down and © 
poisoned themselves. In the day, however, and especially on a bright summer day, 
the scene is open, healthy, and cheerful. : : 


a. oe a oe 


L 


wee he ee en ee” 


ac 


ee 


in 


Ae diem i) 


Nae 


he a 


“+ 
™ 


Be sae 


The ‘Essays on Ecclesiastical Biography.’ by Sim JAMES STEPHEN — 
(1789-1859), contain brief memoirs of Hildebrand, St. Francis of 

Assisi, Loyola, Luther, Baxter, Wilberforce, the founders of Jesuit-— 
ism, the Port-Royalists, the Clapham Sect, &c. As originally pub-— 
lished in the ‘Edinburgh Review, these essays were nearly as popular — 
with a large body of readers as those of Macaulay, though on less — 
attractive subjects. They were first published in a collective form ‘ 
in 1849, and have gone through several editions. SirJames Stephen 
was long legal adviser to the Colonial Office, then assistant Under-— 
secretary to the Colonial Office, and afterwards Under-secretary of 
State, which office he held from 1836 to. 1847. He was a valuable - 
public servant and a good man. hes, a 


» 


J, P. MUIRHEAD (Life of Watt)—s smiues (Life of Stephenson). 3 


A relative of James Wati, James Parrick MurrapanD, M. A., 
who had access to all the family papers. published a volume in 154, 
entitled ‘The Origin and Progress of the Mechanical Inventions of 
James Watt:’ three volumes, 1858. The large copper-plate engray- 
ings of machinery by which it was illustrated necessarily raised the 
cost of this work above the means of most people, while the minute 
descriptions of patents and their relative drawings, were more desira- 
ble for the use of the scientific engineer and the mechanical philoso- - 


“MUIRHEAD.]  ~. ENGLISH LITERATURE. —_ 83 
rt 


pher than of the general reader. To meet the wishes of the latter, 
Mr. Muirhead, in 1858, remodel!ed and reproduced, in a form at once 
“more comprehensive, more convenient, and less costly, the biographi- 
cal memoir of Watt, incorporating with it the most interesting pus- 
sages in his correspondence, and, as far as possible, Watt’s own clear 
-and forcible descriptions of his inventions. This volume furnishes 
‘fan interesting account of the career of the great inventor, of whom 
‘Sir Walter Scott has said that he was ‘not only the most profound 
man of science, the most successful combiner of powers and calcu- 
lator of numbers, as adapted to practical purposes—was not only one 
of the most generally well-informed, but one of the best and kindest 
of human. beings.’ James Watt was born on the 19th of January 
-1786, at Greenock, and came of a family that for more than a hun- 
dred years had more or less professed mathematics and navigation. 
Many stories are told of his early turn for scienee. When he was 
“six years of age, a gentleman, calling on his father, observed the child 
bending over a marble hearth with a piece of coloured chalk in his 
hand. © Mr. Watt, said he, ‘you ought to send that boy to a public 
‘school, and not allow him to trifle away his time at home.’ ‘ Look 
how my child is occupied before you condemn him,’ replied the 
father. The gentleman then observed that the boy had drawn 
“mathematical lines and circles on the marble hearth, and was then 
marking in letters and figures the result of some calculation he was 
“carrying on; he put various questions to him, and ended by remark- 
‘ing, ‘heis no common child.’ Sitting one evening with his aunt, 
Mrs. Muirhead, at the tea-table, she said: ‘James Watt, I never saw 
such an idle boy: take a book, or employ yourself usefully. For the 
last hour, you have not spoken one word, but taken off the lid of that 
kettle and put it on again, holding now a cup and now a silver spoon 
‘over the steam.’ James was already observing the process of con- 
‘densation. Before he was fifteen years of age, he had made for him- 
self a small electrical machine, with which he sometimes startled his 
young friends by giving them sudden shocks from it. This must 
‘have been only a few years after the Leyden phial wasinvented. His 
father’s store-rooms, in which he kept a stock of telescopes, quad- 
rants, and optical instruments for the supply of ships at Greenock, 
were a valuable school of observation to the young philosopher, and 
“may have tended to decide the profession which he selected for him- 
self—that of mathematical instrument-maker. 
At the age of eighteen, he removed to Glasgow to learn this busi- 
“ness, and a year afterwards repaired to London for the same pur- 
pose. But bad health—a gnawing pain in his back, and weariness 
all over his body’—obliged him to quit London in the year 1756 ; and 
after investing about twenty guineas in tools and useful books on his 
‘trade, he returned to Scotland. In 1757 he received permission to 
occupy an apartment and open a shop within the precincts of the 
college of Glasgow, and to use the designation of ‘ mathematical 


s4 -CYCLOPEDIA OF \ [ro 1876, 


sy 4 


eer we 


instrument-maker to the university.’ And now, in his twenty-first. 
year, may be said to have commenced the wonderful career of James 
Watt asa man of inventive genius. Business was sufficiently prosper- 
ous, and in his leisure hours he studied without intermission. * Obser- ~ 
vare’ was the motto he adopted, and his object, as he himself ex-~ 
pressed it, was ‘to find out the weak side of Nature, and» vanquish 
her;? ‘for Nature,’ he says again, ‘has a weak side, if we can only — 
find it out.’ Nothing came amiss. Without knowing one musical — 
note from another, he undertook to buildan organ for amagon- lodge — 
in Glasgow. He had studied the philosophical theory of music, and ~ 
not only did he make the organ, but in the process a thousand things 
occurred to him which no organ-builder ever dreamed of—nice indi- 
cators of the strength of the blast, regulators of it, &c.. He after- | 
wards made many organs; and guitars, flutes, and violins of his 
manufacture are still in existence. About this time he also contrived — 
an ingenious machine for drawing in perspective. ‘The great dis-— 
covery which led to the ultimate triumphs of the steam-engine was . 
made when Watt was: only twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of 
age—namely, in 1764 or 1765. Dr. Black, an intimate friend, thus ~ 
narrates the circumstance: . 


ig ts 


The Steam-engine. 


A few yeaxs after he was settled at Glasgow, he was employed by the Erofessoal i 
of Natural Philosophy to examine and rectify a small workable model of a steam- 
engine, which was out of order. This turned a part of his thoughts and fertile in- — 
vention to the nature and improvement of steam-engines, to the “perfection of their | 
machinery, and to the different means by which their great consumption of fuel ‘ 
might be diminished, He soon acquired such a reputation for his knowledge on 
this subject, that he was employed to plan and erect several engines in different 
places, while at the same time he was frequently making new experiments to lessen_ 
the waste of heat from the external surface of the boiler. and from that of the cylin-— 
der. But, after he had been thns employed a considerable time, he perceived that by 
far the greatest waste of heat proceeded from the waste of steam in filling the cylin- 
der with steam. In filling the cylinder with steam, for every stroke of the common 
engine a great part of the steam is chilled and condensed by the coldness of the 
cylinder, before this last is heated enough to qualify it for being filled with elastic 

vapour or perfect steam; he perceived, therefore, that by preventing this waste of 
eteam, an Incomp: wably greater saving of heat and fuel would be attained than by 
any other contrivance. If was thus in the beginning of the year 1765 that the fortu- 
nate thought occurred to him of condensing the steam by cold in a separate vessel 
or app: aratus, between which and the cylinder ; a communication was to be opened for 
that purpose every time the steam was to be condensed ; while the cylinder itsclf- 
night be preserved perpetually hot, no cold water or air being ever adinitted into its 
cavity. This capital improvement flashed on -his mind at once, and filled him with 
rapture. 

Here was the weak side of Nature, by the discovery of which he 

vanquished her. Dr. ee also an intimate friend, assigns the 
discovery to the year 1764 Dr Robison gives an account of an 
interview with Watt at this time: ‘I came into Mr. Watt’s parlour 
without ceremony, and found him sitting before the fire, having 
lying on his knee a little tin cistern, which he was looking ag. (A 


entered into conversation on what we had been speaking of at last 
- ~~ 


“utRHEAD.) | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 85 


meeting—something about steam. All the while Mr. Watt kept 
looking at the fire, and laid down the cistern at the foot of his chair. 
At last he looked at me, and said briskly: “ You need not fash your- 
self any more about that, man; I have now made an engine that 
shail not waste a particle "of steam. It shall all be boiling hot: ay, 
and hot water injected, if you please.” So saying, Mr. Watt looked 
with complacency at the little thing at his feet ,and, seeing that I ob- 
served him, he shoved it away under a table with his foot. I puta 
question about the nature of his contrivance. Le answered me 
rather drvly. I did not press him toa further explanation. . . 
-J found Mr. Alexander Brown, a very. intimate acquaintance of Mr. 
“Watt's, and he immediately accosted’ me with: ‘“ Well, have 
you seen Jamie Watt?” © Yes.” “He'll bein high spirits now 
with his engine, isn’t: he?” ‘ Yes,” said I, “ very fine spirits.” 
“Ay,” says Mr. Brown, ‘“‘ the condenser’s the thing; keep it but cold 
enough, and you may have a perfect vacuum, whatever be the heat 
- of the cylinder, ” ‘The instant he said this, the whole flashed on my 
mind at once.’ 
The first experiment was made with a common anatomist’s great 
injection syringe for a cylinder, but the contrivance was perfect in 
Watt’s mind, and fitted the engine at once for the greatest and most 
— powerful, or for the most trifling task. Dr. Robison says he is satis- 
fied that when he left: town a fortnight before the interview above 
quoted, Watt had not thought of the method of keeping the cylinder 
hot, and that when he returned, he had completed it, and confirmed 
it by experiment. Sir Walter Scott, according to Lockhart, never 
~eonsidered any amount of literary distinction asentitled to be spoken 
of in the same breath with mastery in the higher departments of 
practical life; and if ever a discovery in science was entitled to this 
exalted position, it was surely that made by James Watt—an inven- 
-tion which is estimated to have added to the available labour of Great 
Britain alone a power equivalent to that of four hundred millions of 
men, or more than double the number of males supposed to inhabit 
-the globe. 
~ To reap the benefits of his discovery was now the great object to 
which Watt directed himself; but it was eight ornine years before it 
turned to the advantage of the public or to the bencfit of the in- 
-ventor. For a time he was associated with an ingenious but unsuc- 
~ cessful man, Dr. Roebuck, and neither profited much by the connec- 
tion. The invention was, however, patented in January 1769, and 
~ Watt continued to experiment upon and to perfect the mechanism of 
his ‘fire-engine.’ He bad married a cousin of his own, Miss Miller, 
in July 1783, and had now three children ; ‘but unhappily, says Mr. 
Muirbead, ‘ without reeciving that triple proportion of corn which, 
among the Romans, the jus trium liberorum brought with it. Those 
little voices, “ w hose crying wasa cry for gold,’ were not to bestilled 
“by the baser metal of a badly cust Carron cylinder, or the “block-tin 


f 


* 


cad 
ote 
© 
og. 
7 


86 2s CYCLOPEDIA OF =~ — ‘fro 1876, 


and hammered lead” of a Glasgow condenser.’ We find Watt writ--_ 

ing thus: ‘I am resolved, unless those things I have brought to some-— 

pe fection reward me for the time and money I have lost on them, if - 
can resist it, to invent no more. Indeed, Iam not near so capable 

as I once was. I find that Iam not the same person I was four years 

ago, when I invented the fire-engine, and foresaw, even before 1 made 

a model, almost every circumstance that has since occurred.’ 

To carry on the affairs of his household, Watt undertook many 
occasional commissions. He projected a canal for carrying coals to 
Giasgow, and received £200 a year for superintending its construc- 
tion. His mind having been turned to canals, he struck out the idea 
of the screw-propcller, or ‘spiral oar,’ as he called it. He made sur- 
veys for various canals in Scotland, and among others, by appoint- 
ment of the Court of Police of Glasgow, the Caledonian Canal, 
which was afterwards constructed between Inverness and Fort- 
William. Mr. Telford, to whom this great work was principally. 
intrusted, throughout his lengthened labours in connection with it, _ 
has borne testimony to the particular correctness and value of Watt's _ 
survey. The inventive genius of the man was never still: clocks, © 
micrometers, dividing screws, surveying quadrants,and a hundred 
other inventions flowed from him with the ease that.a létterateur 
dashes off an article for a magazine. ‘ You might live,’ sid his 
friend Dr. Small, ‘ by inventing only an hour in a week for mathe- 
matical instrument-makers.’ : 

In 1775, Mr. Watt and Dr. Rocbuck dissolved their connection; and — 
then began the partnership with Mr. Boulton of the Seho Works, in’ 
Birmingham, which laid the foundation of Watt’s future prosperity. 
Mr. Boulton was possessed of ample means to do justice to the mag- $ 
nitude of Watt’s inventions; and the result was, that both realised — 
an ample fortune, and the Soho Works of Binmingh: im were among. — 
the greatest establishments of that city. Watt’s inventions continued — 
to enrich the world almost until his death, at the putriarchal age of. — 
eighty-three. Among the most important of these, not mentioned — 
above, were the rotative motion and_ parallel motion, the throttle- — 
valve, the steam-gauge, the indicator, the governor, &e., in connec- — 
tion with the steam-engine; the copying-press, tlie steam tilt-ham- ; 
mer, a smoke-consumer, the’ discovery of the composition of water, — 
&c. These are among the works which we owe to the great inventor 4 
and perfecter of the steam-engine. Lord Brougham’s beautiful epi- — 

taph on Watt, in Westminstcr Abbey, should never. be omitted from — 
aby notice of his life and character: . 


Not to perpetuate a name, 
Which must endure, while the peaceful arts flourish, 
But to shew 
That Mankind have learned to honour those x 
Who best eee their gratitude, | 
ing, 


Th 
Hs Ministers, and many of the Nobles 


ae : a at 


eet Fe get ek) se 8 ee a = > ‘ : Te . 


\ ge 


MUIRHEAD.) ENGLISH LITERATURE. 87 


And Commons of the Realm, 
Raised this Monument to 


JAMES WATT, 


Who, directing the force of an original genius, 
Early exercised in philosophic research, 
To the improvement of 
The Steam-engine, 
Enlarged the Resources of his Country, 
ncreased the Power of Man, 
And rose to an eminent place 
Among the most Illustrious Followers of Science 
And the real Benefactors of the World. 
Born at Greenock, MDCCXXXVI. 3 
Died at Heathfield, in Staffordshire, mpcccxrx. 


The ‘ Life of George Stephenson,’ by SamurL Sixes, 1857, is in. 
teresting on account of the history it gives of the. application of 
locomotives to railway travelling; and it is invaluable as affording 
the example of a great principle triumphing over popular prejudice, 
ignorance, and the strenuous opposition of ‘ vested interests.’ The 


railway engineer rose from very small beginnings. He was the son 


of a Jabourer in Northumberland, fireman at the pumping-engine of 
the colliery at Wylam, near Newcastle. George was born in 1781. 


~ While a child he ran errands, herded cows, and performed field- 


labour until, in his fourteenth year, he was promoted to be assistant 
to his father at the rate of one shilling a day. He could not read, 
but he imitated everything. -He mended clocks and watches, made 


-shoes, and otherwise*cisplayed such ingenuity, that he was appointed 


engine-wright at Killingworth Colliery at a salary of £100 a year. 
Here he inspired such confidence in his sagacity and skill, that, on 


application, he at once.obtained permission from Lord Ravensworth, 


the proprietor, to incur the outlay for constructing what he called a 
‘travelling engine’ for the tram-roads between the colliery and the 
shipping-port nine miles off. With the imperfect tools and unskilled 
workmen at Killingworth, Stephenson constructed his first locomo- 
tive. He called it‘ My Lord ;’ and at its first trial, on an ascending 
gradient of 1 in 450, tlre engine drew eight loaded carriages, of about 


thirty tons’ weight, at the rate of four miles an hour. This was on 


the 25th of July, 1814. It was not until 1830 that the public fully 
recognised the practicability of driving locomotives on smooth rails; 
and it was then recognised, because the fact could no longer be de- 


-nied. *Stephenson conviced himself of the two great principles— 


that friction is a constant quantity at ‘all velocities, and that iron is 
capable of adhesion upon iron without roughness of surface. He 
therefore discarded cog-wheels on rails and the idea of running loco- 
motives on common roads and laboured to adapt the locomotive and 
the rails to the wants of each other, so that,as he said himself, 
they might be like ‘man and wife.’ His success led to his appoint- 
ment as engineer of the Stockton and Darlington Railway, a line 
projected in order to find an outlet and new markets for the Bishop- 


88 CYCLOPEDIA OF sro 188 


Auckland coals. Here he succeeded in establishing: the first railway - 
over which passengers and goods were carried by a locomotive. The 
opening trial too place 27th September, 1827, and a local chronicler 
thus records the event : 


Starting the First Railway Locomotive. 

The signal being given, the engine started off with this immense train of car-_ 
Tiages ; and such was its velocity, that In some parts: the speed- was frequeutly 
twelve miles an hour; and at that time the number of passengers was counted to 
be 450, which, together with the coal, merchandise, avd carriages, would ammount to 
near ninety tons. The engine with its load arrived at Darl.ngton. a distance of 
83 miles, in sixty-five minutes. The six wagons, loadéd w ith coal intended for 

Darlington, were then left behind; and obtaining a fresh supply of water, and ar- . 
rarcing the procession to accommodate a band of music and humerous passengers 
from Darlington, the engine set off again, aud arrived at Stockton in three hours 
and seven min. ites, including stoppages, the distance being nearly twelve miles. By 
the time the train reached Stocktun there were about 600 perscns in the train or- 
hanging on to the wagons, which must have gone ata safe und steady pace of from 

four to six miles :n hour from Darlington. *Vhe arrival at Stockton,’ it is added, ” ‘ 

‘excited a deep interest and admiration.’ 


A more important field was, however, necessary, in order to. at- 
tract public attention, and to test the inherent soundness of the — 
principle propounded by Stephenson. This was found in Liverpool — 
and. Manchester. The means of transporting goods between these 
great cities had not kept pace with the development of the traffic. 
Cotton, as Mr. Huskisson observed in the House of Commons, was 
detained a fortnight at Liverpool, while the Manchester manufac- 
turers were obliged to suspend their labours’ and goods manufac- 
tured at Manchester for foreign markets could not be transmitted in ~ 
time, in consequence of the tardy conveyance. In nine years, the 
quantity of raw cotton alone sent from the one town to the other 
had increased by fifty million pounds’ weight. 

A public meeting was held at Liverpool, and it was resolved to 
construct a tram-road, an idea which, under George Stephenson, was 
ultimately extended to a railway suitable for either fixed or locomo- — 
tive engines. At this time the Bridgewater Canal was yielding a re- — 
turn of the whole original investment about once in two years. The — 
opposition of the proprietors was therefore natural enough, but the 
scheme was opposed on all sides. In making the survey, Stephenson 
was refused access to the ground at one point, turned off by the — 
gamekeepers at another, and on one occasion, when a clergyman 
was violently hostile, he had to slip in and make his survey while 
divine service was going on. The survey was made, however, in 
spite of all opposition. ‘The next difficulty was to get jeave to make. 
the line. A shower of pamphlets warned the public against the lo- — 
comotive: it would keep cows from grazing, and hens from laying; 
the air would be poisoned, and birds fall dead as it passed; the pre- 
servation of pheasants and foxes would be impossible; householders — 
would be ruined, horses become extinct, and oats unsaleable ; country 
inns would be ruined ; travelling rendered dangerous, for boilers — 


n 
yee. 
PRI? we x 


ape : : : ; 
> SMILES.] _ . ENGLISH LITERATURE. 89 
- would burst, and passengers be blown to atcms. But there was al- 
- ways this consolation to wind up with—the weight of the locomotive 
- would prevent its moving, and railways could never be worked by 
steam-power. Thi bill forthe Liverpool and Manchester Railway at 
length came before a committee of the House of Commons. Privately, 
- Mr. Stephenson talked of driving twenty miles an hour; but the 
— eouncil warned him of such folly, and in evidence he restricted him- 
self to ten miles an hour. ‘ But assuming this speed,’ said a member 
of the committee, ‘suppose that a cow were to stray upon the line 
and get in the way of the engine; would not that, think you, be a 
very awkward circumstance?’ ‘ Yes,’ replied the witness, with his 
strong Northumberland burr, and a merry twinkle in his eye—‘ yes, 
~ verry awkward indeed for the coo!’ 
__ Mr. Stephenson— that unprofessional person,’ as one of the en- 
gineers of the day called him—failed to convince the committee, and 
the bill was lost. ‘ We must persevere, sir,” was his invariable reply, 
when friends hinted that he might be wrong; and a second bill was 
brought in, which, as the new line carefully avoided the lands of a 
_ few short-sighted opponents, passed the House of Commons by 88 to 
_ Al, and the House of Lords with the opposition of only Lord Derby 
.and Lord Wilton. The railway was commenced; and though told 
by the first engineers of the day that no man in his senses would 
‘attempt to carry it tarougl Chat Moss, Mr. Stephenson did so, at a 
- cost not of £270,000, but of only £28,000, and he completed the line 
- jn a substantial and business-like manne. But the adoption of the 
- Jocomotive was still an open question, and he stood alone among the 
_ engineers of the day. The most advanced professional men con- 
curred in recommending fixed engines. ‘ We must persevere, sir, 
was still George’s motto. He persuaded the directors to give the 
locomotive a trial, anc he made an engine forthe purpose. The . 
- trial came on, 6th October 1829. The engine started on its journey, 
dragging after it about thirteen tons’ weight, in wagons, and made 
the first-ten trips backwards and forwards along the two miles of 
road, running the thirty-five miles, including stoppages, in an hour 
and forty-eight minutes. The second ten trips were in like manner 
performed in two hours and three minutes. The maximum velocity 
_ attained by the ‘Rocket’ during the trial-trip was twenty-nine miles 
an hour, or about three times the speed that one of the judges of the 
compétition had declared to be the limit of possibility. * Now,’ cried 
- one of the directors, lifting up his hands—‘now is George Stephen- 
son at last delivered.’ This decided the question ; locomotives were 
immediately constructed and put upon the line; and the public open- 
ing of the work took place on the 15th September 1880. 


Opening of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway. 


7 The completion of the work was justly regarded as a great national event, and 
was celebrated accordingly. The Duke of Wellington, then prime-minister, 8. 
_ Robert Peel, secretary of state, Mr. Huskisson, one of the members for Liverpoo,, 


E.L.V.8—-4 


L 
J 


“90 - CYCLOPAIDIA OF — 


= 


river. The people gazed with wonder and adiniration at the trains which sped along ~ 


from the carriage, and was standing on the opposite road, along which the * Rocket” a 
engine was observed rapidly coming up. At this moment the Duke of Mean 


‘Northumbrian’ engine conveyed the wounded body of the unfortunate gentleman _ 
a distance of about fifteen miles in twenty-five minutes, or at the rate of thirty-six — 


miles an hour. This incredible speed burst upon the world with all the effect of a 
new and unlooked-for phenomenon. - 


wis 


The fortune of George Stephenson was now made. He became a 


great man. He was offered, but reftised, a knighthood, and his latter — 
days were spent as those of a country gentleman. He died in 1848, 
at the age of sixty-seven. Siar : 


George Stephenson at Sir Robert Peel's seat of Drayton. 


Though mainly an engineer, he was also a daring thinker on many scientific 3 
questions; and there was scarcely a subject of spemmiaton: or a denarineant of — 
recondite science, on which he had not employed his faculties in such a way as 
to have formed large and original views. At Drayton the conversation ‘often — 
turned upon such topics, and Mr. Stephenson freely joined in- it. One one occa- 
lon, an.animated discussion took place between himself and Dr. Buckland on one oft 
his favourite theories as to the formation of coal. But the result was, that Dr. Buck- 
land, a much greater master of tongue-fence than Stephenson, completely silenced 
him. Next morning before breakfast, when he was walking in the grounds deeply — 
pondering, Sir William Follett came up and asked what he was thinking about? —— 
Why, Sir William, I am thinking over that argument I had with Buckland last 
nig t. I know I am right, and that if Ihad only the command of words which he 
ey I'd have beaten him.’ ‘Let me know all about it.’ said Sir William, ‘and Tallsee _ 
what I can do for you.’ The two sat down in an arbour. where the astute lawyer 
made himself thoroughly acquainted with the points of the case; entering into it % | 
with all the zeal of an advocate about to plead the dearest interests of his-client. 
After he had mastered the subject, Sir William rose up, rubbing his hands with glee, 
and said: ‘Now I am ready for him.’ Sir Robert Peel was made acquainted — 
with the plot, and adroitly introduced the subject of the controversy after-dinner. — 
The result was, that in the argument which followed, the man of science was 
overcome by the man of law: and Sir William Follett had at all points the’ 
mastery over Dr. Buckland. ‘What do you say, Mr. Stephenson ?’ asked Sir Robert, 
laughing. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘I will only say this, that -of all the pow 


Ineadin 


Se 


cocksurN.] .. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 91 


above and under the earth, there seems to me to be no power so greet as the gift of 
_ thegab.’ One day at dinuer, during the same visit, a scientific lady asked him the 
- question, ‘Mr. Stephenson, what do you consider the most powerful force in 
— nature?’ ‘Oh!’ said he, in a gallant spirit, ‘I will soon answer that question: it is 
- the eye of a woman for the man who loves her; for if a woman look with affection 
on a young man, and he should go to the uttermost ends of the earth, the recollec- 
~ tion of that look will bring bim back; there is ‘no other force in nature that could 
-~do that.? One Sunday, when the party had just returned from church, they were 
- standing together on the terrace near the hall, and observed in the distance a rail- 
way train flashing along, throwing behind it along line of white steam. ‘Now, 
~ Buckland,’ said Mr. Stephenson, ‘I have a poser for you. Can you tell me whatis the 
_ power thatis driving that train?’ * Well,’ said the other ‘I suppose it is one of your 
big engines.’ ‘Brt what drives the engine?’ ‘Oh, very likely a canny Newcastle 
driver.’ ‘ What do yousay to the light of the sun?’ ‘How can that be?’ asked 
_ the doctor. ‘It is nothing else,’ said the engineer; ‘it is light bottled up in the 
~ earth for tens of thousands of years—light, absorbed by plants and vegetables, being 
- necessary for the condensation of carbon during the process of their growth, if it 
~ be not carbon in another form—and now, after being buried in the earth for long 


- ages in tields of cual, that latent light is again brought forth and liberated, made to * 


-_ work, as in that locomotive, for yreat humau purposes.’ ‘Ihe idea was certainly a 
* most striking and original one: like a flash of light, it Uluminated in an instant an 
entire field of science. 

‘ ELIZA METERYARD, 


* In 1865-6 appeared ‘ The Life of Josiah Wedgwood, two volumes, 
- by Exviza MereyarD, a lady who had previously written several 
- sales and other productions under the name of ‘ Silverpen.’ In 1871 
; ‘Miss Meteyard produced a series of biographies, under the title of 
*A Group of Englishmen’ (1795 to 1815), being records of the 
- younger Wedgwoods -and their friends, embracing the history of 
_ photography. 


ot - HENRY, LORD COCKBURN—DEAN RAMSAY—DR R. CHAMBERS. 


~ The awakened curiosity of the public regarding Scottish history 
~ and manners—mainly to be attributed to Sir Walter Scott’s works— 
~ induced the late Henry CockBuRN (1779-1854) to write and publish 
_~ (1856) ‘ Memorials. of his Time, or sketches of the public character 
and social habits of the leading citizens of Edinburgh, from the end 
of the last century to the culminating-point in the celebrity of the 
_ Scottish capital at the date of the Waverley novels. The author of 
' the ‘ Memorials,” Lord Cockburn, a Scottish judge, was shrewd, ob- 
_ servant, and playful—a genial humourist and man of fine taste, with 
- a vein of energetic eloquence, when roused, that was irresistible with 
_ a Scottish audience. In 1874 were issued two more volumes of the 
_ same description, ‘ Journal of Henry Cockburn, being a Continuation 
_ of the “ Memorials of His Own Time.”’’ 
- Of a similar character with the ‘Memorials, though more fossip- 
ing and anecdotical, is the work entitled ‘ Reminiscences of Scottish 
Life and Character, 1857, bv the Rev. Eowarp BANNERMAN Ram- 
say (1793-1872). minister of St. John’s Episcopal Church, Edinburgh 
- (1830), and dean of the diocese from 1841 till his death. This vol- 
- ume has gone through twenty-one editions, Jean Ramsay was a 
man of various graces and accomplishments, and as a clergyman he 


= 


- — a 


93 CYCLOPEDIA OF - ~~ [10.1876. 


- 


combined deep and fervent piety with genuine toleration and benev- 
olence. The ‘ Reminiscences’ form a curious record of old times and. 


manners fast disappearing. It is the best refutation of sidney Smith’s — 


unfortunate joke that the Scotch have no humour, and it has done 
almost as much as the Waverley novels to make Scotch customs, 


phrases, and traits of character familiar to Englishmen at home and — 


abroad. : 


Edinburgh Society Eighty Years Since.—From ‘ Memorials of his Time,’ 
by HENRY COCKBURN. . 
There was far more coarseness in the formal age than in the freeone. ‘I wo vices 


especially, which have been long banished from respectable society, were very preva- — 


lent, if not universal, among the whole upper ranks—swearing and drunkenness. 
Nothing was more common than for gentiemen who had dined with ladies, and 
meant to rejoin them, to get drunk. To get drunk in a tavern, 


“hought the right, and the mark, of a gentleman. And, tried by this test, nobody, 


who had not seen them, could now be made to believe how many gentlemen ~ 


there were. Not that people were worse-tempered then than now. They were only 
coarser in their manners, and had got into a bad style of admonition and dissent. 
he naval chaplain justificd his cursing the sailors, because it made them listen 
to him; and Braxfield [a Scottish judge] apologised to a lady whom he damned 
at whist for bad play, by declaring that he had mistaken her for his wife. This 
odious practice was applied with particular offensiveness by those in authority 


towards their inferiors. In the army it was universal by officers towards soldiers, — 


and far more frequent than is now credible by masters towards servants. 

The prevailing dinner was about three o’clock.. Tw 
ifthere was nocompany. Hence it was no great deviation from their usual custom 
for a family to dine on Sundays ‘ between sermons,’ that_ 18, between one and two. 
The hour, in time, but not without groans and predictions, became four, xb 
which it stuck for several years. ‘Then it got to five, which, however, was thought 
positively revolutionary; and four was long and gallantly adhered to by the 
haters of change as ‘the good old hour.’ At last, even they were obliged to give in, 
but they only yielded inch by inch, and made a desperate stand at half-psst four. 
Eyen five, however, triumphed, and continued the average polite hour from (I thnk) 
about 1806 or 1807 till about 1820. Six has at lust prevailed, and half-an-hour later 
is not unusual. As yet this is the furthest stretch of London imitation, except in 


country houses devoted to grouse or deer. 

The procession from the drawing-room to 
on a different principle from what it is now. 
ing as that of each gentleman approaching a lady, and the two hcoking together. 
'Yhis would have excited as much horror as the waltz at first did, which never shewed 
itself without denunciations of continental manncrs by correct gentlemen and 
worthy mothers and aunts. All the ladies first w 
row according to the ordinary rules of precedence. Then the gentlemen moved off 
in single file ; so that when they reached the dining-room, the ladies were all there, 
lingering about the backs of the chairs, till they could see what their fate was to be. 
‘hen began the selection of partners, the leaders of the male line having the advan- 
tage of priority ; and of course the magnates had an affinity for each other. 

4 he dinners themselves were much the same as at present. Any difference is in 
a more liberal adoption of the cookery of France. Healths and toasts were special 
torments: oppressions which cannot now be conceived. Every glass during dinner 
required to be dedicated to the health of some one. This prandial nuisance wes hor- 
rible, but it was nothing to what followed. For after dinner, and before the ladies 
retired, there genc¢rally began what were called ‘ rounds’ of toasts, and, worst of all, 
there were ‘sentiments.’ These were short epigrammatic sentences. expressive of 
moral feelings and virtues, and were thought refined and elegant productions. The 
glasses being filled, a person was as 
something similar was committed; 


the dining-room was formerly arranged 


‘May the pleasures of the evening bear the re- 
\ $ r 


. 


; , seen.ed to be con- — 
sidered as a natural, if not an intended consequence of going to one. RWean re was 


o o’clock was quite common, — 


There was no such alarming procecd- _ 


ent off by themselyes in a regular — 


ked for his or for her sentiment, when this or 


TRA. ees 


~ . 


~ COCKRURN.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 98. 


flections of the morning;’ or ‘May the friends of our youth be the companions of 
our oid age ;’ or ‘ Delicate pleasures to susceptible minds,’ &c. 
i Early dinners begat suppers. But suppers are so delightful, that they have sur- 
vived iong afterdinuers have become late. Indeed this has immemorially been a 
- favourite Edinburgh repast. How many are the reasons, how strong the associa- 
tions that inspire the last of the day’s frieudly meetings! Supper is cheaper than 
dinner; shorter, less ceremonious, and more poetical. The business of the day is 
- over; and its still fresh events interests. It is chiefly intimate associates that are 
drawn tozether at that familiar hour, of which night deepens the sociality. If there 
be any fun, or heart, or spirit in a man at all, it is then, if ever, that it will appear. 
So far a3 I have geen social life, its brightest suushine has been on the last repast of 
: the day. ; 
ea AS _ the comparitive religiousness of the present and the preceding generation, 
any such comparison is very difficult to be made. Religion is certainly more the 
. fashion than it used to be. There is more said about it; there has been a great 
‘rise, and consequently a great competition of sects; and the general mass of tle 
religious public has been enlarged. On the other hand, if we are to believe one 
half of what some religious persons themsclves assure us, religion is now almost 
~ extinct. My opinion is that the balance is ih favour of the present time. And Lam 
certain that it would be much more so, if the modern dictators would only accept of 
that as religion which was considered to be so by their devout fathers. 


Scottish Nationality—Drom Preface to Dean Ramsay's ‘Reminiscences.’ 


There is no mistaking the national attachment so strong in the Scottish charac- 
ter. Men return after long absence in this respect unchanged; whilst absent, 
_ Scotchmen never forget their native home. In all varieties of lands and climates 
their hearts ever turn towards the ‘land o’ cakes and brither Scots.’ Scottish festi- 
_. _ vals are kept with Scottish feeling on ‘Greenland’s icy mountains’ or ‘India’s coral 
_ strand.’ Treceived an amusing account of an ebullition of this patriotic feeling 
ie from my la‘e noble friend the Marquis of Lothian, who met with it when travelling 
_ inIndia. He happened to arrive at a station upon the eve of St. Andrew’s Day, 
__ and received an invitation to join a Scottish dinner-party in commemoration. of old 
_ Scotland. There was a great deal of Scottish enthusiasm. There were seven sheep- 
a heads (singed) down the table; and Lord Lothian told me that after dinner he sang © 
__-wita great applause ‘The Laird 0’ Cockpen.’ 
Love of country must draw forth good feeling in men’s minds. as it will tend to 
make them cherish a desire for its welfare and ‘improvement, To claim kindred 
> with the honourable and high-minded, asin gone decree allied with them, must im- 
ply at least an appreciation of great and eood qualities. Whatever, then, supplies 
men with a motive for following upright and noble conduct—whatever advances in 
them a kindly benevolence towards fellow-conntrymen in distress, will alwavs exer- 
_  Cisea beneficial effect upon the hearts and’ intellects of a Christian people: and 
es these objects are, ig think, all more or less fostered and encouraged under the in- 
BE fluence of that patriotic spirit which identifies national honour and national hap- 
-piness with its own. 


3 Mg o preserve peculiarities which I think should be recorded. because they 
¥, ere Rational, and because they are reminiscences of gennine Scottish life. No doubt 
. these peculiarities have been deeply tinged with the quaint. and quiet. humour which 
1S more strictly characteristic of our countrymen than their wit. And, as exponents 

of that humour, ony stories may often have excited some narmless merriment in 
__ those who have appreciated the real fun of:the drv Scottish character That, I 
trust, is no offence. T should never be sorry to think that. within the ‘limits of 
ecoming mirth,’ T had contributed, in however small a degree, to the entertainment 

and recreation of my conniryvmen Iam convinced that every one. whether clerzy- 

~ man orlayman. who adds something tothe innocent enjovment of human life, has 
joined ina good work. inasmuch-as he has dimfmished the inducement to vicious 
indulgence. God Iknows there is enough of sin and of sorrow in the world to make 

' sad the heart of every Christian man. No one. I think, need be ashamed of hav- 
12S sought to cheer the darker hours of his fellow-travellers’ steps through life, 
or to beguile their hearts, when weary and heavy-laden, into cheerful and amusing 
__~ trains of thonght. So faras my experience of life goes, I have never found that the 


94 


What Lord Cockburn and Dean Ramsay did for their time by per- 
sonal observation and memory, has been done for a much earlier 
period, through the medium of books and manuscripts, by Dr. Ros- 
ERT CHAMBERS, in his ‘Domestic Annals of Scotland from the — 
Reformation to the Revolution,’ two volumes, 1858; and ‘from the 
Revolution to the Rebellion of 1745, in one volume, 1861. His ob- 
ject, as stated in the preface to the work, was to detail ‘the series of 
occurrences beneath the region of history, the effects of passion, ~ 
superstition, and ignorance in the people, the extraordinary natural ~~ 
events which disturbed their tranquillity; the calamities which- 
affected their wellbeing, the traits of false political economy by which 
that wellbeing was checked, and generally those things which enable 
-us to see how our forefathers thought, felt, and suffered, and how, on 
the whole, ordinary life looked in their days.’ The language of the 
original contemporary narrators is given wherever it was sufficiently  __ 
intelligible and concise. This work has been very successful. Three 
other volumes by its author are devoted to local and national annals | 
— The History of the Rebellion of 1745-6) ‘Traditions of Edin-- a 
burgh,’ and‘ Popular Rhymes of Scotland’ . These are valuable as-  — 
embodying much curious information presented in a form agreeable 
and attractive. The ‘ History of the Rebellion’ is, indeed, an im- 
~ portant contribution to our historical literature. Dr. Chambers’s 
best services, as has been justly remarked, ‘were devoted to his na- 
tive country ; and, with the exception of his illustrious contemporary, a 
Sir Walter Scott, no other author has done so much fo illustrate its 
social state, its scenery’, romantic historical incidents, and antiquities _- 
—the lives of its eminent men—and the changes in Scottish society 
and the condition of the people (especially those in the capital) 
during the last two centuries.” The lifeof Dr. R. Chambers has been — 
written by his brother, Dr. W. Chambers.* Both were born in 
Peebles— William, April 16, 1800; Robert, July 10, 1802—of an old 
Peebleshire family, who, at the beginning of the century, were sub-  — 
stantial woollen manufacturers. HRobert has thus graphically de- — 
scribed his native town: ¢ 


Picture of an old Scottish Town—HFrom ‘ Memoir of Robert Chambers.’ - ; 


Tn the early years of this century, Peebles was little advanced from the condition 5 
in which it had mainly rested for several hundred years previously. It was — 
eminently a auiet place—‘ As quiet as the grave or as Peebles,’ is a phrase used by 
Cockburn. It was said to be a finished town, for no new houses (exceptions to be 
of course allowed for) were ever built in it. Situated. however, among beautiful . 
pastoral hills, with a singularly pure atmosphere, and with the pellucid Tweed run=  —_ | 


* Memoir of Robert Chambers, with Autobiographic Reminiscences, by William 
Chambers, 1872. A s : P 
* yaw BY f 


CHAMBERS. ] 


‘trative. Retailing the matter with gre 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 95 


ning over its pebbly bed close behind the streets, the town was acknowledged to be, 


in the fond language of its inhabitants, a konny place. An honest old burgher was 
enabled by some strange chance to visit Paris, and was eagerly questioned, when he 
came back, as to the character of that capitai of capitals; .o which, it is said. he 
answered that ‘ Paris, a’ thing considered, was a wonderfui place—but still, Peebles 
for pleesure !’ and this has often been cited as a ludicrous exumple of rustic prejudice 
and narrowness of judgment. But, on a fair. interpretation of the old gentleman’s 
words, he was not quite so benighted as at first appears. ‘The ‘ pleesures’ of Peebles 
were the beauties of the situation and the opportunities of healthful recreation it 
afforded, and these were certainly considerchle. 

There was an old and a new town in Peebles—each of them a single street, or little 
more; and as even the new town had an antique look, it may be inferred that 
the old looked old indeed. It was, indeed, chiefly composed of thatched cottages, 
occupied by weavers and labouring people—a primitive race of homely aspect, in 
many instances eking out a scanty subsistence by having a cow on the town com- 
mon, or cultivating a r7g of potatoes in the fields close to the town. Rows of por- 
ridge /uggies (small wooden vessels) were to be seen cooling on window-soles; a smell 
of peat smoke pervaded the place; the click of the shuttle was everywhere heard 
during the day; and in the evening, the gray old men came out in their Kilmarnock 
night-caps, and talked of Bonaparte, on the stone seats beside their doors. The 


‘pluiters used in these humble dwellings were all of wood, and the spoons of horn; 


shives and forks rather rare articles. The house was generally divided into two 
apartments by a couple of box-beds, placed end to end—a bad style of bed, prevalent 
in cottages all over Scotland; they were so close as almost to stifle the inmates. 
Among these humble people, ail costumes, customs, and ways of living smacked of 
old times. You would see a venerable patriarch making his way to-church on 
Sunday, with a long-backed, swing-tailed, light-blne coat of the style of George 
II., which was probably his marriage coat, and half a century old. His head-gear 
was a broad-brimmed blue bonnet. The old woman came out on the same occa- 
gions in red scarfs, called cardinals, and white miutehes (caps), bound by a black =: 
ribbon, with the gray hair folded back on the forehead. There was a great deal 
of drugget, and huckaback, and serge in that old world, and very little cotton. .One 
almost might think he saw the humbler Scotch people of the seventeenth century 


_before his eyes. 


William Chambers, in that part of the volume devoted to his auto- 
biographic reminiscences, says of Peebles: 


art of the population who lived down closes and in 
d at third or fourth hand, or was merged in con- 
versation on religious or other topics. My brother and I derived much enjoyment, 
not to say instruction. from the singing of old ballads, and the telling of ae atk 
stories, by a kind old female relative, the wife of a decayed ti adesman, Ms ho c hi at in 
one of the ancient Closes. At her humble fireside, under the canopy of a seo chim- 
ney, where her half-blind and superannuated husband sat dozing ina plas the bat- 
tle of Corunna and. other prevailing news was strangely mingled with disquisitions 
on the Jewish wars. The source of this interesting conversation was a wey orn 
copy of L’Estrange’s translation of Josephus, a small folio ot date 1720. T a an 
vied possessor of the work was Tam Fleck, ‘a flichty chietd, as he was consigere A 
who. not particularly steady at his legitimate employment, struck out a rae pro- 
fession by going about in the evenings with his Josephus, which he reac an % cur 
rent news: the only light he had for doing so being usnally that impart. .o @ 
flickering blaze of a piece of parrot coal, It was his practice not to read more t ak 
from two to three pages at a time, interlarded with sagacious remarks of his 4s n by 
way of foot-notes. and in this way he sustained an extroordinary interest int he nar- 
j at equability in different households, ain kept 
all at the same point of information, and wound them up with a conve oes 
anxiety as to the issue of some moving event in Hebrew annals. Althongh in this 
way he went through a course of Josephus yearly, the novelty somehow never 


off. ; 
see Vec, ‘Tam, what’s the news the nicht?’ would old Geordie Murray say, as 


Among that. considerable. p 
old thatched cottages, news circulate 


» 


j/ 


96. CYCLOPADIA OF = —~—~—S=S&P'T'1- 2896, 


Tam entered with his Josephus under his arm, and seated himself at the family 
fireside. 


® 
ot 
4 


‘Bad news, bad. news,’ replied Tam. ‘Titus has begun to besiege Jerusalem— 


it ’s gaun to be a terrible business ;’ 4nd then he opened his budget of intelligence, 
to which all paid the most reverential attention. The protracted and severe famine 
which was endured by the besieged Jews, was a theme which kept several families im 
a state of agony for a weck ; and when Tam in his readings came to the final conflict 
and destruction of the city by the Roman general. there was a perfect paroxysin of 


horror. At such séauces my brother and I were delighted listeners. All honour to 


the memory of Tam Fleck. 

Misfortune overtook the old bowrgeots family of Chambers, in Pec- 
bles. - They removed to Edinburgh, and there the two brothers, 
William and Robert Chambers, fought hard and nobly to gain a po- 
sition in life. How they struggled, manfully and cheerfully—never 
relaxing, never complaining—is told in the ‘ Memoir’ from which we 
have quoted, and which is the most interesting and instructive narra- 
tive of the kind that has issued from the press since Hugh Miller 


wrote his ‘Schools and Schoolmasters.’ In’ 1868, the university of - 


St. Andrews conferred on Robert the honorary degree of LL.D. He 
then resided chiefly in St. Andrews, and there he died on the 17th of 
March 1871. On William, who survives, the university of Hdin- 
burgh conferred the honorary degree of LL.D. in 1872. 
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. 


Professional biographies—legal, military, medical, &c—are numer- 
ous, but having only a special interest, do not seem to require men- 
tion here. We make an exception in the case of Sir James YOUNG 
SrmMpson (1811-1870), because he proved, by his discovery of the 
anesthetic virtues of chloroform, to bea benefactor of mankind. He 
made other improvements and innovations in medical practice, which 
are, we believe, considered valuable. His chief distinction, however, 
was the relief of human suffering by this agent of chloroform— 
‘wrapping, as he said,‘ men, women, and children in a painless 
sleep during some of the most trying moments and hours of human 
existence; and especially when our frail brother man is laid upon 
the operating table, and subjected to the tortures of the surgeon’s 
knives and scalpels, his saws and his cauteries.’ Chloroform was 
first discovered and described at nearly the sane time by Soubeiran 
(1831) and Liebig (1832); its composition was first accurately ascer- 
tained by the distingushed French chemist, Dumas, in 1836. 


Indirect Value of Philosophical Investigation. 


It is (said Sir James Simpson) not unworthy of remark, that when Sonbeiran and 
Liebig and Dumas engaged in those inquiries and experiments by which the forma- 
tion and composition of chloroform was first discovered. their sole and only object 
was the investigation of a point in philosophical chemistry. They laboured for the 
pure love and extension of knowledge. They had no idea that the substance to 
which they called the attenticn of their chemical brethren could or would be turned 
to any practical purpose, or that it possessed any physiological or therapeutie effects 
upon the animal economy. I mention this to shew that the ewi bono argument 


= 


against philosophical investigations, on the ground that there may be at first no ap= — 
parent practical benefit to be derived from them, has been amply refuted in this, aa — 


— 


e 


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sie Ae 5 ‘ y "I ‘ 
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-- SIMPSON. ] ENGLISH: LITERATURE: Ot 


it has been in many other instances. For I feel assured that the use of chloroform 
will soon entirely supersede the use of ether; and from the facility and rapidity of 
its exhibition, it will be emp.oyed as an anesthetic agent in many cuses, and under 
many circumstances, in which ether would never Laye been had recourse to. Here, 


then, we have a substance which, in the first instance, was merely interesting as 


a matter of scientific curiosity and research, becoming rapidly an Object of intense 


importance, as an agent by which human suffering aud agony may be annulled and 


abolished, under some of the most trying circumstances In which human nature is 


ever placed.’ 


One objection made to the use of anzesthesia was, that it enabled 
women to avoid one part of the primeval curse! Simpson said ‘ the 
word translated sorrow (Gen. ii. 16) is truly “labour,” “ toil,” and in 
the very next verse the very same word means this. Adam was to 
éat the ground with “sorrow.” That does not mean physical pain, 
and it was cursed to bear thorns and thistles, which we pull up 
without dreaming that itis asin.’ Dr. Chalmers thought the ‘small 
theologians’ who objected should not be heeded, and so thought 
every man of sense. The use of chloroform extended rapidly over 
all Europe and America, and is now an established recoguised agent 
in the mitigation of human suffering. 

Professor Simpson was born at Bathgate in Linlithgowshire, one of 
a numerous but poor and industrious family. Having studied at 
Edinburgh University, he graduated as doctor in medicine in 1832. 
In 1840 he succeeded Professor Hamilton as Professor of Midwifery, : 


- and in 1347 first introduced the use of chloroform. After a prosper- 


ous career, the Queen, in 1866, conferred upon him the honour of a 
baronetcy, and the university of Oxford gave him the honorary 
degree of D.C.L. Sir James was akeen antiquary, and published a 
treatise on ‘Archaic Sculpturings of Cups, Circles, &c. upon stones 


-and Rocks,’ 1867. 


_ J. E, BAILEY—H. CRABB ROBINSON—C. WENTWORTH DILKE 


In 1874 Mr Jonn Earrneton Barrery, Manchester, published a 
‘Life of Thomas Fuller, D.D., with notices of his books, his kins- 
men, and his friends—an elaborate and valuable memoir of the ccle- 
brated church historian, ‘undertaken, as the author states, ‘out. of- 
admiration of the life and character of the very remarkable man 
whom it concerns,’ and ‘the result of the study and research of the 
leisure hours of many years.’ 

_In the ‘Diary, Reminiscences, and Correspondence of Henry 
Crabs Ropinson,’ three volumes, 1869, will be found a great amount 
of literary anecdote and information concerning German and Eng- 
lish authors. The inscription on his tombstone may suffice for a 
biographical notice: ‘ Henry Craps Roprnson, born May 15, 1775, 


_ died February 5, 1867; friend and associate of Goethe and Wordsworth, 


' Wieland and Coleridge, Flaxman and Blake, Clarkson and Charles 


Lamb; he honoured and loved the great and noble in their thoughts 


and characters, his warmth of heart and genial sympathy embraced 


all whom he could serve,’ &c. The best account we have of Words. 


_worth’s literary life and opinions is in Crabb Robinson’s diary. 


ay 


Much interesting and curious diterary history, with a dash of pol- 
itics intermixed, is contained in two Volumes, * Papers of a Critic,’ 
1875, selected from the writings of the late CHARLES WENTWORTH 
DILKE by his grandson, the baronet of the same name, author of a 
book of travels, ‘Greater Britain” Mr. Dilke was born in 1787, 
served for many years in the Navy Pay Oftice, and oa his. retiring 
with w pension, devoted himself to literary inquiry and criticism. 
He was a man of solid, clear judgment, of un wearying industry, and 
of thorough independence of character. He became proprietor of 
the * Athengeum’ literary journal, the price of which he reduced from 
eightpence to fourpence, and vastly increased its circulation and influ- 


$3 CYCLOPEDIA OF = ———s[ro 1876, 


ence. Charles Lamb, Hood, Leigh Hunt, the Howitts, Allan Cun- 


ningham, Lady Morgan, &c. were among iis writers. To insure im- 
paruality as a critic and editor, Mr. Dilke made it a rule not to go into 
society of any kind—a self-denying ordinance that it must have been 
hard to keep.* He had, however, a band of intimate friends among 
his regular contributors. Inthe ‘Athengzum’ Mr, Dilke produced his 
critical papers on Pope, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, Swift, Junius, 
Wilkes, Grenville, and Burke. The most important of these are the 
papers on Pope, Junius, and Burke. It may safely be said that, not- 
Withstanding all the labours of Walton, Bowles, and Roscoe, the 
personal history of Pope was never properly understood until it was 
taken up by Mr. Dilke. On the authorship of Junius, he differed 
from great authorities—Brougham, Macaulay, Lord Stanhope, and 
cthers. He investigated the subject with his usual acuteness and re- 
search, but though he corrected numerous errors in previous state- 
ments.on the subject, he brought forward no name to supersede that 
of Sir Philip Francis. With respect to Burke, Mr. Dilke also pointed 
out many errors in the works of biographers, and convicted the great 
statesman of a fault not uncommon—buying an estate before he had 
money to pay ror it, and entering on a scheme of life far too expen- 


sive for his means. Mr. Dilke died, universally respected and re- | 


gretted, August 16, 1864. 


JOHN MORLEY—PROFESSOR MORLEY—WILLIAM MINTO—C, C, F. 
GREVILLE. : 


Joun Morey born at Blackburn, Lancashire, in 1838, has pub-~ 


lished ‘ Edmund Burke, a Historical Study,’ 1867; and ‘* Lives of Vol 


understand Rintoul’s point,’ wrote Mr. Quiliinan. the son-in-law of Wordsworth. 
‘Making it a rule to avoid authors. he makes it a rule to exclude himself from the 
best intellectual society—that is, if he applies his rule rigerously. If he means that. 
he avoids the small cliques of authorlings and criticlings who puff one another and 
abuse every one Bue. t quite understand him, and ‘‘small blame to him,” as the 


Trishman says.’ 


*The late Mr. Riztonl of the Spectator adopted the same rule. ‘I don’t quite - 


~ 


3 


3 


4 


a 


Pena dx 


Rady 


- 


Pek 


“GREVILLE. | _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 99 


taire, 1872, and ‘ Rousseau,’ 1873. Mr. Morley has been editor of the 
‘Fortnightly Review ’ since 1867. 
_ Henry Mor.ey, Prolessor of English Literature at University 
College, has written various works, biographical and critical, and 
contributed extensively to literary journals. Lives of ‘ Palissy the 
Potter,” 1852; ‘ Jerome Cardan,’ 1454; * Cornelius Agrippa,’ 1856; 
‘Clement Marot,’ 1870; ‘ First Sketch of English Literature, 1873, 
are among the most important of his productions, and he is now. en- 
gaged on an elaborate ‘ Library of English Literature,’ in course of 
publication by Messrs. Cassell & Co. 
Mr. WiiiiamM Minto, M A., is author of two excellent compen- 
diums of English biography and criticism: ‘A Manual of English 
Prose Literature, designed mainly to,shew characteristics of style, 


1872; and ‘ Characteristics of English Poets from Chaucer to Shirley,’ 


1874. Shortly after the publication of the latter work, Mr. Minto 
became editor of ‘The Examiner’ weekly paper, so long distin- 
guished by its former editors, Leigh Hunt, Aibany Fonblanque, and 
John Forster. 7 

Great interest was excited by the appearance, in 1874, of ‘The 
Greville Memoirs, a journal of the reigns of King George IV. and 
King William IV., by Cuartes OC. F. GreviLien, clerk of the 
eouncil to those s:vereigns. Mr. Greville was a grandson of the 
third Duke of Portland. At the age of twenty he was arpointed 
_private secretary to Lord Bathurst, and seven years afterwards he 


- succeeded to the clerkship of the council, which he held for about 


forty years Though too free in his comments and disclosures, and 
not always just or correct, Mr. Greville’s journal will be valuable to 
future historians. His sketches of character are drawn with dis- 
crimination and talent, and in his gallery of portrai‘s are the two 
sovereigns whom he-served (George IV. being painted as destitute 
of truth and honour, and a mere selfish sensualis!),and nearly ali the 
public men, statesmen, and authors, who figured during that period. 
The contrast between the Queen and her uncle is vividly set forth 
in the following passage : 


Queen Victoria's First Days of Sovereignty. 

June 21, 1837.—The king died at twentv minutes after two yesterday morning; 
and the young Queen met the council at Kensington Palace at eleven. Never was 
anything like the first impression she produced, or the chorus of praise and admira- 
tion which is raised about her manner and behaviour, and certainly not without 
justice. It was very extraordinary, and something far beyond what was looked for. 
Her extreme youth and inexperience, and the ignorance of the world concerning 
her, naturaliy excited intense curiosity to see how she would act on this trying occa-~ 

sion, and there was a considerable assemblage at the palace, notwithstanding the 
short notice that was given. The first thing to. be done was to teach her her lesson, 
which for this purpose Melbourne had himself to learn. I gave him the council 
‘ peers, and explained all that was to be done. and he went and explained: all this to 
_her. He asked her if she would enter the room accompanied by the great officers of 
state. but she said she would come in alone. When the lords were assembled the 
Lord President informed them of the king’s death, and suggested, as they were so 


> 
as 
me 
| > 
a / 
aa oe, 
—- = ere — 


Py 


100 CYCLOPEDIA OF 


numerous, that a few of them should repair to the presence of the queen and inform 
her of the event, and that their lordships were assembled in consequence; and ac- 


cordingly the two royal dukes, the two archbishops, the chancellor, and Mel- 


bourne went with them. ‘The queen received them in the adjoming room alone. 


As soon as they had r turned, the proclamation was read and the usual 


order passed, when the doors were thrown open, and the queen entered, accom- 
panied by her two uncles, who advanced to meet her, She bowed to the lords, 


took her seat, and then read her speech in a clear, distinct and audible voice, — 


and without any appearance of fear or embarrassment. She was quite plainly 
dressed and in mourning. After she had read her speech, and taken and signed the 
oath for the security of the Church of Scotland. the privy councillors were sworn, 
the two royal dukes (Cumberland and Sussex ; the Duke of Cambridge was in Han- 
over) first, by themselves; and as these two old men, her uncles, knelt bef. re her, 
swearing allegiance and kissing her hand, I saw her blush up to the eyes, as if she 
felt the contrast between their civi: and their natural relations, and this was the only 


sign of. emotion she evinced, Her manner to them was very grateful and engaging ;_ 


she kissed them both, and rose from her chair and moved towards the Duke of 
Sussex, who was farthest from her, and too infirm to reach her. She seemed rather 
bewildered «ut the multitude of men who were sworn, and who came, one after 
another, to kiss her hand; but she did not speak to anybody, nor did she make the 
slightest difference in her manner, or shew any in her countenance, to any indi- 


vidual of any rank, station, or party. I particulary wa‘ched her when Melbourne, — 


and the ministers, and the Duke of Wellington approached her. She went through 
the whole ceremony, occasionally looking at Melbourne for instruction when she 
had any doubt what to do, which hardiy-ever occurred, and with perfect calmness 
and self-possession, bat at the same time with a graceful modesty and propriety par- 
ticularly interesting and ingratiating. When the business was done, she retired as 
she had entered, and I could see that nobody was in the adjoining room. 

Lord Lansdowne insisted upon being declared president of the council, and I was 
obliged to write a declaration for him to read to that effect, though it was not usual. 
The speech was admired except by Brougham, who appeared in a considerable state 


of excitement. He said to Peel (whom be was standing near, and with whom he is: 
not in the habit of communicating) : ‘ Amelioration—that is not English ; you might 


erhaps say melioration, but improvement is the proper word.’ ‘ Oh,’ said Peel, ‘T 
Pp p Pp ? 


sse no harm in the word; it is genérally used.’ ‘ You object,’ said Brougham, ‘to ~ 


the sentiment; I object to the grammar.’ _‘ No,’ said Peel, ‘I don’t object to the 
sentiment.’ ‘ Well, then, sbe pledges herself to the policy of owr government,’ said 
Brougham. Pecl told me this, which passed inthe room, and near to the Queen. He 


[ro 1876. 


likewise said how amazed he was at her manner and behaviour, at her apparent deep ~ 


sense of her situation. her modesty. and at the same time her firmness. She ap- 


peared, in ‘fact, to be awed, but not daunted, and afterwards the Duke of Wel-- 


lington told me the same thing, and added that if she had been his own daughter he 


could not have desired to see her perform her part better. It>-was settled that she ~ 


wus to hol! a council at St. James’s this day. and be proclaimed there at ten o’clock ; 
and she expressed a wish to see Lord Albemarle, who went to her, and told her he 
wascome to take her orders. She said: ‘I have no orders to give; you know all 


this so much better than I do, that I leave it allto you. Iam to be at St. James’s.at © 


ten to-morrow, and must beg you to find me a conveyance proper for the occasion’? _ 
Accordingly, he went and fetched her in state with a great escort. ‘The Duchess 


of Kent was in the carriage with her, but I was surprised to hear so little shouting, ~ 


and to see so few hats off as she went by. I rode down the Park, and saw her ap- 


pear at the window when she was proclaimed. The Duchess of Kent was there, but ~ 


not prominent; the Queen was surrounded by her ministers, and courtesied repeat- 


edly to the people, who did not, however, hurrah till Lord Lansdowne gave them the — 


signal from the window. At twelve, she held a conncil, at which she presided with — 


as much ease as if she had been doing nothing else all her life ; and though Lord 
Lansdowne and my colleague had contrived between them to make some confusion 
with the council papers, she was not put out by it. She looked very well; and 


though so small in stature, and without much pretension to beauty, the gracefulness ~ 
of her manner and the good expression of her countenance give her, on the whole, 
a very agreeable appearance, and, with her youth, inspire an excessive interest in al 


on 
4 


“THEOLoGIANS.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. | - 101 


_ who approach her, and which I can’t help feeling myself. After the council she re- 
ceived the archbishops and bishops, and after them the judges. They all kiesed her 
hand, but she said nothing to any of them; very different from her. predecessor, 
who used to harangue them ail, aud had a speech ready for everybody. ... 

No contrast can be greater than that between the personai.demeanour of the 
present and the late sovereigns at their respective nccessions. William 1V. was a 
man who, coming to the throne at the mature age of sixty-five, was so excited by 

> the exaltation, that he went nearly mad, and distinguished himself by a thousand 

_ extravagances of language and conduct, to the alarm or amusement of ail who wit- 

_-nessed his strange freaks; and though he was shortly afierwards sobered down 

_ into more becoming habits, he always continued to be something of a blackguard, 

_ ind something more of a buffoon. It is but fair to his memory, at the same time, 
to say that he was a_ good-natured, kind-hearted, and well-meaning man, and he 

_ always acted an honourable and straightforward, if not always a sound and discrect 

part. ‘The two p:incipal ministers of his reign, the Duke of Wellington aud Lord 
Grey (though the former was ouly his minister tor afew months), have both spoken of 
him to me with strong expressions of personal reyard and esteem. The young Queen, 
who inight well be either dszzled or confounded with the grandeur and novelty of 

her situation, seems neither the one nor the other. and behaves with a decorum and 
| propriety beyond her years, and with all the sedateness and dignity, the want of 

_ which was so conspicuous in her uncle. 


THEOLOGIANS. 


_ The publication of the ‘ Tracts for the Times, by Members of the 
University of Oxford, four volumes, 1833-87, torms an era in the 
history of the Chureh of England. ‘The movement was com- 

menced, says Mr. Molesworth, * by a small knot of young men, most 
of them under thirty years of-age. The two most energetic and 
original minds among them were RrcHarD HurreL FRovupDE and 
'Joun Henry Newman. Froude died at the early age of thirty- 
three of a pulmonary complaint, but lived long enough to wilness 
the commencement of the ‘Tracts, and to rejoice in their unexpected 
success. Newman was the prime mover and real leader of the move- 

ment, and one who, not only by his writings, but by his sermons, 

his conversation, and, above ail, by the influence of his pure motives 
-and lofty intelligence, nurtured and carried it forward. With them 
eame to be associated two kindred spirits, less energetic indeed, but 
not less firm or earnest—Dr. Pusry, the learned young Regius Pro- 
fessor of Hebrew, and Krpie, the sweet singer of the Church of 
~England, whose ‘ Christian Year’ will live as long as the church en- 
dures (see ante). With these were associated other men of less mark 
and note, of whom WiLL1amM PALMER and ARTHUR PERCIVAL were 

the chief. They were connected with the higher authorities of the 
church, and a large body of the most influentiai of the clergy, by Hugh 
Rose, chaplain to the archbishop of Canterbury, and regarded as the 
first theological and German scholar of his day. Purer, holier, and 
“nore unselfish men than those who composed this little band never 


- 


ay . 
are 


102 CYCLOPEDIA OF - [ro-187 6. 7 


s 


lived.’* The tenets or beliefs of this sacerdotal party were all of. a 
Romanising stamp—judgment by works equally as by faith, baptis-_ 
mal regeneration, the supreme authority of the church, the apostol- 
ical succession of the clergy, &c. At. the same time the Tractarian — 
preachers adopted certain peculiarities in the performance of divine — 
service—as abjuring the black Geneva gown and preaching in the ~ 
white surplice, bowing to the altar and turning their backs to the — 
people, arraying the ‘altar with tippet and flowers and mediey: es 
embellishments, “placing lighted candles on the altar, &e. 

One effect of these innovations was to stir up a violent contro- 
versy, in which High and Low and Broad Chureh all mingled; 
while a few, like Dr. “Arnold, proposed that the Established Church’ 
should be so comprehensive as to include not merely the churches of — 
England and Scotland, but nearly all the bodies of Dissenters. — 
Another eff-ct of the inuovations was to drive many supporters-of — 
tie establishment into the ranks of the Dissenters, and some into the ~ 
Church of Rome. Mr. Newman published a work, ‘ Remains of the 
late Rev. Richard, H. Froude,’ ‘who was not a man,’ observed his — 
editor, ‘who said anything at random,’ and Mr. Froude spoke of — 
‘unprotestantising the church,’ and called the Reformation ‘a Jimb — 
badly set, which required to be broken again, &c. The serious and — 
peaceable heads of the church became alarmed. The tracts were — 
stopped by recommendation of the bishop of Oxford, and the last of” 
the series, written by Mr. Newman, was condemned by many of the — 
bishops, and censured by the Hebdomadal Board. The controversy, — 
however, was not at an end—books, sermons, reviews, charges, me-— 
moirs, novels, and poems, continued to be issued hy the opposing — 
parties, and church vestries were occasionally in commotion. Of the — 
18,900 clergymen said to be in the Church of England, 7000, it was | 
calculated, belonged to the High Chureh party, 6 6500 to the Low 
Church, 8500 to the Broad Church, and about 1000 were peices 
clergy in the mountain districts.t 


DR. PUSEY. A 


The Rev. Epwarp Bovvente Pusey is the second son of the late 
Hon. Philip Bouverie (half-brother of the first Earl of Radnor), and 
was born in 1800. He studied at Christ Church, Oxford, was elected 
to a fellowship at Oriel College, and in 1828 was appointed Regius 
Professor of Hebrew in the university of Oxford. Dr. Pusey was” 
one of the must persistent of the Tractarians. A sermon preached 
by him before the university, was said to contain an ayowal of his— 
belief in the doctrine of transubstantiation; an examination took 


at 


* Molesworth’s History of England. 


t Edinburgh Review, October 1853. Since this time the High Church party baal 
jucreased in numbers, and an act of parliament has been passed, adding to the: 
power of the bishops, for the purpose, as stated by Mr. Disease of ‘ es, down 
the Ritualists.’ The number of the clergy is now said to be fully 20,00 % 
> | 
5 


| 4 


PUSEY:| © | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 103 


place on the part of judges appointed by the university, and the result 
“was a censure and sentence of suspension from the duties of a 
preacher within the precincts of the university. The works of Dr. 
Pusey are numerous, and: are all theological. Among them are 
‘Remarks on Cathedral Institutions, 1815; yal Supremacy,’ 1850; 
*Doctrine of the Renl Presence Vindicated, 1855; ‘History of the 
Councils of the Church,’ 51-381 a.p.; ‘ Nine Sermons, 1843-55; and 
“Nine Lectures,’ 1864; and other professional treatises and sermons. 
~The publications of Dr. Pusey are very numerous, but not one of 
them bids fair to take a permanent place in our literature. He is a 
“man of exemplary piety as well as learning. 

. DR. JOHN HENRY NEWMAN—F. W. NEWMAN. 


This eminent controversialist and man of letters is a native of 
London, son of a banker, and born in the year 1801. He graduated 
at Trinity College, Oxford, in 182, was afterwards elected a Fellow of 
Oriel, and in 1825 became Vice-principal of St. Alban’s Hall. He 
was sometime tutor of his college, and incumbent of St. Mary’s, Ox- 
ford, and was associated, as we have stated, with Hurrel Froude and 
others in the publication of the ‘ Tracts for the Times.’ More con- 
sistent than some of his associates, Dr. Newman seceded from the 
_ Established Church and joined the Church of Rome.. Since then he 
has been priest of the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, rector of a Catholic 
university in Dublin, and head of the Or atory near Birmingham. Dr. 
"Newman has been a voluminous writer. His collected works form 
twenty-two volumes, exclusive of various contributions to period- 
“icals. From 1837 to ‘the present time his pen has rarely been idle, 
and the variety af his learning, the originality and grace of his style, 
his sincerity and earnestness, ‘have placed him high among livine 
authors. The following is a list of his works as collected and classi- 
fied by himself: ‘Parochial and Plain Sermons,’ eight volumes; 
‘Sermons on Subjects of the Day ;’ ‘ University Sermons ; >< Oath- 
-olic Sermons,’ two volumes; ‘ Present Position of Catholies in Eng- 
land ;’ «Essay on Assent ;’ ‘Two Essays on Miracles;’ ‘ Essays, 
Critical and Historical, two volumes; ‘ Discussions and Arguments 
on Various Subjects ;’ ‘ Historical Sketches ;’ ‘ History of the Arians ;’ 
‘History of My Religious Opinions (Apologia) Dr. Newman has 
also published a volume of ‘ Verses on Various Occasions,’ 1868. 


ey Description of Athens.—From. ‘ Historical Sketches.’ 


_ The political power of Athens waned and disappeared ; kingdoms rose and fell ; 
centuries rolled away—they did but bring, fresh triumphs to the city of the poet and 
‘the sage. There at length the swarthy Moor and Spaniard were seen to meet the 

f ‘blue-eyed Gaul; and the Cappadocian. late subject of Mithridates, gazed without 
alarm at the haughty conquering Roman. Revolution after revolution passed over 
the face of Europe, as well as of Greece, but still she was there—Athens, the city of 
“mnind—as radiant. as splendid, as delicate, as young as ever she had been. 

Many a more fruitful coast or isle is washed by “the blue Aigean, many a spot is 
there n more beautiful or sublime to see, many a territory more ample ; but there was 


us 


a 
ee. 
si, 


We ~ -CYCLOPAEDIA OF © [re 1876. 


one charm in Attica, which in the same perfection was nowhere else. The deep — 
astures of Arcadia, the plain of Argos, the Thessalian vale, these had not the gift; y 
cotia, which lay {o its immediate north, was notorious for its very want of it. 
The heavy atmosphere of that Boeotia might be good for vegetation, but it was as- — 
sociated in popular belief with the dullness of the Beeotian intellect; on the con- — 
trary, the special purity, elasticity, clearness, and salubrity of the air of Attica, fit - 
concomitant and emblem of. its genius, did that for it which earth did not; it — 
brought out every bright hue and tender shade of the landscape over which it was — 
oh Naa would have illuminated the face even of a more bare and rugged © 
country. : tap 
A confined triangle. perhaps fifty miles its greatest length, and thirty its greatest — 
breadth; two elevated rocky barriers, meeting at an angle; three prominent 
inountains, commanding the plain—Parnes, Pentelicus, and Hymettus; an unsatis- — 
factory soil: some streams, not always full—such is about the report which tle — 
agent of a London company would have made of Attica. He would report that the — 
climate was mild; the-hills were limestcne ; there was plenty of good marble; more ~ 
pasture land than at first survey might have been expected, sufiicient certainly for — 
sheep and goats; fisheries productive ; silver mines once, but long since worked — 
out; figs fair; oil first-rate; olives in profusion. But what he would not think of © 
noting down, was, that the olive tree was so choice in nature and so noble in shape, _ 
that it excited a religious veneration ; and that it took so kindly to the light soil, — 
as to expand into woods upon the open plain, and to climb up and fringe the 
hills. He would not think ef writing word to his employers, how that clear air, 
of which I have spoken, brought out, yet blended and subdued the colours on — 
the marble, till they had a softness and harmony, for all their richness, which, in — 
a picture, Jooks exaggerated, yet is, after all, within the truth. He would not a 
tell how that same delicate and brilliant atmosphere freshened up the pale olive, — 
till the olive forgot its monotony, and its cheek glowed like the arbutus or ~ 
heech of the Umbrian Hills. He would say nothing of the thyme and thousand 3 
fragrant herbs which carpeted Hymettus; he woud hear nothing of the hum of its — 
bees; nor take much account of the rare flavour of its honey, since Gozo and £ 
Minorca were sufficient for the English demand. He would look over the 4igean ~ 
from the height he had zscende4 ; he would follow with his eye the chain of islands, 
which, starting from the Sunian headisnée, seemed to offer the fabled divinities of — 
/,ttica. when they would visit their Ionian cousins, a sort of vivduct thereto across _ 
thesea; but that fancy would not occur to him nor any admiration of the dark ~ 
violet billows with their white edges down below ; nor of_those faithful, fan-likejeis 
of silver upon the rocks, which slowly rise aloft like water spirits from the deep, ~ 
then shiver, and break, and spread, and shroud themselves, and disappear in a soft 
Anist of foam; nor of the gentle, incessant heaving end panting of the whole hquid 
plain; nor of the long waves keeping-steady time, like a line of scldiery, as they 
resound upon the hollow shore—he wonld not deign to-notice that restlers living ele- _ 
ment at all, except to bless his stars that he was not upon it. Nor the distinct de- 
tail, nor the refined colouring, nor the graceful outline and roseate golden-hue of the _ 
jutting crags, nor the bold shadows cast from Otum or Laurium by the declining 
sun; our agent of a mercantile firm would not value these matters even atalow — 
ficure. Rather we must turn for the sympathy we seek to-yon pilgrimstudent,come 
from a semi-barbarous land to that small corner of the earth, as to a shrine, where 
he might take his fill of gazing on those emblems and coruscations of invisible, un- | 
“yiginate perfection. It was the stranger from a remote 3} rovince, from Britain or 
fom Manritania. who, in a scene so ditfereut from that of his chilly, woody swamps, _ 
or of his fiery, choking sands. learned at once what areal university must be, by ~ 
coling to understand the sort of country which was its suitable home. : 


Influence and Law. 


Taking influence and law to be the two great principles of government, it is plain é 
that, historically speaking, influence comes first, and then Jaw. ‘Thus Orpheus pre- 
ceded Lycurgus and Solon. Thus Deioces the Mede laid the foundations-of his power — 
in the personal reputation for justice, and then established it in the seven walls by — 
which he surrounded himself in Ecbatana, First we have the virwm pietate graem, — 
whose word ‘rules the spirits and soothes the breasts’ of the multitude—or the © 


ag | ‘hs : ee 
“NEWMAN,} = - ENGLISII LITERATURE. 105 


es, 


ae warrior—or the mythologist and bard; then follow at length the dynasty and consti+ 


tution. Such is the history of society: it begins in the poet, and ends in the 


policeman. - 


ee The Beautiful and the Virtuous. 


a i 
It is maintained that the beautiful and the virtuous mean the same thing, and are 


- convertible terms. Accordingly conscience is found out to be but slavish ; and a fine 


taste, an exquisite sense of the decorous, the graceful, and the appropriate, this is to 


-_ be our true guide for ordering our mind and our conduct, and bringing the whole 
~ maninto shape. These are great sophisms it is plain ; for, true though it be that 


J 
> 


virtue is always expedient, it does not therefore follow that everything which is ex- 
pedient, and everything which is fair, is virtuous. <A pestilence is an evil, yet may 
have its undeniable uses} and war, ‘ glorious war,’ is an evil, yet an army is a very 
beautiful object to look upon ; and what holds in these cases, may hold in others; 
80 that it is not very safe or logical to say that utility and beauty are guarantees for 


_ Virtue. 


The Jewish and Christian Churches.—From ‘Sermons bearing on the 
Subjecis of the Day.’ 

What -took eo under the Law is a pattern, what was commanded is a rule, 
under the Gospel. The substance remains, the use, the meaning, the circumstances, 
the benefit is changed; grace is added, life is infused; ‘the .body is of Christ ;’ but 
ii isin great measure that same body which was in being before He came. The 


_ Gospel has not put aside, it has incorporated into itself, the revelations which went 


before it. It avails itself of the Old ‘I'cstament. as a great gift to Christian as well 


as to Jew. It does not dispense with it. but it dispenses it. Persons sometimes 


urge that there is no code of dniy in the New Testament. no ceremonial, no rules 


— for Church polity. Certainly not: they are unnecessary; they are already given in » 


t 


‘ 


the Old. Why should the Old Testament be retained in the Christian Church, but 
“to be used? There are we to look for our forms, our rites, our polity; only illus- 
- trated, tempered, spiritualised by the Gospel. The precepts remain ; the observance 
of them is changed. 
This, I say, is what many persons are slow to understand. They think the Old 
Tesiament must be supposed to be our rule directly and literally, or not at all; end 


- since we cannot put ourselves under it absolutely and without explanation, they con 


-cude that in no sense is it binding on us; but surely there is such a thing as the 
application of Scripture; this is no very difficult or strange idea. Surely ave cannot 


- make any practical use even of St. Paul’s Epistles, without application. They are 


written to Ephesians or Colossians;.we apply them to the case of Englishmen. 
They speak of customs, and circumstances, and fortunes which do not belong to us; 
-we cannot take them literally; we must adapt them to our own case; we must ap- 
ply them to us. We are not in persecution, or in prison; we do not live in the 
south, nor under the Romans; nor have we been converted from heathenism ; nor 
hive we miraculous gifts; nor live we ina country of slaves; yet. stil! we do not find 


“it impossible to guide ourselves by inspired directions, addressed to those who were 


thus cireumstanced. And in somewhat a like manner, the directions of the Old 
Testament, whether as to conduct, or ritual. or Church polity, may be our guides, 


though we are obliged to apply them. Scripture itself does this for us in som@ 


-iustances, and in some others we ourselves are accustomed to do so for ourselves ; 


- and we may do so in a number of others also in which we are slow to do it. For 
_ distance, the Law says, ‘ Thou shalt love thv neighbor as thyself.’ Does the Gospel 


abrogate this command. Of course not. What does it do with it? It explains and 
enlarges it. It answers the question, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The substance of 
_the command is the same under Law and under Gospel; but the Gospel opens and 
elevates it. Andso again the Ten Commandments belong to the Law, yet we read 
them stillin the Communion Service, as binding upon ourselves; yet not in the 
mere letter; the Gcspel has turned the letter into spirit. It has unfolded end 


diversified those sacred precepts which were given from the beginning. 


Mr. Francis Wintiam NewMan, brother of the above, ar born 
in 1805, is a distinguished scholar and author of yarious works 1y 


106 CYCLOPEDIA OF. ~~ [ro 1876, 


1824 he was admitted a Fellow of Balliol College, Oxford, but re- 
signed his fellowship, as he could not subscribe the Thirty-nine — 
Articles for his Master’s degree, He was Latin Professor in Univer- — 
sity College, London, from 1846 to 1863, when he resigned. A * His- 
tory of the Hebrew Monarchy,’ and ‘ Lectures on History, were pub- — 
lished by him in 1847; in 1849, ‘The Soul, her Sorrows and Aspiras — 
t'ons;’ in 1850, ‘Phases of Faith’—a work avowing the authors — 
infidelity, but pervaded by a kind of mystical spiritualism; ‘Lectures 
on Political Economy, 1851; ‘Regal Rome,’ 1852; ‘The Crimes of — 
the House of Hapsburg, 1853. In this year, also, he published 
‘The Odes of Horace, translated into Unrhymed Metres,’ but the 
effort is described as not successful. In 1866 Mr. Newman published 

a ‘Handbook of Modern Arabic,’ and is understood to. be engaged on- 
an English-Arabic Dictionary. 


DR. CHANNING. 


WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING (1780-1842), cne of the most popular 
of the American prose writers and theologians, was a native of New- 
port, Rhode Island. After completing his education at Harvard 
University (where he took his degree in 1798), he studied divinity; 
and was ordained minister of a church in Boston. Though disliking” 
all sectarian preaching, Channing undertook, in 1819, on occasion of 
- the ordination of the Rev. Jared Sparks, to explain and defend the 
opinions of the Unitarians, dwelling on such tcpics as had been _ 
made the subject of misrepresentation. Still he described himself as 
‘more nearly related to Fenelon than to Priestley,” and in advanced 
life he said: ‘I am little of a Onitarian, have littie sympathy with 
- the system of Priestley and Belsham, and stand aloof from all but 
those who strive and pray for clearer light.’ He may be classed with 
Archbishop Leighton and Baxter. His unfeigned humility and piety 
endeared him to the good of all sects, and among his friends he could 
number even the High Church Wordsworth and Coleridge. ~ Dr. 
Channing (he received his degree of D.D. from Harvard University 
in 1821) was author of various essays and sermons— Essay on Na- 
tional Literature, 1823; ‘ Remarks on the Character and Writings of 
Milton, 1826; ‘ Analysis of the Character of Napoleon Bonaparte,’ 
1828 ; ‘The Character and Writings of Fenelon,’ 1829; ‘On Negro 
Slavery,’ 1835; ‘ On Self-Culture,’ 1838, and ‘Sermons on the Chris- - 
tian Evidences,’ and other subjects. _ All his works are distinguished 
by purity and elevation of thought, and though rather too measured 
and diffuse in style and expression, cannot be read without delight as 
well as instruction. The expansive benevolence and Christian 
ardour of the writer shine through the whole. Various editions of 
Clianning’s collected works have been issued, and in 1848 a copious 
life of him was published by his nephew, W. H. Channing. 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. Soe 


o: ; é The Character of Christ. 


— Weare struck with this peculiarity in the author of Christianity, that whilst all 
- other men are formed in a measure by the spirit of the age, we cun discover in Jesus 
no impression of the period in which he lived. We know with considerable accu- 
_ racy the state of society, the modes of thinking, the hopes and expectations of the 
country in which Jesus was born and grew up; and he is as free from them, and as 
exalted above them, as if he had lived in another world, or, with every sense shut 
on the objects around him. His character has in it nothing local or temporary. It 
can be explained by nothing arou:d him. His history shews him to us a solitary 
being, living for purposes which none but himself comprehended, aud enjoying not 
- 80 much as the sympathy of asingle mind. His apostles, his chogen companions, 
brought to him the spirit of the age; and ucthing shews its strength more strikingly. 
% igen the slowness with which it yielded in these honest men to the instructions of 
 desus. 
_ _ Jesus came to a nation expecting a Messiah; and he claimed this character. But 
instead of conform:ag to the opinions which prevailed in regard to the Messiah, he 
resisted them wholly and without reserve. To a people anticipating a triumphant 
leader, under whom vengeance 2s well as ambition was to be glutted by the prostra- 
tion of their oppressors, he came as a spiritual leader teaching humility and peace. 
*. This undisguised hostility to the dearest hopes and prejudices of his nation; this 
- disdain of the usual compliances by which ambition and imposture conciliate adhe- 
rents; this deliberate exposure of hiruself to rejection and hatred, cannot easily be 
_ exp’ained by the common principles of human nature, and excludes the possibility 
_ Of selfish aims in the author of Christianity. 
One striking peculiarity in Yesus is the extent—the vastness of his views. 
_- Whilst all around him looked for a Messiah to liberate God’s ancient. people; whilst 
_. to every other Jew. Judea was the exclusive object of pride and hope—Jdesus came 
declaring himself to be the deliverer and light of the wor/d: and in his whole 
teaching and life, you sce a consciousness, which never forrakes him, of a rela- 
tion to the whole human race. This idea of blessing mankind, of spreading a 
universal religion, was the most magnificent which had ever entered into men’s 
mind. All previous religions had heen given to particular nations. No conquerer, 
legislator. philosopher, in the extravegauce Of ambition, had ever dreamed of sub- 
* ‘ecting all nations to a common faith. 
3 This conception of a universal religion, intended for Jew and Gentile, for all na- 
tions and climes, is.wholly inexplicable by the circumstances of Jesus. He was a 
_ dew; aud the first and deepest and most constant impressicn on a Jew’s mind, was 
* that of the superiority conferred on his people and himself by the natio al religion, 
_ introduced by Moses.~ The wall between the Jew and the Gentile seemed to reach to 
‘heaven. The abolition of the peculiarity cf Moses, the overthrow of the ti mple of 
Mount Sinai, the erection of a new religion. in which all men would meet as brethren, 
and which would be the common and ¢cral property of Jew and Gentile—these 
were of all ideas the last to spring up in Judea, the last for enthusiasm or imposture 
to originate. ‘ 

Compare next these views of Christ with his station in life. He was cf humble 
Dirth snd education, with nothing in his lot, with no extensive means, no rank, or 
wealth. or patronage to infuse vast thoughts and extravagant plans. The shop of a 
carpenter, the village of Nazareth, were not epots for ripenirg ascheme more #spir-. 

' ing and extensive’ than had ever been formed. It is a prirciple in buman nature, 
that except in cases of insanity, some proportion is observed between the power of 
an indi-idnal and his p!ans and hopes. The purpose to which Jesus devoted himself 
was as ill suited to his condition as an attempt to change the seasons, or to make 
the sun rise in the west. That.a young man in obscure life, belonging to ar op- 
pressed nation, should seriously think of subverting the time-hallowed and deep- 
rooted religions of the world, isa strange fact: but with this purpose we see the 
mind of Jesus thoroughly imbued; and sublime as it is, he never falls below it in 
his language or conduct; but speaks and acts with a consciousness of superiority, ~ 
with a dignity and authority, becoming this unparalleled destination. In this con- 

nection J cannot but add another striking circumstance in Jesus; and that is. the 
- calra confidence wita which he always looked forward to the accomplishment of his 


design, Sg SiS OE ee A ae aie oT = 


108 : CYCLOPDIA OF 


The New Testament Epistles, vil 

The Epistles. if possible, abound in marks of truth and reality even more than” 
the Gospels. They are imbued thoroughly with the spirit of the first age of Chris-— 
tianity. They bear all the marks of having come from men, plunged in the conflicts” 
which the new religion excited, alive to its interests, identified with its fortunes. — 
hey betray the very state of mind which must have been generated by the peculiar — 
condition of the first propagators of the religion. They are letters written on real — 
business, intended for immediate effects, designed to meet prejudices and passions, ~ 
which such a religion must at first have awakened. They contain not a trace of the 
circumstances of a later age, cr of the feclings, impressions, and modes of thinking © 
by which later times were characterised, aud from which later writers could not easily 
have escaped. The letters of Paul have aremarkable agreement with his history. ~ 

They are precisely such as might be expected from a man of a vehement mind, who 
had been brought up in the schools of Jewish literature, who had been converted by — 
a& sudden, overwhelming miracle, who hid been entrusted with the preaching of the — 
new religion to the Gentiles, who had_ been everywhere met by the prejudices and — 
persecuting spirit of his own nation. They are fuil of obscurities, growing out of these — 
points of Paul’s history and character, aud out of the circumstances of the infant 
church, and which nothing but an intimate acquaintance with that early period can ~ 
jilustrate. This remarkable infusion of the spirit of the first age into the Christian 

records, cannot easily be explained but by the fact that they were written in that age 
by the real and zealous propagators of Curistianity, and that they are records of reaij 
couvictions and of aciual events. pe 


Napoleon Bonaparte 3 


His intellect was distinguished by rapidity of thought. He understood by a glance © 
what most men, and superior men, could learn only by study. He darted to.a con- 
clusion rather by intuition than reasoning. In war, which was the only subject of — 
which he was master, he seized in an instant oa the great points of his own and his © 
eneiny’s positions; and combined at ounce the movements by which an overpowering — 
force might be thrown with unexpected fury on a vul ierable part of the hostile line, 
and the fate of an army be decided ina day. He understood war-as a science; but 
his mind was too boli, rapid, and irrepressible, to be ens!aved by the technics of his ~ 
profession. He found the old armies fighting by rule,and he discovered the true™® 
characteristic of genins, which, without despising rules, knows when and how to ~ 
break them. He understood thorouigaly the imm?ns2 moral power which is gained _ 
by originality andrapility of operation. He astonished and paralysed his enemies — 
by his unforeseen and impetuous assaults, by the suddenn»*ss with which the storm ~ 
of battle burst upon them; aud whilst giving to his soldiers the advantages of mod- — 
ern discipline, breathed into them, by his quick and decisive movements, the enthu- — 
siasm of ruder ages. The power of disheartening the foe, and of spreading through ~ 
his own ranks aconfidence and exhilarating courage, which mad2 war a pastime, and 
seemed to make victory-sure, distiuguished Napoleon in an age of uncommon mili- — 
tary talent, and was One main instrument of his future power. 4 

The wonderful effscts of that rapidity of thought by which Bonaparte was 
marked, the signal success of his new mode of warfare, and the almost incredible ~ 
speed with which his fame was spread through nations, had no small agency in fix- 
ing his character, and determining for a period the fate of empires. These stirring ~ 
influences infused a new consciousness of his own might. They gave intensity and — 
audacity to his ambition ; gave form and substance to his indefinite visions of glory, — 
and raised his fiery hopes to empire. The burst of admiration which his early career _ 
called forth, must in particular have had an influence in imparting to his ambition — 
that modification by which it was characterised, and which contributed alike to its — 
success and to its fall. He began with astonishing the world, with producing a sud- — 
den and universal sensation, such as modern times had not witnessed. To astonish — 
as well as to sway by his energies, became the great end of his Hfe. Henceforth to ~ 
rule was not enough for Bonaparte. He wanted to amaze, to dazzle, to overpower — 
men's souls, by striking, bold, magnificent, and unanticipated results. To govern ~ 
ever so absolutely would not-have satisfied him, if he must have governed si an 4 
He wanted to reign through wonder and awe, by the grandeur and terror of hig _ 
name, by displays of power which would rivet on him every eye, and make him the 


* 


. A 
¥ 


CHANNING} “ENGLISH LITERATURE. . ~ 100 


theme of every tongue. Power was his supreme object; but a power which should 
‘be gazed at as well as felt, which shozld strike men as a prodigy, which should shake 
‘oid thrones as an earthquake, and by the suddenness of its new creations should 
‘awaken something of the submissive wonder which miraculous agency jnspires. 
_ His history shews a spirit of self-exaggeration, unrivalled in enlightened ages. 
and which reminds us of an oriental king to whom incense had been burned from 
— birth as to a deity. This was the chief source of his crimes. He wanted the 
sentiment of a common nature with his fellow-beings. He had no sympathies with 
his race. ‘hat feeling of brotherhood which is developed in truly great souls with 
‘peculiar energy, and through which they give up themselves willing victims, joyful 
sacrifices, to the interests of mankind, was wholly unknown to him. His heart, 
amidst-all its wild beatings, never had one throb of disinterested love. The ties 
‘which bind man to man he broke asunder. The proper happiness of a man, which 
“consists in the victory of moral energy and social affection over the selfish passions, 
he cast away for the lonely joy of a despot. With powers which might have made 
him a glorious representative and minister of the beneficent Divinity, and with 
“natural sensibilities which might have been exalted into sublime virtues, he chose to 
‘separate himself from his kind, to forego their love, esteem, and gratitude, that he 
“might become their gaze, their fear, their wonder, and, for this selfish, solitary good, 
“parted with peace and imperishable renown.* 
ye The spirit of se'f-exaggeration wrought its own misery, and drew down upon him 
‘terrible punishments; and this it did by vitiating and perverting his high powers. 
a it diseased his fine intellect, gave imagination the ascendency over judgment, 
urned the inventiveness and fruitfulness of his mind into rash, impatient, restless 
“energies, and thus precipitated him into projects which, as the wisdom of his coun- 
‘gellors pronounced, were fraught with ruin. To a man whose vanity took him out 
of the rank of human beings, no foundation for reasoning was left. All things 
seemed possible. His genius and his fortune were not to be bounded by the bar- 
riers which experience had assigned to human powers. Ordinary rules did not apply 
‘co him. His imagination, disordered by his egotism, and by unbornded flattery, 
leayed over appalling obstacles to the prize which inflamed his ambition. 


de ! 


* Great Ideas. 


_ What is needed to elevate the soul is, not that a man should know all that has 
been thought and written in regard to the spiritual natnure—not that a man should 
“become an encyclopedia; but that the great ideas, in which all discoveries termi- 
“nate, which sum up all sciences, which the philosopher extracts from infinite details, 
_ may be comprehended and felt. Tt is not the quantity, but the quality of knowledge, 
_ which determines the mind’s dignity. A man of immense information may, through 
the want of large and comprehensive ideas, be far inferior in intellect to a labourer, 
“who, with little knowledge, has yet seized on great truths. For example, I do not 
expect the labourer to study theology in the ancient Janguages, in the writings of the 
_ Fathers. in the history of sects, &c.; nor is this needful. All theology, scattered as 
it is through countless volumes. is summed up in the idea of God; and let this idea 
shine bright and clear in the labourer’s soul, and he has the essence of theological 
‘jibraries, and a far higher light than has visited thousands of renowned divines. 
A great mind is formed by a few great ideas, not by an infinity of loose details. I 


have known very Jearned men, who seemed to me very poor in intellect, because they 


-__ * We may illustrate Channing’s argument hy qnoting part of Coleridge’s criticism on 
-Milton’s Satan: ~The character of Satan is pride and‘sensnal indulgence finding initself 
“the motive of action. Itis the character so often «cen in little on the polineal stage. tt 
‘exhibits all the restlessness. temerity. and cunning which have marked the mighty 
hunters of mankind from Nimrod to Napoleon. The common fascination of man is, that 
these great men. asthey are called. must act from some great motive. Milton has care- 
fully marked in his Satan the intense selfishness. the alcohol of egotism, which would 
* yather reign in hell than serve in heaven. ‘To place this lust of self in opposition to de< 
nial of self or dnty. and to shew what exertions it would make. and what pains endure 
toaccomplish its end. is Milton’s particular objectin the character of Satan. But 

around this character he has thrown a singularity of, daring. a grandeur of sufferance, 
‘anda ruined splendour. which constitute the very height of poetic sublimity.’ The ca~ 
-recr of Napoleon certainly exemplifies the principle here so finely enunciated, 


110 -- - CYCLOPAEDIA OF - 


had no grand thoughts, What avails it that aman has studied ever s 
histories of Greece and Rome, if the great ideas of freedom, 


The Rev. Henny Brun (1794-1843) was for several years incum- 
bent of Trinity Church, Chelsea, and was not only a popular preacher 
but a voluminous author. He belonged to what is known as the 
Low Church or Evangelical party. Some of Mr. Blunt’s religious 
\reatises are said to have gone through forty editions in England, 
besides having a great circulation in America, Among his works 
are—‘ Lectures upon the History of Jacob,’ 1828; ‘Lectures upon 
the History of St. Paul, two parts, 1832-33; ‘Family Exposition of 
the Pentateuch ;’ with several volumes of ‘ Sermons,’ &e. After Mr, 
Blunt’s death three volumes of ‘Sermons’ and ‘Pastoral Letters? 
were collected and published ; 


dex 


DR. KITTO ; 
Dr. Jonn Krrro (1804-1854) devoted himself, amidst many dis- 


= 


touragements, to the illustration of the Sacred Scriptures. He was 
a native of Plymouth, the son of humble parcnts, and a fall from 
the rocf of a house, a few days after he had ccmpleted his twelfth 
rear, deprived him of the sense of hearing. His description of the 
“valumily is simple and touching : es: | 
Twas very slow in learning that my hearing was entirely gone. The unusual 
illness of all things was grateful to me in my utter exhaustion ; and if in this half; 
rwakened state, a thought of the matter entered my mind, I ascribed it to the unu- 
eual care and success of my friends in preserving siJence around me. J saw them 
talking, indeed, to one another, and thought that out of regard to my feeble condi- 
tion they spoke in whispers, because I heard them not. _The truth was revealed to 
me in consequence of my solicitude about the book which had so much interested 
me in the day of iny fall. It had, it seems, been reclaimed by the good old man 
who had sent it to me, and who doubtless concluded that I should have no more 
need of books in this life. He was wrong; for there has been nothing in this life 
which I have needed more. TI asked for this book with much earnestness, and was 
answered by signs which J could not comprehend. _ ? ; : 
‘Why do you not speak,’ I cried?‘ Pray let me have the took.’ This scemed 
to create some confusion ; and at length some one, more clever than the rest, hit 
upon the happy expedient of writing upon a slate, that the book had been reclaimed 
by the owner, and that I could not in my weak state be allowed to read. ‘But,’ 
said an great astonishment, ‘why do you write to me; why not speak? Speak 
speak !’ Bs: 
r Those who stood around the bed exchanged significant looks of concern, and the 
writer soon displayed upon his slate the awful words— You ARE DEAF!’ Did not 
this utterly crush me? By no means. In my then weakened condition nothing like 
this could affect me. Besides, I was a child, and to a child the full extent of such & 
calamity conld not be at once apparent. However.’ I knew not the future—it was 
* lI did not; and there was nothing to shew me that I suffered under more than a 


“hs 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 111 


os - 2 
‘temporary deafuess, which in afew days might pass away. It was left for time te 
hew me the sad realities of the condition to which J was reduced. 
“The deaf boy, after his recovery, was placed in the workhouse, 
unil-some employment could be found for him. He was put ap- 
prentice to a shoemaker, who used him with great cruelty, but an 
appeal to the magistrates procured his release from this tyranny ; and 
being assisted, in his nineteenth year, to publish a volume of essays 
and letters, friends came forward, and he was enabled to follow out 
his strong bias for theological literature. He spent ten years in trav- 
elling and residing abroad, the result of which appeared in his Bib- 
lieal criticism and illustrations, and in his account of the ‘ Scripture 
fands, 1850. On his return to England, in 1833, he wrote for the 
Penny Magazine’ a series of papers cillel* The Deaf Traveller, 
and ever afterwards was actively engaged in literature. He edited 
*The Pictorial Bible,’ the * Journal of Sacred Literature, and the 
‘“Cyclopxelia of Biblical Literature ;’ also a valuable work, ‘ Daily 
Bible Illustrations.’ Two small volumes, entitled ‘The Lost Senses,’ 
one on deafness and the other on blindness, were produced by Dr. 
Kitto, and are interesting from the facts and anecdotes they contain. 
He concludes that tne blind are not so badly off as the deaf. ‘It is 
indeed possible that, so far as regards merely animal sensation, the 
Dlind manis in a worse condition than the deaf; but in all that re- 
gards the culture of the mind, he has infinitely the advantage, while 
his fall enjoyment of society, from which the other is excluded, 
keeps up a healthy exercise of his mental faculties, and maintains 
iim in that cheerful frame of mind, which is as generally observed 
among the blind, as the want of it is among the deaf.’ A pension of 
‘£100 wassettled upon Dr. Kitto by the government. He went abroad 
‘to recruit his health, which had been injured by too close applica- 
dion, but died at Cannstadt, near Stuttgart, in his fifty-first year. 
a. DR. ROBERT VAUGHAN. 
 Rosert VAUGHAN, D.D., was for some years Professor of Ancient 
‘and Modern History in the university of London, and President of 
the Independent College, Manchester. He was author of various 
‘important historical works, imbued with true constitutional feeling 
‘and principle, and evincing great care and research. Among these 
works are ‘Memorials of the Stuart Dynasty from 1608 to 1688, pub- 
lished in 1831; ‘Protectorate of Oliver Cromwell and the State of 
Europe during the Early Part of the Reign of Louis XIV., 1888; 
*The Age of Great Cities,” 1842; ‘John De Wycliffe,’ a monograph, 
1854; ‘ Revolutions in English History, 1859; ‘ Revolutions in Goy- 
ernment,’ 1863; ‘English Nonconformity, 1862; and a great num- 
ber of discourses, reviews, and pamphlets on theological and philo- 
“sophical questions. Dr. Vaughan was born in 1795, and educated at 
‘Bristol, after which he became pastor of the Independent Chapel at _ 
‘Kensington. This indefatigable and conscientious literary worker 


112 CYCLOPADIA OF 


9- : 
> 


died in 1868, in his seventy-third year. His pulpit oratory is de-. 
scribed as of an impressive intellectual character. 


¥ 


a 4 
“cK 


HENRY ROGERS. 


ake 
Few books of religious controversy have been so popular as ‘ The : 
Eclipse of Faith, or a Visit to a Religious Sceptic, 1852. This work 
went through five editions within two years. Though the name of ) 
the author is not prefixed, ‘ The Eclipse’ is known to be the production: 3 
of Mr. Henry Rogers, one of the professors at the Independent Col- | 
lege, Birmingham. Mr. Rogers officiated for some time as minister of | 
an Independent congregation, but was forced to relinquish his charge | 
on account of ill health. He has been a contributor to the ‘ Edin-_ 
burgh Review,’ and a collection of his various papers has been pub- | 

lished under ’the title of ‘ Essays: Contributions to the Edinburgh 
Review,’ three volumes, 1850-55. In 1856 Mr. Rogers published, 
an ‘ Essay on the Lilie and Genius of Thomas Fuller, with Selections | 
from his Writings.’ He has also contributed some short biographies’ | 


to the‘ Encyclopedia Britannica.’ Learned, eloquent, and liberal in | 


’ 


sentiment, Mr. Rogers is an honour to the Dissenting body. ‘The 
Eclipse’ was written in reply to Mr. F. W. Newman’s ‘Phases of 
Faith, noticed ina previous page. Mr. Rogers adopts the plan of 
sending to a missionary in the Pacific Ocean an account of the re- | 
ligious distractions in this country. All the controversies and new 
theological opinions, English and German, which have been agitated 
within the last twenty years are discussed, and a considerable part 
of the reasoning is in the form of dialogue. The various interlocuall 
tors state their opinions fully, and are answered by other parties, 
Deism is representel by a disciple of Professor Newman, who draws - 
most of his arguments from the ‘Phases of Faith,’ A new edition” 
of this work being called for, Mr. Newman added to it a* Reply to. 
the Eclipse of Faith,” 1854, and Mr. Rogers rejoined with ‘A Defence 
of the Eclipse of Faith” There is a good deal of vigorous thought 
and sarcasm in Mr. Rogers’s ‘ Eclipse’ and ‘ Defence,’ while in logi- 
cal acuteness he is vastly superior to his opponent. Occasionally he- 
rises into a strain of pure eloquence, as in the following passage: 


_ 


The Humanity of the Saviour. 


; 8 
And now what, after all, does the carping criticism of this chapter amount to? 
Little as it is in itself, it absolutely vanishes; it is felt that the Christ thus portrayed — 
cannot be the right interpretation of the history, in the face of all those glorious — 
scenes with which the evangelical narrative abounds, but of which there is here an 

entire oblivion. But humanity will not forget them; men still wonder at the * gra-— 
cious words which proceeded out of Christ’s mouth,’ and persist in saying, ‘ Never _ 
man spake like this man.’ The brightness of the brightest names pales and wanes 
before the radiance which shines from the person of Christ. The scenes at the 1 
tomb of Lazarus, at the gate of Nain, in the happy family at Bethany, in the ‘upper | 
» room’ where He instituted the feast which should for ever consecrate His memory, — 
and bequeathed to his disciples the legacy of His love; the scenes in the Garden of 
Gethsemane, on the summit of Calvary, and at the sepulchre; the sweet remembrance _ 
of the patience with which He bore wrong, the gentleness with which he rebuked — 


ae,’ See 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 118 


it, and the love with which he forgave it; the thousand acts of benign condescen- 
‘sion by which-He well earned for himself, from self-righteous pride and censorious 
hypocrisy, the name of the ‘friend of publicans and sinners;’ these and a hundred 
things more, which crowd those concise memorials of love and sorrow with such 
‘prodigality of beauty and of pathos, will still continue to charm and attract the soul of 
mmanity, and on these the highest genius, as well as the humblest mediocrity, will 
Jove to dwell. These things lisping infuncy loves to hear on its mother’s Knees, and 
‘over them age, with its gray locks, berds in devoutest reverence. No; before the 
‘Infidel can prevent the influence of these compositions, he must get rid of the gospels 
themselves, or he must supplant them by jictions yet more wonderful! Ah, what 
bitter irony has involuntarily escaped me! But if the last be impossible, at least the 
gospels must cease to exist before infidelity can succeed. Yes, before infidels can pre- 
Font men from thinking as they have ever done of Christ, they must blot out the 
gentle words with which, in the presence of austere hypocrisy, the Saviour 
welcomed that timid guilt that conid only express its silent love in an agony 
of tears; they must blot out the words addressed to the dying penitent, who, soft- 
ened by the majestic patience of the mighty sufferer, detected at last the Monarch 
_ under the veil of sorrow, and cast an imploring glance to be ‘remembered by Him 
when he came into His kingdom ;’ they must blot out the scene in which the de- 
“moniacs sat listening at His fect, and ‘in their right mind ;’ they must blot cut the 
“remembrance of the tears which He shed at the grave of Lazarvs—not surely for 
him whom He was-about to raise, but in pure sympathy with the sorrows of hu- 
_Manity—for the myriad myriads of desolate mourners, who could not, with Mary, 
fly to Him and say: ‘Lord, if thou hadst been here, my mother, brother, sister, had 
not died!’ they must blot out the reeord of those miracles which charm us, not only 
asthe proof cf His mission, and guarantees of the truth of His doctrine, but as they 
‘illustrate the benevolence of His character and are types of the spiritual cures His 
gospel can yet perform ; they must blot out the scenes of the sepulchre, where: love 
_ and yeneration lingered, and sa\v what was never seen before, but shall henceforth 
_be seen to the end of time—the tomb itself irradiated with angelic forms. and bright 
“With the presence of Him ‘who brought life and immortality 10 light;’ they must 
_ blot out the scene where deep and grateful love wept so passionately, and found Him 
_unbidden at her side, type of ten thousand times ten thousand, who have ‘sought 
- the grave to weep there,’ and found joy and consolation in Him ‘whom, though un- 
een. they loved ;’ they must blot out the discourses in which He took leave of his dis- 
‘Ciples, the majestic accents of which have filled so many depaiting couls with pa- 
Hence and with triumph; they must blot out the yet sublimer words in which He de- 
_¢@lares himself ‘the resurrection and the life’—words which have led so many mil- 
‘lions more to breathe out their spirits with childlike trust, and to believe, as the gate 
of death closed behind them, that they would see Him who is invested with the 
‘keys of the invisible world,’ ‘who opens and no man shuts, and shuts and no man 
peta letting in through the portal which leads to immortality the radiance of the 
“skies ; they must blot out, they must destroy these and a thousand other such things, 
‘before they can prevent Him haying the pre-eminence who loved, because he loved 
“4s, to call himself the ‘Son of Man,’ though angels called him the ‘Son of God.’ It 
is in yain to tell men it isan illusion. If it bean illusion. everyvariety of experiment 
oo it to be inveterate, and it will not be dissipated by a million of Strausses and 
Newmans! Probatum est. At His feet guilty humanity, of diverse races and na- 
tions, for eighteen hundred years, has come to pour forth in faith and love its 
' sorrows, and finds there ‘the peace which the world can neither give nor take away.’ 
Myriads of aching heads and weary hearts have found, and will find, repose there, 
and have invested him with veneration, love, and gratitude, which will never, never 
be paid to any other name than His. 


ARCHBISHOP WHATELY. 


In intellectual activity, power, and influence, few men of the present 
generation exceeded the late Jearned archbishop of-Dublin, Dr, 
Richard WuHATELY. This eminent prelate was a native of London, 
born in1787, fourth son of the Rev. Dr. Whately of Nonsuch Park, 
‘Surrey. He was educated at Oriel College, Oxford, a college cele- 


ae 


« 
fs 


114 ~:~ C¥CLOPADIA OF 


brated as having sent forth some distinguished modern theologians 
Arnold, Copleston, Keble, Hampden, Newman, and Pusey. Whately 
graduated in 1808, took a second class in Classics and mathematics, 
and gained the university prize for an English essay. Having taken 
his M.A. degree in 1812, Whately entered the church, was Bampton 
lecturer in Oxford in 1822,* and appointed the same year to the rece: 
tory of Halesworth, Suffolk. In 18265 he received the degree of D.D; 
in 1836 he was chosen Principal of Alban’s Hall, Oxford, and Pro- 
fessor ot Political Economy, Oxford ; and in 1831 he was consecrated 
archbishop of Dublin and bishop of Glendalagh, to which was afler: 
wards added the bishopric of Kildare. The literary career of Arch- 
bishop Whately seems to have commenced in 1821, when he was in 
his thirty-fourth year. Previous to this, however, he was conspicuous 
in the university for-his opposition to the High Church views of Dr. 
Pusey and Dr. Newman. In 1621 he published ‘The Christian’s 
Duty with respect to the Established Government and the Laws, 
considered in three Sermons;’ and the same year he issued neat 
' mously his tract, ‘ Historic Doubts relative to Napoleon Bonaparte ’— 
a grave logical satire on scepticism. The subject of his Bampton 
lectures was ‘ The Use and Abuse of Party Feeling in Religion,’ and 
he treated it with distinguished ability and liberality. His next two 
works were ‘The Elements of Logic, 1826; and‘ The Elements ¢ 
Rhetoric, 1828 | The former treatise gave a new life to the study of 
logic, as was admitted by Sir William Hamilton, who combated some 
of its doctrines, and it has long since taken its place as a standard in 
the library of mental science. Whately said his mind had for four- 
teen years brooded over the leading points of his work on Logie. ce 
_ In the same year (1828) appeared ‘ Essays on some of the Difficul- 
ties in the Writings of St. Paul, and in other parts of the New. Testa- 
men;’ then ‘Thoughts on the Sabbath,” 1880; and ‘Errors of Re 
manism,’ 1830. Of the latter, Miss Martineau says: ‘We do not 
know that any of his works more effectually exhibits the character- 
istics of his mind. It has the spirit and air of originality which 
aitend upon sublime good sense; and the freshness thus cast around 
a subject supposed to be worn out, is a sample of the vigour whieli 
in those days animated everything he said and did.’ On the subject 
of Sabbath observance, which has since been keenly conrtoveaarl 
Whately agrees with Paley, that the Jewish Sabbath and the Sune 
day or Lord’s Day are two separate institutions; with the former, the 
members of the Church of England have nothing to do, but the 
Lord’s Day ought to be observed by them,in obedience to the authors 
ity of the church, even independent of apostolic example and ancient 
usage. “Introductory Lectures to Political Economy,’ an ‘ Essay om 


* The Rev. John Bampton, canon of Salisbury (1690-1751), left asum of money 
producing about £120 per annum—tor founding a series of eight lectures each ye 
On subjects connected with the Christian faith, The lecturer is appointed byt 
heads of colleges in Oxford. La ts er a. 


115 


the Omission of Creeds, Liturgies, &c., in the New Testament, and 
several ‘ Sermons,’ were the product of 1831. Next year the prelate 
appears to have been chiefly attentive to social and political ques- 
tions, induced by his elevation to the archiepiscopal chair. He 
published ‘Evidence before the House of Lords respecting Irish 
Pithes,? ‘ Thoughts on Secondary Punishment, ‘ Reply to the Address 
of the Clergy on Nationa] Education in Ireland,’ and an ‘ Introduc- 
tion to Political Economy.’ Speeches or printed remarks on the 
question of Jewish disabilities, and the transportation of criminals, 
and ‘Sermons on Various Subjects, were produced between 1833 
and 1836. The Tractarian movement called forth from Whately, in 
1841, two ‘ Essays on Christ and his Kingdom ;’ and in 1843 he pub- 
lished. a Charge against the High Church party. Some other re- 
pes treatises, the most important being‘ Lectures on St. Paul’s 
Epistles,’ 1849, were subsequently produced; after which appeared a 
co lection of * English Synonyms,’ 1851, and addresses delivered at va- 
rious institutions in Cork, Manchester, and London, 1852-55... In 1856 
the archbishop published an edition of ‘ Bacon’s Essays, with Annota- 
tions’—the discursive nature of the essays, no less than their preg- 
nancy of meaning and illustration, affording scope for abundance of 
moral lessons and arguments. Of these the commentator has per- 
haps been too profuse, for there are about three hundred and fifty 
pages of annotation to one hundred of text, and a good many are. 
from the ‘archbishop’s previous works. The collection, however, 
forms a pleasant, readable volume. We give one or two of the com- 
mentator’s anecdotical contributions. 


§ Bt First Impressions. 

“Tn the days when travelling by post-chaise was common, there were usually certain 
ines of inns on all the principal roads—a series of good and a series of inferior ones, 
ach in connection all the way along; so that if you once got into the worst line you 
‘ould not easily get out of it tothe journey’s end. The ‘White Hart’ of one town would 
Irive you—almost literally—to the ‘ White Lion’ of the next, and so on all the way; 
40 that of two fravellers by post from London to Exeter or York, the one would 
lave had nothing but’ bad horses, bad dinners, and bad beds, and the other very 
yood. This is analogous to what befalls a traveller in any new country, with re- 
‘pect to the impressions he receives, if he falls into the hands of a party. They 
tonsign him, as it were, to those allied with them, and pass him on, from one to 
mother, all in the same connection, each shewing him and telling him just what 
imits the party, and concealing from him everything else. 


Le A Hint-to Anonymous Writers. 
LR well-known author once received a letter from a peer with whom he’was 
iightly acquainted, asking him whether he was the author of a certain article in the 
Edinburgh Review.’ He replied that he never made communications of that kind, 
xcept to intimate friends, selected by himself for the purpose, when he saw fit. His 
“efusal to answer, however, pointed him out—which, as it happened; he did not care 
‘or—asthe author. But acase might occur, in which the revelation of the author- 
ship might involve a friend in some serious difficulties. In any such case, he might 
lave answered something in this style: ‘1 have received a letter purporting to be 
trom your lordship. but the matter of it induces me to suspect that it is a forgery by 
some mischievous trickster. The writer asks whether I am the author of a certain 


ore 
te 
— . 


4 
116 CYCLOPAIDIA OF ©. | 
article. It is a sort of SUL which no one has a right to ask; and I think, there- 
fore, that every one is bound to discourage such inquiries by answering them— 
whether one is or is not the author—with a rebuke for asking impertinent questions | 
about private matters. I say ‘‘private,” because, if an article be libellous or sedi. 
tious, the law is open, and any one may proceed against the publisher, and compel 
him either to give up the author, or to bear the penalty. - If, again, it contains false 
statements, these, coming from an anonymous pen, inay be simply contradicted: And 
if the arguments be unsound, the obvious course is to refute them ; but who wroteit, - 
is a question of idle or of mischievous curiosity, as it relates to the private concerns of | 
an individual. If I were toask yourlordship: ‘‘Do you spend your income? or lay 
by? or outrun? Do youand your lady ever have an altercition ? Was she your first - 
love? or were you attached to some one else before? ”—if I were to ask such questions, © 
your lordship’s answer would probably be, to desire the footman to shew me out. 
ow, the present inquiry I regard as no less unjustifiable, and relating to private 
concerns; and, therefore, I think every one bound, when so questioned, always, - 
whether he-is the author or not, to meet the inquiry with a rebuke. Hoping that— 
my conjecture is right, of the letter’s being a forgery, I remain,’ &c. Jn any ease, 
however, in which a refusal to answer does fot convey any information, the best” 
way, perhaps, of meeting impertinent inquiries. is by saying: ‘Can you keep a se-" 
cret?’ and when the other answers that he can, you may reply: * Well, so can F.? 
- 


In 1859, Dr. Whately continued this light Jabour of annotation, 
selecting for his second subject, ‘ Paley’s Moral Philosophy,” This 
afforded a much less varied field for remark and illustration than. 
Bacon’s Essays, but it was one as congenial to the tastes and studies 
as the commentator. The low ground or fallacy upon which Paley 
built his ethical system—nameiy, that self-interest is the rule of vir- 
tue—has been often attacked, and is again assailed by Dr. Whately 
‘Men,’ says the commentator, ‘never do, and apparently never dis 
account any conduct virtuous which they believe to have proceedei 
entirely from calculations of self-interest, even though the external act_ 
itself be such as they conceive would have been done by a virtuous 
man.’ Paley’s fault as a moralist, as Dr. Whately remarks, is chiefly” 


one of omission, and it is probable that this argument of self-interest 
appears much stronger to the reader than it did to the author, whic 
aimed only at popular leading definitions. Even in this ease, he in- 
cludes the future world in his view of self-interest. The last publi 
cation of this eminent divine was a Charge directed against the pe- 
culiar dangers of the times, inculeating reverence for the Scriptures, 
and opposing a spirit of finality in ecclesiastical affairs. In all pub- 
lic questions connected with Ireland he took a warm interest. He 
supported the National School system with. all his energy, and 
founded the Statistical Society of Dublin. ‘It is not enough, he 
siid, ‘to believe what you maintain. You must maintain what you 
believe, and maintain it because you believe it. Archbishop Whately 
died October 8, 1863. Lan © 


ee 

The Negative Character of COalvinistie Doctrines.—From Whately 
‘ Hssays on the Writings of St. Paul.’ ae 
Tt has been frequently objected to the Calvinistic doctrines, that they lead, i 
consistently acted npon, to a sinful, or to a Careless, or fo an inactive life; and thé 
inference deduced from this alleged tendency has been that they are not true, What- 
ever may be, in fact, the practicai 111 tendency of the Calvinistic scheme, it is und 


x 


WHATELY.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 117 
es” = 

_piabie that many pious and active Christians who have adopted it have denied any 
- such tendency—have attributed the mischievous consequences drawn, not to their 
» doctrines rightly understood, but to the perversion and abuse of them; and have £0 
explained them to their own satisfaction, as to be compatible and consistent with 
active virtue. Now,if inst-ad of objecting to, we admit, the explanations of this 
“system, which the -oundest aud most approved of its advocates have given. we shall 
“find that, when understood as they wow have it, it can lead to no practical result 
whatever. Some Ciristians, according to them, are cternally enrolled in the book of 
life, and infailibly ordained to salvation, while others are reprobate, and absolutely 
excluded; but as the preacher (they add) hasno means of knowing, in the first in- 
stance at least, which persons belong to which class, and since those who are thus or= 
_dained are to be saved through the means God has appointed, tiie offers, and promises, 
" gnd threatenings of the Gospel are to be addressed io all alike, as if no such distinc- 
tion existed. ‘The preacher, in short, is to act in all respects as if the system were 
-nottrue. Hach individual Christian, again, according to them, though he is to be- 
lieve that-he either is, or is not, absolutely destined 10 eternal salvation, yet is also 
_ to believe that 7f his saivation is decreed, his holiness of life is also decreed; he is 
-to judge of his own state by ‘the fruits of the Spirit’ which he brings forth: to live 
in sin, or to relax his virtuous exertions, would be an indication of his not being 
“Teally (though he may flatier himself he is) one of the elect. Aud it may be adimilt- 
“ted that one who does practicaily adopt and conform to. this explanation of the doc- 
trine, will not be led into any evil by it, since his conduct wili not be in any respect 
ena uenced by it. When thus explained, itis reduced to a purely speculative dogma, 
barren of all practical results. 


teat 


= Expediency.—From ‘Elements of Rhetoric.’ 


“41 


So great is the outcry which it has been the fashion among some persons for 
‘Beveral years past to raise against eapediency, that the very word has become almost 
an ill-omened sound. ‘It <eems to be thought by many a sufficient ground of con-= 
demnation of any legislator to say that he is guided by views of expediency. And 
“S0me seem even to be ashamed of acknowledging that they are in any degree 80 
‘guided, I, for one, however, am content to submit to the imputation of being a 
votary of expedieney. Aud what is more, I do not see what right any one who is 
hot so has to sit in parliament, or to take any part in public affairs. Any one who 
Inay choose to acknowledge that the measures he opposes are expedient, or that 
those he recommends are inexpedient, ought manifestly to have 110 seat in a deliber= 
‘ative assembly, which is constituted for the express and sole purpose of considering 
What measures are conducive to the publie good ; in other words, ‘ expedient.’ I say, 
“the * public good,’ because, of course, by ‘expediency’ we mean, not that which may 
‘benefit some individual, or some party or class of men, at the expense of the public, 
‘but what conduces to the good of the nation. Now this, it is evident, is the 
very object for which deliberative assemblies are constituted. And so faris this 
om being regarded, by our church at least, as something at variance with religious 
‘duty, that we have a prayer specially appointed to be offer: d up during the sitting of 
the Houses of Parliament, that their consultations may he ‘ directed and prospered 
‘tor the safety. honour. and welfare of our sovercign and her dominions.’ Now, if 
this be not the very definition of political expedi-ncy. Jet any one say what it is. 
But some persons are so much at variance with the doctrine of our church on this 
ee od T may add, with all sound moralisis—as to speak of expediency as some-= 
‘ting that is, or may be.at variance with duty. Tf apy one really holds that it can 
er be expedient to violate the injunctions of duty—that he who does so isnot sac- 
rificing a greater good tna Jess (which all would admit to be inexpedient)—that it 
Can be really advantageous to do what is morally wrong—and will come forward 
and acknowledge that to be bis belief, I have only to protest. for my own part, with 
the deepest abhorr nee, against what I conceive to be so profligate a principle. It 
Shocks all the notions of morality that I have been accustomed from childhood to 
| idea to speak of expediency being possibly or conceivably opposed to recti- 
bude 
_ ‘There are indeed many-questions of expediency in which morality has no con- 
cern, ove Way or the other. In what way, for example, a husbandman should culti- 
ea his fleld, or in what branch of trade a merchant should invest bis capital, are 


<= 


3: eee CYCLOPADIA OF ~  —__ [ro 1876 


questions of expediency in which there is usually no moval right or wrong cn either 
side. But where there 7s. moral right and wrong, it can never be expedient to choose — 
the wrong. If the husbandman or the merchant should seek to gain increased 
profits by defrauding his neighbour, this would be at variance with expediency, be- 
Cause it would be sacrificing a greater good to a less. ‘For what would it profit a — 
mau if he should gain the whole world, and lose his own soul ?? am | 

_I believe, however, that the greater part of those who raise a Clamour against ex- — 
pediency mean, in reality, an apparent, but false and delusive expediency—that — 
which is represented as expedient, but in truth is not se. But if this be their mean- 
ing, it would surely be better, with a view to cutting short empty declamation, and 
understanding clearly whatever matter is under discussion, that they should exprereae | 
distinctly, and according to the ordinary use of language, what they do mean. It 
would be thought absurd for a man to declaim against ‘ virtue,’ and then at length 
to explain that what he meant was not real virtue, but an hypocritical semblance aby, 
it; or to. argue against the use of * coin,’ meaning all the time, not real genuine coin, 
but fraudulent counterfeits. And surely it isnot at all more reasonable for any oe tO © 
declaim against ‘expediency,’ if what he means be, not what is really expedient, 


> 


but what is erroneously mistaken for it. eh 


Consistency.—From ‘Elements of Rhetoric.’ : a 


A man is often censured as inconsistent if he changes his plans or his opinions — 
on any point. And certainly if he does this often, and lightly, thatis good ground — 
for withholding confidence from him. But it would me more precise to characterise — 
him as fickle and unsteady, than as inconsistent } because this use of the term tends _ 
{0 confound one fault with another—namely, with the holding of two incompatible 
opinions at once. ae 
But, moreover, a man is often charged with inconsistency for approving som 
parts of a book, system, character, &c., and disapproving ethers ; for being now an _— 
advocate for peace, and now for war; in short, for accommodating his judgment or 
his conduct to the circumstances before him, as the mariner sets his sails to th 7 
wind. In this case there is 10t even any change of mind implied ; yet for this a 
man is often taxed with inconsistency, though in many instances there would even 
be an inconsistency in the opposite procedure ; e.g. in not shifting the sails, when > 
the wind changes. ‘ ; i- 
In the other case indeed, when a man does change bis mind, he implies some 
error, either first or last. But some errors every man is liable to, who is not infalli- 
ble. He, therefore, who prides himself on his consistency, on the ground of resolv=_ 
ing never to change his plans or opinions, does virtually (unless he means to proclaim 
himself either too dull to detect bis mistakes, or too obstinate to own them) lay clai 
to infallibility. And if at the same time he ridicules (as is often done) the absur 
of a claim to infallibility, he is guilty of a gross inconsistency in the proper and pri- 
mary sense of the word. . ae 
But itis much easier to boast of Consistency than to preserve it. For as, in t 
Cark, or ina fog, adverse troops may take post near each other, without mutu: 
recognition, and consequently without contest, but as soon as daylight comes the — 
weaker give place to the stronger; so, in a misty and darkened mind, the most in= 
compatible opinions may exist together, without any perception of their diss 
crepancy, till the understanding becomes sufticiently enlightened to enable the ma 
to reject the Jess reasonable opinions, and retain the opposites. - 4 
Tt may be added. that it is a very fair ground for disparaging any one’s judgmen' 
if he maintains any doctrine or system, avowedly for the sake of consistency. That 
must always be a bad reason. If the system, &c., is right, you should pursue it 
because it is right, and-not because you have pursued it bitherto; if it is wrong, ¥: 
having once committed a fault is a poor reason to give for persisting in it. Hi 
therefore, who makes such an avowal may fairly be considered as thenceforward @ 
titled to no voice in the question. His decision having been already given, once for all 
with a resolution not to reconsider it, or to be open to conviction from aby fresh a! 
guments, his re-declarations of it are no more to be reckoned repeated acts of ju 
ment, than new impressions from a stereotype plate are to be regarded as new 
tions. In short, according to the proverbial phrase, ‘ His bolt is shot.’ : 


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“rurToN.] © _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. — 119 — 


DR. BURTON—EDWARD BICKERSTETH. 


Dr. Epwarp Burton. (1794-1836), a native of Shrewsbury, was 
Regius Professor of Divinity in the university of Oxford, and Bamp- 
ton lecturer in 1829. His first work was ‘Observations on the An- 
tiquities of Rome, which gave evidence of that research which after- 
_ wards characieriséd his theological works. His most valuable pub- 
_ lications are— Testimonies of the Anti-Nicene Fathers to the Divinity 
of Christ, 1826, and to the ‘ Doctrine of the T rinity, 1831; ‘ Inquiry 
into the Heresies of the Apostolic Age ;’ ‘The Chrorolegy of the 
Apostles and St. Paul’s Epistles,” 1880; ‘Lectures on the Ecclesias- 
tical History of-the Fiist Three Centuries, from the Crucifixion to 
313 A.D.,’ two volumes, 1831-33; * History of the Christian Church to - 
the Conyersion of Constantine” 1836; &c. Besides these works, 
‘which stamped him as the most profound patristic scholar of bis age, 
Dr. Burton published an edition cf the Greek Testament with notes, 
two volumes, 1831. 
__ The Rev. Epwarp Bickerstern (1786-1850), rector of Walton, 
was a voluminous wiiter; his collected works, published in 1858, fill. 
~ Seventeen volumes, and there are five more of his ¢maller publica- ~~ 
tions. His views were Low Church or Evangelical. The most pop- 
_ war of Mr. Bickersteth’s writings arc— The Scripture He}p, a prac- 
tical introduction to the reading of the Scriptures, of which Mr. 
- Horne, in his ‘ Introduction, says that 160.600 copies have. been sold; 
~a*Practical Guide to the Prophecies, 1829; ‘The Christizn Stu- 
dent ;’ ‘ Discourses on Justificaticn, on the Lord’s Supper,’ &c. 


a - DRS. HAWKINS—HINDS—HAMPDEN—GRESWELL. 


_ Among the Oxford divines may be mentioned Dr. Epwarp Haw- 
“kins, Provost of Oriel College, who has wiitten ‘ Unauthotitative 
‘Tradition,’ 1819 ; several volumes of ‘Sermons and Discourses >? and 
“the Bampton Lectures (on ‘Christian Truth’) for 1840. Dr. Samuri 
-Hinbs, vice-principal of St. Alban Hall and bishop of Norwich, has 
‘Written, with other works, a ‘Ilistory of Christianity, two. volumes. 
1829, part of which appeared criginally in the ‘ Ency eloy edia Metro- 
Politana, and is characterised by c1udite research and literary a bility. 
Another theological contributor 10 the ‘Encycloy dia Metropolitana,’ 
was Dr. Renn Dickson Hamppren, who lad been Principal of St. 
Mary’s Hall and Regius Professor of Divinity, and who was 
nominated to the bishopric of Hereford in 1847. Dr Hampcen was 
orn in the island of Barbadoes in 1793. In 1810 he was entered of 
Oriel Coilege, Oxford. He was Bampton lecturer in 1882, and his 
appointment as Regius Professor was violently «pposed by one party 
Inthe church on account of alleged unsoundness of doctrine. The 
controversy on this subject raged for some time, but it was as much 
Political as ecclesiastical, and Lord John Russell evinced his disregard 
cf it by promoting Dr. Hampden to the see of Hereford. The most 
important of the works of this divine are— Philosophical Evidence 


* 


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130 | -- CYCLOPZDIA OF 


of Christianity,’ 1827; the ‘Bampton Lectures ;’ ‘ Les.1ve2 5 
Moral Philosophy ;’ ‘Sermons before the University of Oxi” 
1836-47: a Review of the Writings of Thomas Aquinas in the * Hine 
eyclopedia Metropolitana ;’ and the articles ‘Socrates, Plato,’ ond” 
“Aristotle? in the ‘Encyclopedia Britannica’? Mr. Hatlam hes” 
characterised Dr, Hampden as ‘ the only Englishthan who, since the 
revival of letters, penetratcd into the wilderness of scholasticism,? — 


He died in 1868. a 

Tie Rev. Epwarp GRrEswELL, Fellow of Corpus Christi College, — 
has written a valuable ‘ Exposition. of the Parables.and other parts — 
of the Gospels, five volumes, 1834-35; ° Harmonia Evangelica— 
183}-40: ‘Harmony of the Gospels,’ four volumes, 1830-345 ° Fasti- 
Tempori Catholici) five volumes, 1852. The father of Mr. Greswell- 
who was incumbent of Denton, Manchester—wrote a very elegant 
work, ‘ Annals of Parisian Typography, 1818; also a ‘View of the” 
Barly Parisian Greek Press,’ 1833. . 4 % 


Value of Negative Testimony.—From Hinds's ‘ Inspiration of Scripture.’ 
To say that numerous old manuscripts exist ; that they admit of classification and 
date, and other characteristics ; to speak of evidence, derived “rom contemporary — 
history, from the monuments of art, from national manners and custems; to assert 
that there have been persons qualified for the task, who have examined duly these- 
several branches of evidence, and have given a satisfactory report of that research, 
is to make a statement concerning the evidence of Christianity, which is intelligi-— 
ble indeed, but is not itself the evidence, not itself the proof, of which you speak, 
So far from this being the case, we cannot but feel that the author who is guiding 
us, and pointing out these pillars of our faith, as they appear engraved on his chert 
of evidence, can himself, whatever be his learning. be personaliy acquainted with. 
but a very small portion. ‘he most industrious and able scholar, after spending a 
life on some individual point of evidence, the collation of manuscripts, the illustra= 
trations derived from uninspircd authors, translations, or whatever the inquiry be, 
must, after all (it would seem), rest by far the greater part of his faith immediately | 
on the testimony of others; as thousands in turn will rest their f aith on his testi- 
mony, to the existence of sach proof as he has examined, There is no educated — 
Christian who is not taught to appreciate the force of that proof in favour of the 
genuineness of the New ‘l'estament, which may be derived from the consent of ane 
cient copies, and the quotations found in along line of fathers, and other writers; | 
and yet uot one ip a thousand ever reads the works of the fathers, or sees & manue | 
script,.or is even capable of deciphering one, if presented to him. He admits the 
very groundwork of his faith on the assertion of those who profess to have ascets | 
tained these points; and even the most learned are no further exceptions to this case, — 
than in the particnlar_ branch of evidence which they have studied. Nay, even in’ 
their use of this, it will be surprising, when we come to reflect on it, how great a 
Pee must be examined only through statements resting ou the testimony Of) 
ethers. fe ; J 
Nor is it a question which can be waived. by throwing the weight of disproof on 
those who cavil and deny. It turns upon the use which is made. more or ere | 
all, of the positive proofs urged in defence of Christianity. Christianity is estaD-— 
lished; and it may be fair to bid its assailants prove that it is not what it professes 
to be, the presumption and prescriptive title being on its side. But Christianity 
does not intrench itself within this fortress; it brings out into the “eld an array OT | 
evidences to establish that which, on the former view of the case, its adhererts are 
_ supposed not to be called on to maintain. It boasts of the sacred volume haying” 
been transmitted pure by means of manuscripts 5 and by asserting the antiquity, th ; 
freedom from corruption, and the independence and agreement of the several classe 
of these, the Christian contends for the existence of his religion at the time when | 
: a F | 


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Pe ~ x he Ses 7 ee 9 a 


GRESWELL.} | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 121 


 @hrist andthe apostles lived. Ancient writings are pppers to. and quotations 


» ited by various authors from the New Testament are ac 


: duced, which go to prove 
_thesame. Even profane history is made to furnish contemporary evidence of the 
first rise of Christianity. Now it is the way in which this evidenc: is employed that 


_ is the point to be considered; the question is, in what sense all this can be called 


evidence to the mass of Christians. All this is, in short. positive proey; and he who 


hus examined manuscripts, or read the works in question, has gone throngh tne 


_ demonstration; but he who has not—and this is the: case with all, making a very 


_ few exceptions—has not gone through the process of proof himself, but takes tho 


» conclusion on the word of others. He believes those who inform him, that they, or 


holy wvit. Can this be calied reasonable faith? or, at least, dO we not pretend to 


x 


‘others, have examined manuscripts, read the fathers, compured profane history with 


be believing on proofs of various kinds, when, in fact, our belief rests on the bare 


~ assertions of others? 


-,. It is very important-that the case should be set in its truc light, because, suppos- 


ing the Christian ministry able, and at leisure, to investigate and sift the Christian 
 évidence for themselves, the same cannot be done by the barrister, the physician, 


_~the professional man of whatever department besides theology, however enabled by 


education ; and then, whut is to be the lot of the great mass of the people? ‘They, 
clearly, are incompetent even to follow up the several steps of proof which each 


a proposition would require. They take it for granted, if they apply the evidence at 


all, thut these things are so, because wiser persons than they say itis so. In the. 


_ same spirit asthe question was put of old: ‘Have any of the rulers believed on 
_ Christ? but this people who knoweth not the law are cursed,’ Christians most gen- 
erally, it would seem, believe in Christ, because their epiritual rulers do, and reject 
_ the infidel’s views, because these people are pronounced accursed. N ay, the suppo- 
_ tion of the clergy themselves having the qualification, and the opportunity to go 


_ through the process of proof, is only a supposition. They often want either or both; 


_andit is impossible that it should not be so. ‘The lubour of a life is scarcely suf- 
_ ficient to examine for on’s self one branch alone of such evidence. For the greater 


part, few men, however-learned, have satisfied themselves by going through the 
proof. They have admitted the main assertions, because proved by others. 
___ And is this conviction then reasonable? Is-it more than the adoption of truth 


_ On the authority of another? Itis. The principle on which all these assertions are 


_Feceived, is not that they have been made by this or that creditable individual or 
body of persons, who have gone through the proof—this may have its weight with 
the critical and learned—but the main principle adopted by all, intelligible by all, and 
“Teasonable in itself, is, that these assertions are set forth, bearing on their face a 
_ Challenge of refutation. The assertions are like witnesses pliced in a hox to be con- 
“fronted. Scepticism, infidelity. and scofiing, form the very groundwork of our faith. 
_ As long as these are known to exist and to assail it, so long are we sure that any un- 
tenable assertion may and will be refuted. The benefit accruing to Christianity in 
_this respect from the occasional success of those who have found flaws in the several 
parts of evidence, is invaluable. We believe what is not disproved, most reasonably, 
_ hecanse we know that. there are those abroad who are doing their utmost to disprove 
it. We believe the witness, not because we know him and esteem him. but because 
he is confronted, cross-examined, suspected, and assailed by arts fair and unfair. 
‘Its not his authority, but the reasonableness of the case. It becomes conviction 
-Wwell-crounded, and not assent to man’s words. Cine 
At the same time nothing has perhaps*more contributed to perplex the Christian 
Anguirer, than the impression which vague language creates of our conviction Arising 
Rot out of the application of this principle to the external and monumental evidences 
‘of Christianit;, but out of the examination of the evidence itself. The mind feels 
disappointed and unsatisfied, not because it has not ground for belief, but because it 
Misnames it. The raan who has aot examined any branch of evidence for himself, 
may, according to the principle above stated, very reasonably believe in consequence 
ef it; but his belief does not arise immediately out of it—is not the same frame of 
Mind which would be created by an actual examination for himself. It may be more, 
“Or it may be less. a sure soarce of conviction; but the discontent is occasioned, not 
by this circumstance, but by supposing that it is one of these things that does, or 
‘Sught to, influence us, when in fact it is the other; by putting ourselves in the att 


~ EB.L.VS8—5 


? a - 4 , ’ 
re s 


4 


122 "- CYCLOPAIDIA OF [To 1876. 


tude of mind which belongs to the witness, instead of that which belongs to the by=— 
stander. We very well know how the unbroken testimony of writers during eigh- © 
teen centuries to the truth of Christianity ought to make us feel, if we had ascer- 
tained the fact by an examination of their writings; and we are surprised ai finding - 
that we are not in that frame of mind, forgetting that our use of the evidence may 
be founded on a different principle. 


REV. HENRY MELVILL. ay ie 4 


One of the most eloquent and popular of English preachers for 
forty years was the Rev. Henry MELvi.. (1798-1871), canon of” 
St. Paul’s. Mr. Melvill was a native of Cornwall, son of Captain 
Melvill, lieutenant-governor of Pendennis Castle. Having studied at 
St. Peter’s College, Cambridge, where he became Fellow and tutor,~ 
he was appointed minister of Camden Chapel, in which he was in- | 
cumbent from 1829 to 1843. In the latter year he became principal 
of the East India College, Haileybury ; in 1846, chaplain to the Tower — 
of London ; in 1850, preacher to the Golden Lectureship, St Marga-_ 
ret’s, Lothbury; and in 1856, canon-résidentiary of St. Paul’s. Mr. | 
Melvill’s works consist solely of sermons, and only a part was pub- — 
lished by himself. His extraordinary popularity led some of his 
hearers to take notes, and print his discourses without his consent. © 
In 1833 he published one volume, and in 1836 a second. In 1843-45 — 
he published two volumes of ‘Scrmons on certain of the less promi- — 
nent Facts and References in Sacred History.’ As now collected — 
and issued in a popular form, Mr. Melvill’s works fill seven volumes, — 
the Lothbury Lectures constituting one volume, and the’ sermons — 
preached during the latter years of his life two volumes. The rich — 
ornate style of Mr. Melvill’s sermons, all carefully prepared, his fine 
musical voice and impressive delivery, rendered him a fascinating 
preacher, and he is described as haying been exemplary and inde-— 
fatigable in visiting the sick and attending to the poor. The follow-— 
ing extract is from the Lothbury Lectures, and the reader may com- 
pare it with a similar passage from Jeremy Taylor. (See ante.)  ~ 


The Great Multitude (Rey. vii. 9.) met 


Taking this vision in the order in which it occurs amongst the visions vouchsafed _ 
to St. John in his exile, it probably delineates the happy estate of those who had ad- - 
hered to Christ during the fierce persecutions which preceded the establishment of . 
Christianity by Constantine. ‘There can be no doubt that the Book of Revelation is 
in the main a continuous prophecy, its several parts belonging to several seasons — 
which follow successively in the history of the Church. But without disputing that, — 
in its primary import, our text may relate to events which have long ago occurred, it — 
were not easy to doubt that, in its larger and more comprehensive glint it ba J 
be taken as descriptive of the heavenly state, that condition of repose and triumph 
which shall be ours, even ours, if we be faithful unto death. Admitting that the ~ 
great multitude on which the Evangelist was privileged to gaze, ‘clothed with white 
robes, and palms in their hands,’ must be regarded as the company of those who, ~ 
during the early days of Christianity, witnessed manfully for the truth, they must 
stfll, both in number and condition, be emblematic of the Chureh in its final glow 
and exaltation; and we may therefore safely dismiss all reference to the first fulfil 
ment of the prophecy, and consider heaven asthe eceneon which the Evangelist 


= ~ 


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— 


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- MELVILL } ENGLISH LITERATURE. 123° 


zed, and ‘just men made perfect’ as constitutin g the great multitude drawn together 
Prom all parts of the earth. : 

It is, therefore, on such notices of the heavenly state as the words before us may 
furnish that we design to discourse on the present occasion. We would refresh you 


_ and animate you, wearied as you may be by the conflicts and struggles of earth, with 


glimpses of things within the veil. We do not indeed mean to address ourselves to 
the imagination ; if we did, there are more dazzling passages in the Book of Reve- 
lation, and we might strive to set before you the New Jerusalem, the heavenly city, 
with its gates of pearl and its streets of gold. But we think to find notices in the 
words of our text which, if not so resplendent with the gorgeous things of the 
future, shall yet go closer home to the heart, and minister more comfort to those 
who find themselves strangers and pilgrims below. We will not anticipate what we 
may have to advance. Weshall only hope that we may meet with what will cheer 
~-and sustain us amid ‘the changes and Chauces of this mortal life,’ what will keep 
_ alive in us a sense of the exceeding greatness of ‘ the recompense of the reward,’ of the 
‘desirableness of the inheritance reserved for us above, as, in dependence on the 
teachings of the Holy Spirit, we apply to our future state the words of the Evan- 


 gelist John: ‘1 beheld, and, lo, a great multitude, which no man could number, of 
all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and be- 
fore the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands.’ 


__ Now, when these words are set before us as descriptive of the heavenly state, it can 
hardly fail but that the first thing on which the mind shall fasten will be the ex- 


_ Pression, *a great multitude, which no man could number.’ Itis go in regard of 


parallel sayings: ‘In My Father’s house are many mansions.’ ‘ Many shall come 
~ from the east and west, and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the 


kingdom of heaven.’ ‘A great multitude,’ ‘ many mansions,’ ‘many shall come.’ But 


what are ‘many’ in the Divine arithmetic? Doubtless thousands. and tens of thou- 2 
sands; yea, an innumerable company. Many are the worlds scattered through im- 
Mnensity—who shall reckon them? Many are the leaves of the earth’s forests—who 
shall compute them? Many are the grains of sand on the sea-shore—who shall 
count them up? Neither may we think to compass the multitude that St. John saw 
‘before the throne, and before the Lamb;’ indeed, he tells us this when he adds, 
*which no man could number,’ . . . 
Even now it is felt to be an ennobling, inspiriting association, if the eminent of 
4 8ingle church, the illustrious of a solitary. couutry, be gathered together in one 
great conclave. How do meaner men flock to the spot; with what interest, what 
awe, do they look upon persons so renowned in their day; what a privilege do they 
account it if they see awhile with sages so profound, with saints so devoted ; 
how do they treasure the sayings which reach them in so precious an intercourse. 
And shall we think little of heaven when we hear of it as the meeting-place of all 
that hath been truly great, for of all that hath been truly good: of all that hath been 
‘Teally wise, for of all that hath yielded itself to the teachings of God’s Spirit, from 
_ Adam to his remotest descendant? Nay, ‘let us fear, lest a promise being left us of 
entering into that rest, any of us should scem to come short.’ There is a voice to 
_ us from the ck. multitude,’ who flock with the sound. like the rush of many 
_ waters, from all nations and tribes. ‘A great multitude ’—there is room then for us, 
“A great multitude ’—there will be no deficiency without us. We can be spared, 
‘the loss will be ours; but, oh, what a loss! and what an aggravation of that loss. 
that perhaps, as we go away into outer darkness, ‘where shall be weeping and 
ashing of teeth,’ we shall see those who were once strangers and aliens flocking 
into the places which might have been ours, and be witnesses to the literal accom- 
plishment of the vision ; ‘Lo. a great multitude which no man could number, of all 
nations. and kindreds, and people, and tongues.’ : 

But it is not merely as asserting the vastness of the multitude which shall finally 
be gathered into heaven that our text presents matter for devout meditation. We 
are not to overlook the attitude assigned to the celestial assembly. an attitude of rest 
and of triumph, as though there had been labour and warfare. and the wearied com- 

atants were henceforward to enjoy unbroken quiet. ‘ They stood before the throne, 
and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, and palms in their hands.’? This ex- 
actly answers to the assertion already quated, that they had come ‘ out of great tribula- 


‘tion,’ and denotes—for such is the inference from the robes that they wore, and the 


124 CYCLOPADIA OF 


palms which they carried, both appertaining to conquerors—that ‘all warfare was at" 
an end, and that there remained u.othing henceforwards but the enjoyment of deep 
repose in the presence of the Lord. The imagery of the passage is derived, you ob- 
Fe from the triumphs of victors. Spiritual things can only be shadowed forth to , 
s by material; and without pretending to decide that the material is never to be — 
i ‘erally taken—for w ho, remembering that man is to be everlastingly compounded - 
of body and soul, will venture to determine that there shall be nothing but what is— 
purely spiritual in the future economy? Who, when he reads of new heavens and 4 
a new earth, will rashly conclude that, for such a being as man is to be, there cannot — 
be reserved an abode rich in all the splendours of a most refined materialism, pre- 
senting correspondences to the golden streets, and the jewelled walls, and the crys-_ 
tal waters, which passed in such gorgeous and beautiful vision before the ee 
list? But waiving the consideration that there may be something more than mere 
figure, something « of literal and actual import in these scr iptural delineations of | 
heaven, the robe, the palin, the harp, we may all feel how expressive is the imagery aa 
triumphant repose after toi! and conflict, when applied to the state reserved for thoee, 
who shall be faithful unto death. 


ae 
ae a RST) 


THE REV. JOHN JAMES BLUNT. 


What Dr. Paley accomplished so successfully with regard to the | % 
Scripture history of St. Paul, Proressor Biuntr (17 94-1855) at= | 
tempted on a larger scale in his ‘ Undesigned Coincidences in the a 
Writings, both of the Old and the New Testament, an Argument of — 
their Veracity,’ 1847. This work (twelfth edition, 1873) included a — 
republication of some earlier treatises by its author, and is a work of & 
great value to every student of the Scriptures. On the nature of the : 
argument derived from coincidence without design, Mr. Blunt says: ~ 


Undesigned Coincidences. as 3 


If the instances which Ican offer, gathered from Holy Writ, are so numerous, iat 
of such a kind as to preclude the possibility of their being the effect of accident, itis 
enough. Itdoes not require many circumstantial coincidences to determine the 
mind of a jury as to the credibi‘ity of a witness in our courts, even where the life of 
a fellow-creature is at stake. I say this, not as a matter of charge, but as a matter of — 
fact, indicating the authority which attaches to this species of evidence, and the con=— 
fidence universally entertained that it cannot deceive. Neither should it be forgotten © 
that an argument thus popular, thus applicable to the affairs of common life asa test — 
of truth, derives no small value when enlisted in the cause of Revelation, from the 
readiness with which it is apprehended and admitted by mankind at large, and fron i 
_ the simplicity of the nature of the appeal: for it springs out of the documents t 
truth of which it is intended to sustain, and terminates in them; so that-he who has 
these has the defence of them. Noris this all. ‘The argument deduced from coin-— 
cidence without design has further claims. because if well “made out it establishes the 
authors of the several books of Scripture as independent witnesses to the facts they — 
relate; and this whether they consulted euch other’s writings or not; for the coins | 
cidences. if good for anything, are such as could not result from combination, month 


v lerstanding, or arrangem<¢ nt.’ | 


Mr. Blunt was sometime Margaret Professor of Divinity in the 
university of Cambridge, and, besides his ‘ Undesigned Coincidences,” 
was author of the following works: ‘ History of the Christian Church 
in the First Three Centuries, > <The Parish Priest,’ ‘Lectures on the 
Right Use of the Early Fathers,’ ‘Plain Sermons,’ ‘ University Ser 
mons,’ ‘Essays from the Quarterly Review.’ ee 


eee sae? fie sgt Mees oS as Z ron 3 + ; sm -. 4 ee z 
Hare) ENGLISH LITERATURE. =.‘ 


ings AUGUSTUS W. HARE—JULIUS C. HARE. 


__ The brothers Hare, accomplished clergymen, were joint authors 
of the work entitled “Guesses at Truth by Two Brothers,’ the first 
- portion of which appeared in 1827, and a revised edition in 1847-48, 
in two volumes, AvuGuUSTUS WILLIAM HARE was a Fellow of New 
College, Oxford, and rector of Alton Barnes. He was author of 
‘Sermons to a Country Congregation,’ two volumes, 1837. These 
_ sermons have been much admired for the purity of their style, and 
-as affording ‘a striking proof of the effect which a refined and culti- 
vated mind may have in -directing the devotions and lives of the 
simple and ignorant population.’ Mr. Hare died at Rome in 1834, 
aged forty. JuLIus CHARLES HARE was rector of Hurstmonceaux 
and archdeacon of Lewes. He was an able scholar and distinguished 
_ member of what has been called the Broad Church party. Part of 
his youth was spent abroad. ‘In 1811,’ he said, ‘I saw the mark of 
Luther’s ink on the walls of the castle of Wartburg, and there I first 
learned to throw inkstands at the devil.’ In 1818 he was elected 
Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, and he became assistant-tutor 
- of the college. In conjunction with Mr. Thirlwall, afterwards bishop 
~-of St. David’s, he translated Niebuhr’s ‘ History of Rome,’ two vol- 
_ umes, 1828-32. ‘Two courses of sermons by Archdeacon Hare on 
_ the ‘ Victory of Faith,’ and ‘The Mission of the Comforter,’ 1847, 
- have been much admired. In 1848 he wrote the life of his college 
_ friend, John Sterling. He was also author of ‘Parish Sermons,’ 
several ‘Charges’ as archdeacon, and a spirited ‘ Vindication of 
_ Luther against his English Assailants,’ 1855. Archdeacon Hare died 
_ at Hurstmonceaux in 1855, aged sixty. His last words, as life was 
_ departing, were, as the summing-up of all his strivings and prayers 
for himself and others—‘ Upwards, upwards!’ In 1872 was pub- 
lished ‘Memorials of a Quiet Life,’ by Augustus C. Hare, two vol- 
umes. These ‘Memorials’ contain accounts of ‘the most brotherly 
of brothers,’ Francis Augustus, Julius, and Marcus Hare; also of 
* Mrs. Augustus Hare (nee Maria Leycester), who forms the most in- 
__ teresting person in this family group. We subjoin a few extracts 
~ from ‘Guesses at Truth? : 


Wastefulness of Moral Gifts. 


+ Among the numberless marvels at which nobody marvels. few are more marvel- 
~Jons than the recklessness with which priceless: gifts, intellectual and moral, are 
squandered and thrown away. Ofcen have I gazed with wonder at the prodigality 

_ displayed by Nature in the cistus. which unfolds hundreds of thousands of its white 
_ starry blossoms morning after morning. to sbine in the light of the sun for an hour 
or two. end then fall to the ground. But who, among the sons and daughters of 
- men—sgifted with thoughts ‘which wander throngh eternity,’ and with powers which 
have the godlike privilege of working good. aud giving happiness—who does not 
daily let thousands of those thonghts drop to the ground and rot? Who does not 
‘continually leave his powers to dragele in the monld of their own leaves? ‘The ime 
 agination can hardly conceive the heights of greatness and glory to which mankind 


; 


126 - CYCLOPEDIA OF | [ro 1876, 


would be raised, if all their thoughts and energies were to be animated with a living ~ 
urpose—or even those of a single peopie, or of the educated among a single people, — 
ut as in a forest of oaks, amoung the millions of acorns that fall every autumn, there ~ 
may perhaps be one in a miilion that will grow up into a tree, somewhat in like man- _ 
ner it fares with the thoughts and feelings of man. What then must be our confusion, — 
when we see all these wasted thoughts and feeiings rise up in the judgment, and bear ¥ 


wituess against us ! ret. y 

But how are we to know whether they are wasted or not? We havea simple i: 
infallible test. Those which are laid up in heaven, those which are laid up in any — 
heavenly work, those whereby we in any way carry on the work of God upou earth, — 
are not wasted. ‘I'hose which are laid up on earth, In any mere earthly work, in Car- — 
rying out our own ends, or the ends of the Spirit of Evil, are heirs of death from the 4 
the first, and can only rise out of it for a moment, to sk back into it for ever. 


Age lays open the Character, - § 


Age seems to take away the power of acting a character, even from those who | 
have done so the most successfully during the main part of their lives. ‘The real” 
man will appear, at first fitfully, and then predominantly. ‘lime spares the chiseled — 
beauty of stone and marble, but makes sad havoc in plaster and stucco. 


Loss of the Village Green. 


What a loss is that of the village green! It is a loss to the picturesque beauty of 
our English landscapes. A village green is almost always a subject for a painter 
who is fond of quiet home scenes, with its old, knotty, wide-spreading oak or elm or- 
ash ; its gray church-tower ; its cottages scattered in pleasing disorder around. each 
looking out of its feafy nest; its flock of geese sailing to and fro across it. Where 
such spots are still found. they refresh the wayworn traveller, wearied by the inter- 
minable hedge walls with which ‘restless ownership’—to use an expression of 
Wordsworth’s—excludes profane feet from its domain consecrated to Mammon. 

The main loss. however, is that to the moral beauty of our landscepes—that to— 
the innocent, wholesome pleasures of the poor. The village green was the scene cf — 
their sports, of their games. It was the play-ground for their children. It served — 
for trapball, for cricket, for manly humanising amusements, in which the gentry and — 
farmers might unite withthe peasantry. How dreary is the life of the English hus- — 
bandman now! ‘Double, double, toil and trouble,’ day after day, month after 
month, year after year, uncheered by sympathy, unenlivened by a smile; sunless, 
moonless, starless. He has no place to be merry in but the beer-shop, no amuse= — 
ments but drunken brawls, nothing to brivg him into innocent, cheerful fellowship — 
with his neighbours. ‘The stories of village sporis sound like legends of a mythical — 
age, prior to the time when ‘Sabbathless Satan,’ as Charles Lamb has so happily ~ 
termed him, set up his throne in the land. a. 


Ce ee Oe PNT oy 


bY 
.] 


ARCHBISHOP TRENCH. < bs 


Dr. RicharD CHENEVIX TRENCH, archbishop of Dublin, began 
his literary career, as already stated, by the publication of several 
volumes of poems. His theological and other prose works are numer-_ 
ous. Among them are—‘ Notes on the Parables,’ 1841; ‘ Notes on — 
the Miracles,’ 1846; ‘Sermons preached before the University of 
Cambridge,’ 1856; ‘St. Augustine as an Interpreter of Scripture,’ 1851; 
‘Synonyms of the New Testament,’ 1854; ‘The Epistles to the Seven 
Churches of Asia Minor;’ an ‘ Essay on the Life and Genius of Caldé-— 
ron;’ ‘On the Authorised Version of the New Testament;’ &c. The 
last of these works evinces extensive learning as well as acute philo-— 
logical observation, and the archbishop has also critically examined the — 
English language. His ‘Five Lectureson the Study of Words,’ 1851;_ 
and ‘ English, Past and Present,’ 1854, are full of curious information, — 


a 


~ : : 7 4 - -_ 


-gRENCH.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. Bae, 


Influence of the Reformation on the English Language. 
It was only among the Germanic nations of Europe, as has often been remarked, 
that the Reformation struck lasting roots; it found its strength therefore in the 
Teutonic element of the national character, which also it, in its turn, further 
strengthened, purified, and cailed out. And thus, though Latin came in upon us 
now faster than ever, and in a certain measure also Greek, yet this was not without 
its counterpoise, in the contemporaneous uufolding of the more fundamentally pop- 
ular side of the language. Popular preaching and discussion, the necessi:y of deal- 
ing with the highest matters ina manner intelligible not to scholars only, but to the 
uniearned, all this served to evoke the native resources of our tonzue; and thus the 
relative proportion between the one part of the language and the other was not 
dangerously disturbed; the balance was not destroyed, as it would have been if only 
_the Humanists had been at work, and not the Reformers as well. 
The revival of learning which found place somewhat earlier in Italy, where it had 
its birth, than with us, extended to Kngland, and was operative here during the 
reigns of Henry VIII, and bis immediate successors; in other words, if it slightly 
anticipated in time, it afterwards ran exactly popular with the period during wiicn 
our Reformation was working itself out. It was an epochin all respects of im- 
jmense mental and moral activity, and such are always times of extensive changes 
and enlargements of a language. ‘The old garment, which served a people’s needs in 
the time past, is too narrow for it now to wrap itself in any more. ‘Change in Jau- 
“guage is not, as in many natural products, continuous; it is not equable, but eui- 
-nently by fits and starts.’ When the foundations of the national mind are heavin 
“under the power of some new truth, greater and more important changes will fin 
place in fifty years than in two centuries of calmer or more stagnant existence. 
‘Vhus the activities and energies which the Reformation set a-stirring among us 
-here, and these reached fur beyond the domain of our directly religious life, caused 
mighty alterations in the English tongue. For example, the Reformation had its 
scholarly, we might almost say, its scholastic, as well as its popular aspect. Add 
this fact to the fact of the revived interest in classical learning and you will not 
‘wonder that a stream of Latin, now larger than ever, began to flow into our 


language. 3 
pps Strain at a Gnat and Swallow a Camel. 


I cannot doubt that the words of Matthew xxiii. 24. ‘ which strain ata gnat, and 
- swallow a camel,’ contain a misprint, which, having been passed over in the first 
edition of 1611, has held its ground ever since: nor yet that our translators intended, 
_ ‘which strain out a gnat, and swallow a camel;’ this being at once intelligible and a 
correct rendering of the original; while our version, as at present it stands, is 
‘neither ; or only intelligible on the supposition, no deubt the supposition of most 
_ English readers. that ‘strain at” means. swallow with difficulty. men hardly, and with 
effort swallowing the little insect, but gulping down meanwhile unconcerned the 
huge animal. It need scarcely be said that this is very far from the meaning of the 
original words. . . . It was the custom of the more accurate and stricter Jews to 
“strain their wine, vinegar, and other potables. through I'nen or ganze, lest nnawares 
they should drink down some little nnclean insect therein, and thus transgress 
Lev. xi. 20. 23. 41, 42—just as the Buddhists do now in Ceylon and Hindustan—and 
to this custom of theirs the Lord refers. 


~ From words to proverbs is a short step, and Dr. Trench has given 
us a volume entitled, ‘On the Lessons in’ Proverbs,’ 1855. He treats 
of the form and generation of proverbs, and of the poetry, wit. or 
wisdom contained in them, Lord Russell, we may remark, is said to 
have given a happy definition of the term proverb : ‘The wit of one 
man and the wisdom of many.’ Dr. Trench vindicates the impert- 
ance of proverbs : 
. On Promggbs. 


jet The fact that they please the people, and have pleased them for ages—that they 
_ possess s0 vigorous a principle of life as to have maintained their ground, ever new 


128 


~CYCLOPAEDIA OF ~ 


oft : 
: F > > = 
and ever young, through all the centuries of a nation’s existence—nay, that many of 
them have pleased not one nation only, but many, so that they have made themselves _ 
a hoine in the most different lands—and further, that they have, not a few of them - 
come down to us from remotest antiquity, borne safely upon the waters of that great 
se Sa se which nes ey ewes so much beneath its waves—all this, I think, 
ay we <e us pause should we be i 3 
thing Be frdivverenice or disdain. empties’ 10. TAFAVER GL ote pee 
And then, further, there is this to be considered, that som th s ots, © 
the profoundest philosophers, the most learned scholars, the oe oenial wiiioee a 
every kind, have delighted in them, have made large and frequent use of them, have - 
bestowed infinite labour on the gathering and elucidating of them. Ina fastidious — 
age, indeed, and one of false refinement, they may go nearly or quite out of use 
ainony the so-called upper classes. No gentleman, says Lord Chesterfield, or ‘No — 
man of fashion,’ as I think is his exact word, ‘ever uses a proverb.’ And with how 
fine a touch of nature Shakspeare makes Coriolanus, the man who with all his great- 
ness 18 entirely devoid of al! sympathy for the people, to utter his scorn of them in 
scorn of their proverbs, and of their frequent employment of these: ~~ 4d 


5; Hang ’em! See. , 
They said they were an-hungry, sighed forth proverbs ; R ce 
That, hunger broke stone walls; that, dogs must eat ; = 
That, meat was made for mouths; that, the gods sent not 

Corn for the rich men only. With these shreds - an 
They vented their complainings. Coriolanus, Act I., Se. 1. 


vi 


! 


But that they have been always dear to the true intellectual aristocracy of a nation, 
there is abundant evidence to prove. Take but these three names in evicence, which, 
though few, are in themselves a host. Aristotle made a collection of proverbs ; nor 
lid he count that he was herein doing ought unworthy of his great reputation ; how- 
ever some of his adversaries may have made this a charge against hin:. He is said 
to have been the first who did so. though many afterwards followed in the same 
Neat Shakspeare loves them so well, that besides often citing them, and innumera- 
dle covert allusions, rapid side glances at them, which we are. in danger of missing” 
unless at home in the proverbs of England, several of his plays, as ‘ Measure for 
Measure,’ ‘All’s Well that Ends Well,’ have popular proverbs for their titles. And 
Cervantes, a name only inferior to Shakspeare, has not left us in doubt in respect of 

-the affection with which he regarded them. Every reader of *Don Quixote’ will 
remember his squire, who sometimes cannot open his mouth: but there drop from it — 
almost as many proverbs-as words. I might name others who held the proverb in ~ 
honour—men who, though they may not attain to these first three, are yet deservedly — 
accounted great; as Plautus, the most genial of Latin poets; Rabelais and Mon-_ 
taigne. the two most original of French authors; and how often Fuller, whom Cole- 
ridge has styled the wittiest of writers, justifies this praise in his witt employee 
of some old proverb; nor can any thoroughly understand and enjoy * Hudibras,’ ee 

one but will miss a multitude of its keenest allusions, who is not thoroughly famil- _ 

iar with the proverbial literature of England. ant 2 


Their haditat, or native place, he thinks, is easily perceived: . a 

Thus our own ‘Make hay while the sun shines.’ is trnly English, and could have 
had its birth only under such variable skies as ours—not certainly in those southern — 
Jands where, during the summer time at least. the sun always shines. In the Bangs 
way there is a fine Cornish proverb in regard of obstinate wrongheads. who will take _ 
no counsel except from calamities. who dash themselves to pieces against obstacles 
which. with a little prndence and foresight. they might have avoided. It is this: * He 
who will not be ruled by the rudder must be ruled by the rock.’ It sets us at on 
upon some rockv and wreck-strewn coast; we feel that it could never have been a 
proverb of an inland people. ‘Do not talk Arabic in the house of a Moor’—that is, 
because there thy imnerfect knowledge will be detected at once—this we should con- 
fidently affirm to be Spanish, wherever we met it. ‘Big and empty, like the Heidel-_ 
berg tun.’ could have its home only iggermany: that enormons vessel, known as the 
Heidelberg tun. constructed to contain nearly 300.000 flasks. having now stood em 
for hundreds of years, As regards, too, the following, ‘ Not every parish priest ¢a 


-— 
é = 


Sees See ne Pe ee NO ee ee Sa ee ‘ 


"STANLEY. ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 129 


wear Dr. Luther’s shoes,’ we could be in no doubt to what people {it appertains. 
_ Neither could there be any mistake about this solemn Turkish proverb, ‘Death is a 
_ black camel which kneels at every man’s gate,’ in so far at Jeast as that it would be ~ 
at once ascribed tothe Hast. 


DEAN STANLEY. 


Dr. ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY, one of the most eminent scholars 
and liberal divines of the Church of England, has been an extensive 
= contributor to theological literature. He was born in 1815, son of 
- Dr. Stanley, rector of Alderly, afterwards bishop of Norwich. Ar- 
thur Stanley was the favourite pupil of Dr. Arnold at Rugby, whence 
he removed to Oxford, having passed as an exhibitioner to Balliol 
College. There he ereatly distinguished himself ; and in 1838 he was 
chosen a Fellow of University | College, of which he became tutor and 
examiner. - His subsequent preferments were—canon of Canterbury, 
1851; Professor of Ecclesiastical History at Oxford, canon of Christ 
Church, and chaplain to the bishop of London, 1858; and dean of 
: Westminster, 1864. He is also chaplain to the Prince of Wales 
(whom he accompanied in his tour in the East), and chaplain-in-ordi- 
nary to the Queen. The principal works of Dean Stanley are—‘ The 
-Life of Dr. Arnold,’ 1844; ‘Sermons and Essays on the Apostolical 
Age,’ 1846; ‘ Memoir of Bishop Stanley,’ 1850 ; ‘The Epistles to the 
- Corinthians,’ two volumes, 1854; ‘Sinaiand Palestine in Connection 
with their History,’ 1855; ‘ Historical Memorials of Canterbury’ (in 
which we have details of the landing of Augustine, the murder of 
Thomas-a-Becket, the Black Prince and Becket’s shrine), 1855; ‘Ser- 
mons on the Unity of Evangelical and. Apostolical ‘Teaching,’ 1859; 
 *Lectures on the Eastern Church,’ 1861; ‘ Lectures on the Jewish 
Church,’ two volumes, 1%63-65; ‘Sermons preached in the East du- 
_ring a ‘Your with the Prince of Wales; with ‘Sermons on Various 
i Subjects preached before the University of Oxford,’ 1860-63; ‘Essays 
‘on Questions of Church and State,’ 1850-70; ‘Historical Memorials of 
_Westminister Abbey; ‘Lectures on the Church of Scotiand,’ 1871; 
~&c. In December 1872 Dean Stanley was appointed one of the select 
- preachers before the university of Oxford. Hiselection was opposed 
“by the High Church party, but the placets for the dean were 849; tha 
non-placets 287. This may be considered a distinguished acknow, 
ledgment of what Max Miiller has designated Dean Stanley’ s ‘loyalty 
to truth, his singleness of purpose, his chivalrous courage, and hig 
“unchanging devotion to his friends.’ 


_ The Oldest Obelisk in the World—The Temple of the Sun at Heliopolis. 


» Rising wild amidst garden shrubs is the sclitary obelisk which stood in front ot 
the temple, then in company with another, whose base alone now remains. This iy 
~ the first obelisk I have seen standing in its proper place, and there it has stood for: 
nearly fosr thousand years. It is the oldest knewn in Egypt, and therefore in the 
world—tne father of all that have arisen since. It was raised about a century before 
the coming of Joseph; it has looked down on bis marriage with Asenath; it has: 

seen the growth of Moses ; it is mentioned by Herodotus ; Plato sat under its shadow ; 
= all the Obelisks which sprang up arcund it, it alone has kept its first position. One 


aes 
i 


130 CYCLOPADIA OF [ro 1876, 


by one, if has seen its sons and brothers depart to great destinics elsewhere. From 
these gardens came the obelisks.of the Lateran, of the Vatican, and of the Porta del 
Popolo ; and this venerable pillar (for so it looks from a distance) is now almost the — 
ouly landmark of the great seat of the wisdom of Egypt. a 
€ 
: 


The Chiidren of the Desert. 

The relation of the Desert to its modern inhabitants is still illustrative of its ancient. — 
history. ‘lhe general name by which the Hebrews called: the wilderness,’ including — 
always that of Sinai, was ‘the pasture.’ bare as the surface of the Desert is, yet the 3 


thin clothing of vegetation, which is seldom entirely withdrawn, especialiy the aro- 
matic shrubs on the high hiilsides, furnish sufficient sustenance for the herds of the 
six thousand Bedouins who constitute the present population of the peninsula. a 
Along the mountain ledges green, a 
‘The scattered sheep at will may glean . 


‘The Desert’s spicy stores. 


So were they seen following the daughters of the shepherd-slaves of Jethro. So may 
they be seen climbing the rocks, or gathered round the pools and springs of the val- 
leys, under the cbarge of the black-veiied Bedouin women of the pres-ut day, And 
in the Tiyaha Towara, or Alouin tribes, with their chiefs and followers, their dress, 
and manners, and habitations, we probably see the likeness of the Midianites, the 
Amalekites, and’ the Israelites themselves in this their earliest stage of existence, 
The long straight lines of black tents which cluster round the Desert springs, present 
to us. on asmill scale. the image of the vast encainpment gathered round the one ~ 
sacred tent which, with its coverings of dyed skins, stood conspicuous in the midst, — 
and which recalled the period of their nomadic life long after their settlement in — 
Palestine. The deserted villages, marked by rude enclosures of stone, are doubtless 
such as those to which the Hebrew wanderers gave the name of ‘ Hazeroth,’ and 
which afterwards furnisiied the type of the primitive sanctuary at Shiloh. Therude 
burial-grounds, with the many nameless headstones, far away from human habita- 
tion, are such as the host of Israel must have Jeft behind them at the different stages . 

a 


ee Sele 


of their progress—at Massah, at Sinai, at Kilbroth-hattaavah, ‘the graves of desire” — 
he salutations of the chiefs, in their bright scarlet robes, the one ‘going out to ~ 
meet the other,’ the ‘obeisance,’ the ‘kiss’ or each side of the head, the silent en- 
trance into the tent for consultations, are all graphically described in the encounter a 
between Moses and Jethro. The constitution of the tribes, with the subordinate de- 
rees of sheiks, recommended by Jethro to Moses, is the very same which still ex+ 
ists amongst those who are possibly his lineal descendants—the gentle race of the > 
* 


Towara, : wae: , 
Karly Celebration of the Eucharist. — 
It has been. truly said. thongh with some exaggeration, that for many.centuries ~~ 
the history of the Eucharist might be considered as a history of the Christian 
Church. And certainly this passage may be regarded as occupyingin that history, 
whether in its narrower or larger sphere, a point of remarkable significance. Onthe 
one hand, we may take our stand upon it, and look back, through its medium,on 
som: of the institutions and feelings most peculiar to the apostolic age. Weseethe 
most sacred ordinance of the Christian religion as it was celebrated by those in whose — 
minds the earthly and the heavenly, the social and the religious aspect of life. were 
indistirguishably blended. We see the banquet spread in the late evening, after the 
sun had set behind the western ridge of the hills of Achaia: we see the many ~ 
torches blazing, as at Troas, to light up the darkness of the upper room, where, as 
was their wont, the Christian community assembled; we see the couches laid and ~ 
the walls hung. after the manner of t'* East. as on the night of the betrayal; 
we see the sacred loaf representing. in its compact unity, the harmony of the whole 
scciety; we hear the blessing or thanksgiving on the cup responded to by the joint 
‘Amen,’ such as even three centuries later is described as like a peal of thunder; we — 
witness the complete realisation, in outward form, of the apostle’s words, suggested 
doubtless by the sight of the meal and the sacrament blended thus together, 
‘ Whether ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.’ ‘What. 


“STANLEY. ] -ENGLISI LITERATURE. ~ 231 


s 


soever ye do in word or deed, do callin the name of the Le) d Jesus, giving thanks to 
God and the Father vy him.’ 


St. Pauls Manual Labour. 


On the one hand, the scene of the tent-maker’s trade at Corinth, where the few 
hours of leisure, after the long arguments in the synagogue and the market-place, 
were consumed with Aquila and Priscilla in the uncongenial labour of weaving the 
long goats’ hair of his uative hil.s into the sackcloth or the tent-cover, for the Greek 
fisherman or wandering Arab. On the other hand, the dugged stupidity, or the im- 

~placable animosity of his adversaries, who were ready with their cold insinuations 
to contrast, as they supposed, tue enforced meanness and degradation of Paul of 
Tarsus with the conscious dignity azd calm repose of the apostles at Jerusalem, or 
of those who claimed to be fueir legitimate representatives at Corinth. 


Conversion of St. Augustine. 


- Augustine’s youth had been one of reckless self-indulgence. He had plunged 
into the worst sins of the heathen world in which he lived; he had adopted wild 
Opinions to justify those sins; and thus, though his parents were Christians, he 
himself remained a heathen in his manuer of life, though not without some strug- 
gies of his better self and of God’s grace against these evil habits. Often he strug- 
gled and often he fell; but he had two advantages which again and again have saved 
souls from ruin—advantages which no one who enjoys them (and how many of us 

_do-enjoy them!) can prize too highly—he had a good mother and he bad good 


_ friends. He had a good mother who wept for him, and prayed for him, and 


warned him, and gave him that advice which onty a mother can give, forgotten 
for the moment, but remembered afterwards. And he had good fricnds, who 
watched every opportunity to encourage better thoughts, and to bring him to his bet- 
ter self, In this state of struggle and failure he came to the city of Milan, where the 
Christian community was ruled by a man of fame almost equal to that which he 
himself afterwards won, the celebrated Ambrose. And now the crisis of his life was 


~ come, and it shall be described in his own words. He was sitting with bis friend, 


his whole soul was shaken with the violence of his inward conflict—the conflict 
- of breaking away from his evil habits, from his evil associates, to a life which 
seemcd to. him poor, and profitless, and burdensome. Silently the two friends sat 
together, and at last, says Augustine: ‘ When deep reflection had brought together 
and heaped up all my misery in the sight of my heart, there arose a mighty storm of 
grief, bringing a mighty: shower of tears.’ He left his friend, that he might weep in 


- solitude; he threw himself down under a fig-tree in the garden (the spot is still poiut- 


ed out in Milan), and he cried in the bitterness of his spirit: ‘ How long ? how long? 
_ —to-morrow? to-morrow? Why not now ?—why is there not this hour an end to 
my uncleanness?’ ‘Sowas I speaking and weeping in the contrition of my heart,’ 


. he says, ‘ when, Jo! I heard .froma neighbouring house a voice as of a child, chant- 
. ing and oft repeating, ‘* Take up and read, take up and read.” Instantly my counte- 


é 


ve is he 


nance altered; I began to think whether children were wont in play to sing such 
word:, nor could I remember ever to have heard the like. So, checking my tears, I 
rose, taking it to be acommand from God to open the book and read the first chap- 
ter I should find.’ ... Therelay the volume of St. Paul’s Epistles, which he had just 
begun to study. ‘I seized it,’ he says, ‘I opened it, and in silence I read that passiuge 
on which my eyes first fell. ‘Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering - 
and wantonness, not in strife and envying. But put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ. ana 
make not provision for the flesh, to fulfil the lust thereof.” No further could I read. 
_ norneeded I; for instantly at the end of this sentence, by a serene light infused into 
my soul, all the darkness of doubt vanished away.’ 

We need not follow the story further. We know how he broke off all his evil 
courses ; how his mother’s heart was rejoiced; how he was baptised by the great 
Ambrose; how the old tradition describes their singing together, as he came up from 
the baptismal waters, the alternate verses of the hymn called from its opening words 
Te Deum Laudamus. We know-how the profligate African youth was thus trans- 
formed into the most i/lustrious saint of the Western Church, how he lived long as 
the light of bis own generation, and how his works have been cherished and read by 

- good men, perhaps more éxtensively than those of any Christian téacher since the 


132° ‘CYCLOPEDIA OF 


apostles. It is a story instructive in many ways. It js an example, like the conyer= — 
sion of St. Paul, of the fact that from time to time God calls His servants not by : 
gradual, but by sudden changes. * 


The Last Encampment.* ; a 


Our last Sunday in Syria has arrived, ond it has been enhanced to us this morning — 
by the sight of those venerable trees which seemed to the Psalmist and the Prophets — 
of old one of the chief glories and wonders of the creation. ‘lwo main ideas were 
conveyed to the miuds of those who then saw them, which we may still bear away = 

ith us. ; x 

te One is that of their greatness, breadth, solidity, vastness. ‘The righteous,’ says — 

the Psalmist, ‘shall flourish like a palm-tree.’ ‘Lhat is one part of our life; to be up- — X 
right, graceful, gentle. like that most beautiful of oriental trees. But there is another = 
quality added—‘ He shall spread abroad like a cedar in Libanus.’ 4 hat is, his” ‘a 
character shall be sturdy, solid, broad; he shall protect others as well as himself; he 
shall support the branches of the weaker trees around him; he shall cover a — 
vast surface of the earth with his shadow; he shall grow, and spread, and endure; — 
he and his works shall make the place where he was planted memorable for future — 
times. ’ <—m 
The second feeling-is the value of reverence. It was reverence for these great 

trees which caused them to be employed for the sacred service of Solomon’s Temple, — 
and which has insured their preservation tor so long. It was reverence for Almighty R 
God that caused these trees, and these only, to be brought down from this remote ~ 


—_ 


situation to be employed for the Temple of old. Reverence, we may be sure, whether ; 


~ 


to God or to the great things which God has made in the world, is one of the quali- 
ties most needful for every human being, if he means to pass through life in-a man- 
ner worthy of the place which God has given him in the world. - ; i 

But the sight of the Cedars, and our encampment here, recall to us that this is the — 
close of a manner of life which in many respects calls to mind that of the ancient — 
Israelites, as we read itin the Lessons of this and of last Sunday,in the Book of 
Numbers andof Deuteronomy, *How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy taber- — 
nacles, O Israel ’—so unlike «.ur common life, so suggestive of thonghts which can — 
hardly come tous again. It brings us back, even with all the luxuries which sur- — 
round us, to something of the freshuess, and rudeness, and simplicity of primitive q 
life, which it is good for us all to feel at one time or other. It reminds us, though in — 
a figure, of the uncertainty and instability of human existence, so often compared 
to the pitching and striking of a tent. The spots. on which, day after day for the — 
last six weeks, we have been encamped have again become a desolate open waste— 
‘the spirit of the desert stalks in,’ and their place will be known no more. How like ~ 
the way in which happy homes rise, and sink, and vanish. and are lost. Only the 
great Rock or Tree ot Life under which they have been pitched remains on from 
generation to generation. ... ; 

May I take this occasion of speaking of the importance of this one solemn ordi- 
nance of religion, never to be forgotten. wherever we are—morning and evening 
prayer? Itisthe best means of reminding ourselves of the presence of God. To 
place ourselves in his hands before we go forth on our journey, on our pleasure, on — 
our work—to comunit ourselves again to Him before we retire to rest; this is the best 
security for keeping up our faith and trust in Him in whom we all profess to believe, — 
whom we all expect to meet after we-leave this world. -It is also the best security 
for our leading a good and a happy life. It has been well said twice over by the 
most powerful delineator of human character (with one exception) ever produced by — 
our country, that prayer to the Almighty searcher of hearts is the best check to mur- 
murs against Providence. or to the inroad of worldly passions, because nothing else — 
brings before us so strongly their inconsistency and- unreasonableness. We shall 
find it twice as difficult to fall into sin if we have prayed against it that very morn- % 
ing. or if we thank God for having kept it from usthat very evening. It is the best — 


means of gaiving strength and refreshment, and courage and self-denial for the day. — 


* ay 
P= 


WA rie Dei ali) he 


a ae aT ee LR TE ee ERT a GT 

* From a sermon preached in the encampment at Ehden. beneath the Mountain of the ~ 

ee it May 11, 1862, during Dean Stanley’s tour in the East with H.R.H. the Prince 
of Wales, x , : 


- 
% 


MAURICE. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 183 


It is the best means of yain'rg content, and tranquillity, and rest for the night ; for it 
brings us, as uothing else can bring.us, into the prescnce of Him who is the source © 


of ail these things, and who yives them freely to those who truly and sincercly ask 


for them. 
PROFESSOR MAURICE. 
In metaphysics and theology, and in practical efforts for the - 


education of the working-classes, the Rev. JoHN FREDERICK DENI- 
‘son Maurice (1805-1872) was strikingly conspicuous. He was the 


son of a Unitarian minister, and educated at Trinity Hall, Cambridge. 


_He declined a Fellowship, not being able to declare himself a mem- 
_ ber of the Church of England; but he afterwards entered the church, 
and became chaplain of Lincoln’s Inn and Professor of Divinity in 
King’s College, London. In consequence of what were considered 


heterodox opinions, Mr. Maurice had to vacate his professorial chair, 


but without forfeiting his popularity. His views on the question of 


the atonement and the duration of future punishments lost him the 
Professorship of Theology. Among the works of this author are— 
‘Lectures delivered at Queen’s College, London,’ published in 1849; 


-*The Religions of the World and their Relations to Christianity,’ 


being the Boyle Lecture Sermons, 1846-47; ‘Moral and Metaphysical 


Philosophy,’ reprinted from the ‘ Encyclopedia Metropolitana,’ three 


volumes 1850-56 (characterised by Mr. ‘thomas Hughes as ‘a mine 
of learning made living and human, and of original thought made 


useful for the humblest student, such as no other living man hed 


>) 


Paces ’); ‘Christian Socialism,’ tracts and lectures by Maurice, 
ingsley, and others, 1851; ‘The Prophets and Kings of the Old 
Testament,’ 1853; ‘The Word ‘‘ Eternal” and the Punishment of 
the Wicked,’ a pamphlet, 1853; ‘ Lectures on Ecclesiastical History,’ 
and ‘The Doctrine of Sacrifice,’ 1854; ‘Learning and Working,’ 
six lectures, and ‘The Religion of Rome,’ four lectures, 1853; 


_* Administrative Reform.’ a pamphlet, 1855; ‘Plan of a Female 
- College,’ 1855; with ‘Theological Essays,’ and several volumes of 
“Sermons.’ Maurice, like his friend Kingsley, had a high standard 
of duty and patriotism: 


“The action in the heathen world,’ he said, ‘ which has always in- 
Spired most of admiration in true minds, is the death of the three 
hundred Spartans who guarded the pass of Thermopyle against tha 


army of Xerxes (480 B.c.); and it was recorded on the graves of 


these three hundred, that they died in obedience to the laws of their 
country. They felt that it was their business to be there; that was 
all. ‘They did not choose the post for themselves; they only did not 
desert the post which it behoved them to occupy. Our countrymen 
heartily respond to the doctrine. The notion of dying for glory is 


~an altogether feeble one for them. They had rather stay by their 
comfortable and uncomfortable firesides, than suffer for what seems 
_ to them a fiction. But the words, ‘‘ England expects every man to 


2 ity a 


‘do his duty,” are felt to be true and not fictitious words. There is 


134 CYCLOP-EDIA OF 


power in them. The soldier orsailor who hears them ringing through ~ 
nis heart will meet a charge, or go down in his ship, without dream-~ 


ing that he shail ever be spoken of or remembered, except by a 
mother, or a child, or an old friend. So it is in private experience. 


Women are fond of sacrificing their lives, not under a sudden im- — 
pulse.of feeling, but through a lo.g course of years, tu their children ~ 


and their husbands, who often requite them very ill; whose words 


are surly, who spend what affcction they have on other objects. — 


The silent devotion goes on; only one here and there knows any- 


thing of it; it is quite as likely that the world in general spends its” 
compassion upon those to whom they are ministering; none count — 


+ 


their ministries so entirely matters of course as themselves.’ 


BISHOP BLOMFIELD—REV. C, HARDWICK, ETC, Z 


The scholarship of Cambridge was well supported by the late 
Bishop of London, Dr. CHARLES JAMES BLOMFIELD (1786-1857), a 


native of Bury St. Edmunds, in Suffolk, where his father was a — 


schoolmaster. Having distinguished himself at Trinity College, 


Cambridge (of which he was elected Fellow), Dr. Blomfield evinced — 


his philological and critical attainments by his editions of Auschylus 
and Callimachus (1810-1824), and by his editing the ‘ Adversaria 
Porsoni.’ In 1828 he compiled a Greck Grammar for schools. . He 


ne 


ah 


was author also of ‘Lectures on the Acts of the Apostles’ and of © 


numerous sermons and charges. His efforts to increase the number 
of churches were most meritorious and highly successful. He began 
this pious Jabour when Bishop of Chester, and continued it in London 
with such energy, that during the time he held the see more churches 


kk a? 


were erected than had been built by any other bishop since the Re- — 


formation. In 1856 Dr. Blomfield resigned his bishopric, but was 


allowed to retain for life his palace at Fulham, with a pension of — 


mii a year. A Memoir of the prelate was published by his son in 


tory of the Christian Church,’ 1853; and ‘Sermons,’ 1858.—The Rev. 
WiLuiAM Goons, Rector of Allhallows, London, has-been a vigor- 


The Rev. Cartes Harpwick, of St. Catharine’s Hall, has writ-_ 
ten a ‘History of the Thirty-nine Articles,’ 1851; a valuable ‘ His. | 


ous Opponent of the Oxford Tractarians, and author of other theolo- — 


gical works—‘ The Gifts of the Spirit,’ 1834; ‘The Established 
Church,’ 1834; ‘The Divine Rule of Faith and Practice,’ 1842; &c. 


REY. W. J. CONYBEARE—DEAN HOWSON. 


A complete guide to the knowledge of St. Paul’s life and writings 
has been furnished by the large work—‘ The Life and Epistles of St. 
Paul,’ by the Rey. W. J. Conysprarsn, M.A, late Fellow of Trinity 
College, Cambridge, and the Rey. J. 8. Howson, two volumes 
quarto, 1852. The purpose of this work is described to be to give 
“a living picture of St. Paul himself, and of the circumstances by 


‘ 
; 
~ 
= 
® 


3 


* 


w3 gs me —" ; ; Se St 
CONYBEARE.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 136 


which he was surrounded.’ The biography of the apostle must be 
compiled from two sources—his own letters and the narrative in the 
Acts. Mr. Conybeare translates the epistles and speeches of the apos- 
tle; and his coadjutor, Mr. Howson, contributes the narrative, arche- 

ological, and geographical portions. The difficulties of the task are 
thus stated by Mr. Conybeare: 


: The Varied Life of St. Paul. 


‘Tocomprehend the influences under which he grewto manhood, we must realise 
- the position of a Jewish family in Tarsus, ‘the chief city of Cilicia ;? we must under- 
stand the kind of education which the son of sucha family would receive as a boy in 
his Hebrew home, or in the schools of his native city, and in his riper youth ‘at the 
feet of Gamaliel’ in Jerusulem ; we must be acquainted with the profession for which 
_ he was to be prepared by this training, and appreciate the station and duties of an ex- 
pone of the Jaw. And that we may be fully qualified to do all this, we should 
ave aclear view of the state of the Reman empire at the time, and especially of its 
' system in the provinces ; we should also understand the political position of the Jews 
of the ‘dispersion ;’ we should be, so to speak, hearers in their synagogues—we should 
be students of their rabbinical theology. Andin like manner, as we follow the apostle, 
in the different stages of his varied and adventurous career, we must strive continu- 
ally to bring out in their true brightness the half-effaced forms and colouring of the 
scene in which he acts; and while he ‘ becomes all things to all men, that he might by 
all means save some,’ we must form to ourselves a living likeness of the things and 
of the mex among whom he moved, if we would rightly estimate his work. Thus we 
_ must study Christianity rising in the midst of Judaism; we must realise the position 
_of its early churches with their mixed society, to which Jews, proselytes, and heath- 
ens had each contributed a characteristic element; we must qualify ourselves to be ~ 
umpires. if we may so speak, in their violent internal divisiors; we must listen to 
the strifes of their schismatic parties, when one said, ‘I am of Paul—and ancther, I 
am of Apollos ;’ we must study the true character of those early heresies which even 
denied the resurrection, and advocated impurity and lawlessness, claiming the right to 
sin ‘that grace might abound,’ ‘ defiling the mind and conscience’ of their followers, 
and ‘making them abominable and disobedient, and to every good work reprobate ;’ 
we must trace the extent to which Greek philosophy, Judaising formalism, and East- 
ern superstition blended their tainting influence with the pure fermentation of the 
new leaven which was at last to leaven the whole mass of civilised socieiy. 


To this formidable list of requirements must be added some know- 
ledge of the various countries and places visited by Paul; and as re- 
lating to the wide range of illustration, Mr. Howson mentions a cir- 
cumstance connected with our naval hero Nelson. In the account 
of the apostle’s voyage to Italy, when overtaken by the storm (Acts 
XXVii.), it is mentioned that the ship was anchored by the stern; Mr. 
Howson cites some cases in which this has been done in modern 
times, adding: ‘ There is still greater interest in quoting the instance 
of Copenhagen, not only from the accounts we have of the precision 
with which each ship let go her anchors astern as she arrived nearly 
opposite her appointed station, but because it is said that Nelson 
stated after the battle, that he had that morning been reading the 
twenty-seventh chapter of the Acts of the Apostles.’ 


The Martyrdom of Paut. 


As the martyr and his executioners passed on, their way was crowded with a mot- 
ley multitude of goers and comers between the metropolis and its harbour—mer- 
thants hastening to superintend the unloading of their cargoes—sailors eager to 


136 ! CYCLOPADIA OF --- [rq 1876, 


squander the profits of their last voyage in the dissipations of the capital—officials of 
the government, charged with the administration of the provinces, or the command 
of the legions on the Euphrates or the Rhine—Chaldean astrologers—Phrygian 
eunuchs—dancing-girls from Syria, with their painted turbans—mendicant priests 
from Egypt howling for Osiris—Greek adventurers, eager to coin their national cun- 
ning into Roman gold—representatives of the avarice and ambition, the frand and ~ 
lust, the superstition and intelligence, of the imperial world. Through the dust and — 
tumult of that busy throng, the small troop of soldiers threaded their way silently, — 
under the bright sky of an Italian midsummer. ‘lhey were marching, though they — 
“knew it not, in a procession more truly triumphal than any they had ever followed, 
in the train of general or emperor, along the Sacred Way. ‘Their prisoner, now at 
last and for ever deiivered froin his cuptivity, rejoiced to follow his Lord ‘withoutthe 
gate.? The place of execution was not far distant; and there the sword of the — 
icadsman ended his long course of sufferings, and released that heroié soul from” 
that feeble body. Weeping friends took up his corpse, and carried it for burial to — 
those subterranean labyrinths, where, through many ages of oppression, the persecu- — 
ted church found refuge for the living and sepulchres for the dead. 

Thus died the apostle, the prophet, and the martyr; bequeathing to the chureh, 
in her government and her discipline, the legacy of his apostolic labours; leaving his — 
prophetic words to be her living oracles; pouring fo’tk his blood to be the seed of a — 
thousand martyrdoms. Thenceforth, among the glorious company of the apostles, 
among the goodly fellowship of the prophets, among the noble army of martyrs, his 
name has stood pre-eminent. And wheresoever the holy church throughout all the — 
world doth acknowledge God, there Paul of Tarsus is revered, as the great teacher of _ 
: universal redemption and.a catholic religion—the herald of glad tidings to all man- ~ 
sind. a 


Mr. Conybeare, in 1855, published a volume of ‘ Essays Ecclesi- ~ 
astical and Social,’ reprinted with additions from the ‘Edinburgh — 
Review.’ In these he treats of the Mormons, the Welsh Clergy, 
Church Parties, Temperance, &c. His views on church parties and ~ 
on the different phases of infidelity are further displayed in a novel © 
—¥‘Perversion,’ three volumes, 1856—a very interesting and clever ~ 
‘tale of the times.’ The ingenious author died prematurely in 1857, 
The father of Dr. Conybeare, W1L1LiAM DANIEL CONYBEARE, Dean ~ 
~ of Llandaff (1787-1857), was one of the earliest promoters of theGeo- _ 
logical Society, and a frequent and distinguished contributor to its — 
published Transactions. His papers on the Coal-fields were highly 
valuable; and he was the discoverer of the Plesiosaurus, that strange ~ 
antediluvian animal, the most singular and the most anomalous in its 


structure, according to Cuvier, that had been discovered amid the 
ruins of former worlds. 'To the Bampton Lectures the Dean wasalso — 
a contributor, having written a work ‘On the Fathers during the — 
RE beets Period,’ 1839; with a series of ‘Theological Lectures,” ’ 
DrEAN Howson, associated with the Rev. W. J. Conybeare in the 
valuable work on St. Paul, was born in 1816, educated at Trinity — 
College, Cambridge, became Principal of the Collegiate Institution, rt 
Liverpool, in 1849, and Dean of Chester in 1867. oil 


. 
DEAN ALFORD. ; 
The Rey. Dr. Henry AurorD, of Trinity, Vicar of Wimeswould, 


Leicestershire, like Dr. Trench, commenced -author as a poet— 
‘Poems and Poetical Fragments,’ 1831; ‘The School of the Heart,’ 


~ 
ae 


ms 
Srp 


- ALFORD.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. < 187 


-- 1885; &c.—but his ‘ Wulsean Lectures,’ 1841, his various collections 
' of ‘Sermons,’ ‘ Greek Testament,’ with notes, &c., gave him a reputa- 
tion as a divine and a scholar. Dr. Alford was a contributor to va- 
rious periodicals, and-was cut off suddenly in the midst of a busy 
and useful life. This excellent divine was a native of London, born 
in 1010, and educated at. Trinity College, Cambridge; from 1841 to 
1807 he acted as Examiner in Logic and Moral Philosophy in the uni- 
_ yersity of London; and in 1857 was appointed by Lord Palmerston. 
tothe deanery of Canterbury. He dicd January 12, 187). 
_ Dean Alford is believed to have had considerable effect, though 
indirectly, on the textual criticism of. the country. According to 
_ Bishop Lllicott, his present and future fame both is and will be con- 
_ nected with his notes and exegesis. ‘ Here the fine qualities of his 
mind, his quickness, keenness of perception, interpretative instinct, 
- Jucidity, and singular fairness, exhibit themselves to the greatest pos- 
sible advantage. Rarely, if ever, does he fail to place before the 
reader. the exact difficulties of the case, and the true worth of the 
different principles of interpretation.’ 


The Prince Consort’s Public Life. 


He came to us in 1840 fresh from a liberal education ; and in becoming one of us, 
and that in an undefined and exceedingly difficult position, he determined to bend 
_ the great powers of his mind, and_to use the influence of his exalted station to do us 
good. The early days of his residence among us were~cast upon troubled times— 
the gloomy years between 1840-1848. First, before we speak directly of his great 
national work, deserves mention the high example of that royal household, whose 
- unstained purity, and ever cautious and punctual propriety in all civil and Christian 
_ duties, has been to this people a greiter source of blessiug thun we can appreciate. 
At last the hour of trial came, and the eventful year 1848, which overturned so 
_ many thrones, passed powerless over our favoured land. Our royal house was be- 
yond danger, for its foundations rested in the hearts and prayers of the people. 
And now a period of calm succeeded, during which our Prince’s designs for the good 
of our people found scope and time to unfold themselves. ° 
The Great Exhibition of 1851, the effects of which, for good have been so many 
_ and so universally acknowledged, is believed to have been his own conception; and 
- the plan of it, though filled in-by many abie hands. was sketched out by himself, 
and constantly presided over and brought to maturity by his unwearied care. The. 
‘eventof that year opened to us views with regard to the intercourse and interde- 
pendence of foreign nations and ourselves, unknown to English minds before, 
and suggested to us. improvements which have shewn new paths of industry 
and advancement to thonsands of families among us. To him we owe, as a direct 
~ consequence of this his plan, our schools of design, which have called out so many 
a dormant miud, and brought blessing and competence to so many a household in - 
the lower ranks of life. Of one great society, the ‘Society for the Encouragement. 
_ of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce,’ he was to the last the active and indefatiga- 
_ble president. ; : 
: nly.a week before his death..he determined an important point connected with 
the building designed for the Exhibition. Besides these efforts, you will all re- 
- member the interest which he took in our agricultural progress, and in a matter of 
_ more vital import to our national wellbeing—the better construction, for decency and 
comfort, of the cottages of the labouring classes. He has left us his views to be 
- carried out, his schemes to be completed, his example to be followed. Each citizen, 
- each head of afamily, ought long to remember, and will long remember, the lessons 
of his life; we shall. not go back again from the higher level to which he has raised 
us, but shull, Iam persuaded, go on in the same course, with more earnest endeavour, 


= . 
_- 


c 
. Fae 


< 


12 CYCLOPALIA OF — - *.__ fro 1876, 


af = 


with more scrupulous anxicty, because to all other motives is added that of not — 
doing dishonour to his memory, vor violence to what were his own wishes. 


Toll out thy towers, toll on, thou old Cathedral, 

Filling the ambient air with softest pulses of sorrow; 

Toll out a nation’s grief, dole for the wail of the people. - 

Bursting hearts have played with words in the wildness of anguish, 

Gathered the bitter herbs that grow in the-valley of morning, 

Turned the darksome flowers in wreaths for the wept, the lost one. 

Toll for the tale that is told, but for the tale Jeft untold 3 7S oe 
Toll for the unreturning, but toll tenfold for the mourning; +“. ee 


Toll for the Prince that is gone, but more for the house that is widowed, a 


Reeognition after Death. 


With respect to the subject which furnished us matter for two or three convenm: — 
tions—the probability of meeting and recognising friends in heayen—I though. 4 — 
good deal, and searched Scripture yestcrday. The passage, 1 Thess. iv, 13-18, ap- — 
pears to me almost decisive. Tennyson says: “a 


of 


To search the secret is beyond our lore, ae 
And man must rest till. God doth furzish more. fag 


Certainly if there has been one hope which has borne the hearts of Christians up 2 
more than another in trials and separations, itis this. It has in all ages been one of 
the loveliest in the checkered prospect of the future, nor has it been confined to 
Christians ; I mean the idea. You will excuse me, nay, you will thark me, I know, 
for transcribing an exquisite passage from Cicero’s treatise on ‘Old Age.’ Itisas — 
follows: ‘O glorious day when J shall go to that divine assembly and company of © 
spirits, and when I shall depart out of this bustle, this sink of corruption ; for I shall — 
go not only to those great men of whom I have before spoken, but also to my dear ~ 
Cato [his son], than whom there never was a better man, or one more excellentin ~ 
filial affection, whose funeral rites were performed by me, when the contrary was — 
natural—namely, that mine should be performed by him. His soul not desiring me, — 
but looking back on me, has departed into those regions where he saw that I myself — 
must come; and I seem to bear firmly my affliction, not. because I did not grieve for 

it, but Icomforted myself, thinking that the separation and parting between us would ~ 
not be for long duration.’ The passage from Cicero is considered one of the finest, — 
if not the finest passage in all the heathen authors. It certainly isvery fine; but ¥ 
now, when you have admired it enough, turn to 2 Tim. iv. 6-8, and compare the — 
two. , Blessed be He indeed who has given ns such a certainty of hope! 


The Houseliold of a Ohristian.—From ‘ Quebec Chapel Sermons.’ 


The houschold is not an-accident of nature, but'an ordinance of God. Even na: — 
ture’s processes, could we penetrate their secrets, figure forth spiritaal truths; and — 
her highest and noblest arrangements are but the representations of the most gloris — 
ous of those truths. That very state out of which the household springs, is one, aa 
Scripture and the Church declare to us, not to be taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly, — 
or wantonly, seeing that it sets forth and represents to us the relation between Christ 7 
and his Church. he household is a representution, on a small scale. as regards — 
numbers, but not as regards the interests concerned, of the great family in heaven 
and earth. Its whole relations and mutual duties are but reflections of those which — 
subsist between the Redeemer and the people for whom He hath given Himself. Tha 
household, then, is not “n institution whose duties spriug from beneath—from the — 
necessities of circumstz ces merely ; but it is an appointment of God, whose laws — 
are His laws, and whose members owe direct account to Him. The father of a house — 
hold stands most immediately in God’s place. _ His is the post of greatest responsi- — 
bility. of greatest influence for good or for evil. His it is, in the last resort, to fix — 
and determine the character which his household shall bear. According as heis good — 
or bad, godly or ungodly, selfish. or self-denying, so will for the most part the come 
plexion of the household be also. As he values that which is good, not in his profes- + 
sions, for which no one cares, but in his practice, which all observe, so will it most 


a 


Rye 
a 


ALFORD. ] _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 139 


likely be valued also by his family as they grow up and are plauted out in the world. 
Of all the influences which can be brought to bear on man, paternal influence may be 


“made the strongest and most salutary; and whether so made or not, is ever of im- 


mense weight one way or the other. For remember, that paternal. influence is not 
that which the father tries to exert merely, but that which in matter of fact he does 
exert.. That superior life, ever moving in advance of the young and observing and 
imitative life of all of us, that source from which all cur first ideas came, that 


_ voice which sounded deeper into our hearts than all other voices, day by day, 


year by year, through all our tender and plastic childhood, will all through 


_ jifé, almost in spite of ourselves, still keep in. advance of us, still continue to - 


sound: no other example will ever take so firm hold, no other superiority be 


- ever so vividly and constantly felt. And again remember, this example goes for 
_ what itis really worth. Words do not set it—religious phrases do not give it its life 


and power—it is not a thing of display and effort, but of inner realities, and recurring 
acts and habits. It is not the raving of the wind around the precipice—not the 
sunrise and sunset, clothing it with golden glory—which moulded it and gave it its 
worn und rounded form: but the unmarked dropping of the silent waters, the 
inelting of the yearly snows, the gushing of the inner springs. And so it will be, 


- not that which the outward eye sees in him, not that which men repute -him, not 


ublic praise, nor public blame, that will enhance or undo a father’s influence 
im his household; but that which he really is in the hearts of his family: that which 


they know of him in private: the worth to which they can testify, but which the 


outer world never saw ; the affections which flow in secret, of which they know'tke 
depth, but Others only the surface. And so it will be likewise with a father’s 
religion. -None so keen to see into a man’s religion as his own household. He may 
deceive others without; he may deccive himself: he can hardly long succeed in de- 


_ ceiving them. If religion with him be merely a thing put on; an elaborate series of 


outward duties, attended to for expediency’s sake—something fitting his children, but 


- not equally fitting him: oh, none will so'soon and so thoroughly learn to appreciate 
ia 


this, as those children themselves: there is not a‘iy fact which, when discovered, will 


_ have so baneful an effect on their young lives, as such an appreciation. No amount 


mY 


of external devotion will ever counterbalance it: no use of religious phraseology, 
nor converse with religious people without. But if, on the other hand, his religion 
is really a thing in his heart: if he moves about day by day as seeing One invisible: 


if the love of Christ is really warming the springs of his inner life, then, however 
- inadequately this is shewn in matter or in manner, it will be sure to be known and 
thoroughly appreciated by those who are ever living their lives around him, 


DR. ROWLAND WILLIAMS. 


This eminent Welsh scholar. and divine was a native of Flint- 
shire, Wales, born in 1817. He was educated at Etonand at King’s 


. College, Cambridge, in which he was distinguished as a classical 
scholar. He was elected toa Fellowship of his college, and was clas- 
sical tutor in it for eight years—from 1842 to 1850. He then removed 


to St. David’s College, Lampeter, in which he became Vice-principal 


_and Professor of Hebrew, was appointed chaplain to the Bishop of 
‘Llandaff in 1850, and select preacher to the university of Cambridge 


in 1855. In the latter year he publishéd a volume of his sermons 


under the. title of ‘ Rational Godliness after the Mind of: Christ and 


the written Voices of his Church.’ His views on the subject of in- 
spiration were considered unorthodox, and led him into controversy, 
ultimately causing his withdrawal from Lampeter, where he had 
lived twelve years, greatly benefiting the college there, and discharg- 
ing his duties as parish minister with exemplary diligence and popu- 


_ Tar acceptance. - In 1860 appeared the volume entitled ‘ Essays and 


140 A CYCLOPZDIA OF . 


‘Reviews ;' Dr. Williams was one of the writers, contributing an-arti- _ 
cle on Bunsen’s ‘Biblical Researches,’ for which he was prosecuted — 
in the Court.of Arches, and sentenced to a year’s suspension. The 
Privy Council, however, reversed the decision, and Dr. Williams con-- 
tinued his pastoral labours and studies until his death in 1870. He 
died at a vicarage he held near Salisbury, but his friends in Wales” 
sent flowers from the land of his birth to be laid on his coffin. The_ 
works of Dr. Williams are numerous. The best is his ‘Hinduism ~ 
and Christianity Compared,’ 1856; a learned and able treatise. He 
“was-engaged in his latter years on a more elaborate work, part of 
which was published in 1866 under the title of ‘ The Prophets of Israel | 
and Judah during the Assyrian Empire.’ A second volume was_ 
published after his death, entitled ‘The Hebrew Prophets, tr anslated 
afresh from the Original,’ 1872. He also wrote various essays on the 
Welsh Church, Welsh Bards, and An glo-Saxon Antiquities. He was- 
a various as well as a profound scholar, but chiefly excelled in He- 
brew and in his ancient native tongue, the Cymric or Welsh. T he 
‘Life and Letters of Dr. Williams’ were published by his widow, two 
volumes, 1874; and Mrs. Williams claims for her husband having 
done good service by advocating an open Bible and free reverential 
criticism, and by maintaining these to be consistent with the stand- 7 
ards of the English Church. He helped much to vindicate for the | 
Anglican Establishment the wide boundary which he, Dean Stanley, 
‘and others considered to be her lawful inheritance. 
‘Dean Milman,’ he says, ‘once wrote to me, that what the world 
wants is a keener perception of the poetical character of parts, espe- 
Cially the earlier parts of the Bible. «This work, ” he addéd, ‘* will — 
be done slowly, but, in my opinion, surely.” In other words, what | 
the world seems to me to want, is a perception that the religion with - 
which the Bible, as a whole, impresses us, is a true religion; but that 
in its associations, accidents, and personal shortcomings, it has had > 
“no supernatural exemption from those incidents of human nature 
which we find in the transmission of our moral sentiments in gene-— 
ral, strengthened as these are by historical examples, but having a 
fresh germ in ourselves, and yet needing a constant glance heaven- | 
ward, a tone of mind compounded of prayer and of resolve, in order 
to keep them sound, and free from all warping influences. Again, 
to vary the expression, the great object to be set always before our 
consciences is, *‘the Father of our spirits,” the Eternal Being; and it 
is an infinite aid to have the records of wor ds and deeds of men who 
have lived in a like spiritual faith, and who can kindle us afresh. : ¥3 


REV. FREDERICK WILLIAM ROBERTSON. . 

The Rev. F. W. Rozertson of Brighton (1816-1853) was a ce 
‘man of the Church of England whose “life was devoted to the int 
‘lectual and spiritual improvement of the working-classes, and whose 
-writings have enjoyed a degree of popularity rarely extended to 


Sees Pe aX Pe ee = : - 
“RORERTSON.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. Sd 


-mons and theologiexl treatises. He was a native of London, son of 
-an officer, Captain Robertson, R.A. He was educated at Edinburgh 
-and Oxford, taking his degree of MA. at Brasenose College in 
1844. Having entered the Church, he was successively curate at 
Winchester and Cheltenham, and incumbent of Trinity Chapel, 
Brighton. At the latter he continued six years till his death. In 
1848 he assisted in establishing a working-man’s Institute, and his 
address on this occasion, which was afterwards published, attracted, 
as he said, ‘ more notice than it deserved or he had expected: it was 
read by Her Majesty, distributed by nobles and Quakers, sneered at 
by Conservatives, preised by Tories, slanged by Radicals, and swal- 
fJowed, with wry faces, by Chartists!’ Within six months, it was 
_said Mr. Robertson had put himself at variance with the whole accre- 
- dited theological world of Brighton on the questions of the Sabbath, 
the Atonement, Inspiration, and Baptism! His talents, sincerity, 
and saint-like character were, however, acknowledged by all parties, 
and his death was mourned as a public calamity. His funeral was 
attended by more than two thousand persons. Four volumes of Mr. 
-Robertson’s ‘Sermons’ have been published; also his ‘ Life and Let- 
ters,’ two volumes, by the Rev. Stopford A. Brooke. Robertson’s 
‘Sermons’ have gone through-numerous large editions both in Eng- 
-jand and America. 2 
a Christian Energy. 
_. ‘Let us be going.’ There were two ways open to Christ in which to submit to 
“his doom. He might have waited for it: instead of which He went to meet the sol- 
-diers, He took up the cross, the cup of anguish was not forced between his lips. He 
‘took it with his own hands. and drained it quickly to the la:t drop. In after years 
. the disciples understood the lesson, and acted on it. They did not wait till perse- 
- ention overtook them ; they braved the Sanhedrim, they fronted the world, they pro- 
“claimed aloud the nnpopular and unpalatable doctrines of the Resurrection and the 
_Cross. Now in this there lies a principle. Under no conceivable set of. circum- 
_Stauces are we justified in sitting : 


= By the poisoned springs of life, 
7 Waiting for the morrow which shall free us from the strife. 


Under no circumstances, whether of pain, or grief, or disappointment, or irrepara- 


_ble mistake, can it be true that there is not’ something to be done, as well as some- — ~ 


- thing to be suffered. And thus itis that the spirit of Christianity draws over our life, 

not a leaden cloud of remorse and despondency, but a sky—not perhaps of radiant, 
_but yet of most serene and chastened and manly hope. Thereis a past whichis gone 
for ever, but there is a future which is still our own. 


aS The Bible. 

It is the universal applicability of Scripture which has made the influence of the 
Bible universal. This book has spell-bound the hearts of nations in a way in which 
no single book has ever held men before. Remember too, in order to enhance the 
marvellousness of this, that the nation from which it emanated was a despised peo- 
-ple. For the Jast eighteen hundred years, the Jews have. been proverbially a by- 
word and a reproach. But that contempt for Israel is nothing new to the world, for 

before even the Roman despised them, the Assyrian and Egyptian regarded them 
with scorn. Yet the words which came from Israel’s prophets have been the life- 
blood of the world’s devotions. And the teachers, the psalmists, the prophets, and 


142 CYCLOPADIA OF (To 1876. 


the law-givers of this despised nation spoke out truths that have struck the key-note 
of the heart of man; and this, not because they were of Jewish, but because tney — 
were of universal application. i 
This collection of books has been to the world what no other book has ever been — 
to anation. States have been founded on its principles. Kingstule by a compact — 
based on it. Men hold the Bible in their hands when they prepare to give solemn — 
evidence affecting life, death, or property ; the sick man is almost afraid to die unless — 
the Book-be within reach of his hands; the battle-ship goes into action with one on 
board whose office it is to expound it ; its prayers, its psalms are the language which — 
we use when we speak to God: eighteen centuries have found no holier, no diviner 
language. If ever there has been a prayer or a hymn enshrined in the heart of a na- ~ 
tion, you are sure to find its basis in the Bible. The very translation of it has fixed 
language and settled the idioms of speech. Germany and England speak as they — 
speak because the Bible was translated. It has made the most illiterate peasant 
more familiar with the history, customs, and geography of ancient Palestine than 
with the localities of his own country. Men who know nothing of the Grampians, ~ 
of Snowdon, or of Skiddaw, are at home in Zion, the Jake of Gennesareth, or 
among the rills of Carmel. People who know little about London, know by heart — 
the places in Jerusalem where those blessed feet trod which were nailed to the ~ 
Cross. Men who know nothing of the architecture of a Christian cathedral can yet — 
tell you about the pattern of the holy Temple. Even this shews us the influence of — 
the Bible. The orator holds a thousand men for half an hour breathless—a thou- 
sand men as one, listening to a single word. But the Word of God has held a ~ 
thousand nations for thrice a thousand years spell-bound; held them by an abiding ~ 
power, even the universality of its truth; and we feel it to be no more a collection of — 
books, but the Book. Bee 


a 


y 
Pe 


The Smiles and Tears of Life. 


The sorrows of the past stand out most vividly in our recollections, because they — 
are the keenest of our sensations. At the end of a long existence we should proba- 
bly describe it thus: Few and evil have the days of the years of thy servant been. But 
the innumerable infinitesimals of happiness that from moment to moment made life — 
sweet and pleasant are forgotten, and very richly has our Father mixed the mate- — 
rials of these with the homeliest actions and domesticities of existence. See two men 
meeting together in the streets, mere acquaintances. They will not be five minutes 
together before a smile will overspread their countenances, or a merry laugh ring off — 
at the lowest amusement. This has Goddone. God created the smile and the laugh, 
as well as the sigh and the tear. The aspect of this life is stern, very stern. It isa — 
very superficial account of it which slurs over its grave mystery, and refuses to hear — 
its low deep undertone of anguish. But there is enough, from hour to hour, of — 
bright sunny happiness, to reinind us that its Creator’s highest name is Love. 


REV. STOPFORD A. BROOKE, 


The biographer of Mr. Robertson is himself a popular preacher and 
author. The Rev. Stroprorp A. Brooke, M.A., incumbent of — 
Bedford Chapel, Bloomsbury, was sometime preacher in St. James’s 
Chapel, York Street; and three volumes of ‘ Sermons’ (first, second, 
and third series) delivered in York Street, have been published. Mr. 
Brooke is author also of ‘Freedom in the Church of England,’ six 
sermons suggested by the Voysey judgment, which were held to con- 
tain a fair statement of the views in respect to freedom of thought 
entertained by the liberal party in the Church of England. One 
volume of Mr. Brooke’s Sermons, entitled ‘ Christ in Modern Life,’ 
is now (1876) in its ninth edition. He has also published ‘ Theology - 
in the English Poets, Cowper, Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Burns; 
she ‘Life and Work of Frederick Denison Maurice,’ a memorial ser 


“SROOKE. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 143 


mon; and a little manual on ‘ English Literature,’ forming one of a 


‘series of primers edited by Mr. J. R. Green. The last sentence in 
this manual is suggestive: 
_ “Tennyson has always kept us close to the scenery, the traditions, 
the daily life, and the History of England; and his last drama of 
-**Queen Mary,” 1875, is written almost exactly twelve hundred years 
since the date of our first poem, Czedmon’s Paraphrase. To think of 
one and then of the other, and of the great and continuous stream of 
literature that has flowed between them, is more than enough to make 
‘Ms all proud of the name of Englishmen.’ 


The Creation (Genesis i, 1). 


- It was necessary that a spiritual revelation should be given in harmony with the 
physical beliefs of the period; and when we demand that the revealed writings 
‘should be true to our physical knowledge in order that we should believe in imspira- 
tion. we are asking that which would have made all those for whom the Bible was 
- originally written disbelieve at once in all it revealed to man. We ask too much: 
that. book was written on wiser principles. It left these questions aside; it spoke 
in the language, and through the knowledge, of its time. It was content to reveal 
‘spiritual truth ; it left men to find out scientific truth for themselves. It is inspired 
with regard to the first ; it is not inspired with regard to the latter. It is inspired 
with regard to universal principles ; it is not inspired with regard to details of fact. 
The proof that it is inspired with regard to principles is that those principles which 
_it lays down or implies are not isolated but universal principles. They are true of 
national, social, political, intellectual, as well asof spiritual life, and above all, and 
this is the point which I especially wish to urge, they are identical with scientific 
principles. Let us test this in the case of this chapter. 
_. The first principle to be inferred is that of the unity of God. One Divine Being is 
-Trepresenied as the sole cause of the universe. Now this is the only foundation of a 
‘true religion for humanity. Starting from the Semitic peoples, it has gradually made 
its way over the whole of the Aryan family with the exception of the Hindus 5 and 
even among them, and wherever else the worship of many gods exists, itis gradually 
_ driving out polytheism and establishing itself as the necessary religion for humanity. 
__ The next principle in this chapter is that all noble work is gradual. God is not 
represented as creating everything in a moment. He spent six days at His work, 
and then said it was very good. Now thereis no principle more universal than this 
—that in proportion to the nobility of anything, is it long in reaching its perfection. 
~The summer fly is born and dies in a few days; the more highly organised animal 
has along youth and a mature age. The inferior plant rises, blooms, and dies ina 
year; the oak transforms the storms and sunshine of a century into the knotted 
fibres of its stem. The less noble powers of the human mind mature first ; the more 
noble, such as imagination, comparison. abstract reasoning, demand the work of 
years. ‘lhe greatest ancient nation took the longest time to develop its iron power 5 
the securest political freedom in a nation did not advance by bounds, or by violent 
- revolutions, but in England ‘broadened slowly down from precedent to preéedent.’ 
‘rhe greatest modern society—the Church of Christ—grew as Christ prophesied, 
from a beginning as small as a grain of mustard-seed into a noble tree, and grows 
now more slowly than any other society has ever grown—so slowly, that persons 
who are not far-seeing say that it has failed. The same law is true of every indivi- 
_dual Christian life. 

The next truth to be inferred from this chapter is that the universe was prepared 
for the good and enjoyment of man. I cannot say that this is universal, for the stars 
exist for themselves, and the sun for orher planets than ours; and itis a poor thing 
to say that the life of animals and plants is not for their own enjoyment as well as 
ours! but so far as they regard us, itis a universal truth, and the Bible was written 
for owr learning. ‘Therefore, in this chapter. the sun and stars are spoken of only 
in their relation to us, and man is set as master over all creation. 


cad 


= RET. a =. - ~ nee SO ee = 
_ > amg tara <i ae Fre Se Re 
3 _ > ‘ Fi Foe Se = 


144 CYCLOPADIA OF © 


The hext principle is the interdependence of rest and work. The Sabbath is the 
outward expression of God’s recognition of this as a truth for man. It was com-— 
manded because it was necessary. ‘the Sabbath was made for man,’ said Christ. — 
And the same principle ought to be extended over our whole existence Thelife of — 
Christ, the type of the highest human life, was not all work. ‘Come ye intothe — 
wilderness, and rest awhile.’ Toil and refreshment were woven together. Butasin — 
this chapter there were six-days of work to one of rest, so in His life, as it ought to 
be in ours, ‘labour was the rule, relaxation the exception.’ Labour always preceded _ 
rest; rest was only purchased hy toil. ~ eo 

Lastly. there is one specially spiritual principle which glorifies this chapter, and 
the import of which is universal, *God made man in His own image.’ It is the di- 
vinest revelation in the Old Testament. In it is contained the reason of all that has ~ 
evei been great in human nature.or in human history. In it are contained all th 
sorrows of the race as it looks back» to its innocence, and all the hope of the — 
race as it aspires from the depths of its fall to the height of the imperial palace - 
whence it came. In it is contained all the joy of the race as it sees in Christ this — 
great first principle revealed again. In it are contained all the history of the human 
heart, all the history of the human mind, all the history of the human conscience, all — 
the history of the human spirit. It is the foundation-stone of all written and unwrit- — 
ten poetry, of all metaphysics, of all ethics, of all religion. > 3] 

These are the universal principles which are to be found in this chapter. And — 
this, we are told, is not inspiration; this is not the work of a higher spirit than the ~ 
spirit of defective aud one-sided man. ‘This illuminating constellation of all-embrac- _ 
ing truths; stars which burn, eternal and unwavering, the guides and consolers of — 
men in the heayen which arches oyer our spiritual life ; their light for ever quiet with - 
the conscious repose of truth, ‘their seat the bosom of God, their voice the harmony 
of the world’—to which, obedience being given, nations are great, souls are free, and 
the race marches with triumphant music to its perfect destiny—this is not inspiga- 


tion! Brethren, it 7s inspiration. . 
BISHOP WILBERFORCE. : > 


SamMuEL WILBERFORCE, D.D., Bishop of Winchester (1805-1872), — 
was the third son of the Christiau philanthropist, William Wilber 
force. After his education at Oriel College, Oxford, Mr. Wilberforee 
was ordained curate of Checkendon, Oxfordshire, and rose to be © 
Bishop of Oxford in 1845. In 1869 he was translated to the see of — 
Winchester. Asa scholar, a prelate, and debater in the House of 
Lords, of gracious manner and winning address, Bishop Wilberforce _ 
was highly esteemed, and his accidental death by a fall from his horse 
was deeply lamented. He published several volumes of ‘Sermons — 
and Charges,’ ‘ Agathos and other Sunday Stories,’ ‘History of the 
Episcopal Church in America,’ ‘ Hebrew Heroes,’ &c. Two volume 
of ‘Essays’ contributed by the bishop to the ‘ Quarterly ReviewaE | 
- were published in 1874. rer | 

. The Reformation of the Church of England. ~ | 


+ “fy 

* It bears the mark and impress of the intellectual or spiritual peculiarities of no 
single man. Herein at once itis marked off from the Lutheran, the Calvinist. the | 
Zwinglian, and other smaller bodies.. On each one of them lay, as the shadow on the 
sleeping water, the unbroken image of some master mind or imperial sou]. The min 
of that founder of the new faith, his mode.of thought and argument, his religious 
principles, and his great defects, were reproduced in the body which he had formed, 
and which by anatural instinct appropriated and handed on his name. And so it — 
might have been with us too, had there been amongst the English Reformers such 4 
leader. If. Wycliffe—the great forerunner of the Reformation, whose austere f 
ure stands out above the crowd of notables in English history—if Wycliffe 
jived a hundred and thirty years later.than he did, his commanding intellect 


WILBERFORCE. | ENGRISH-EIFERATURE. 2s 2 ecp= - 145 
character might then have stamped upon the religion of England the essential char- 
acteristic o* asect.. But from this the goodness of God preserved the Church of 
~thisland. Jike the birth of the beautiful islands of the great Pacific Ocean, the 

foundations of the new convictions which were so greatly to modify and purify the 

‘medieval fai h were laid slowly, unseen, unsuspected -by ten thousaud souls, who la- ° 

poured they new not for what, save to accomplish the necessities of their own spir- 
- itual belief. The mighty convulsion which suddenly cast up the submarine founda- 

tions into p ak, and mountain, and crevasse, and lake, and plain, came not from 
“man’s devisii g, and obeyed not man’s rule. Influences of the heaven above, and of 
the daily sur’ounding atmosphere, wrought their will upon the new-born islands. 

Fresh convu'sions changed, modified, and completed their shape, and so the new and 
the old were t lended toxether into a harmony which no skill of man could bave devised. 
-The English Reformers did not attempt to develop a creed or a community out of 
their own il.fernal consciousness. Their highest aim,was only to come back to what 
had been before. ‘They had not the gifts which created in others the ambition to be 

the foundera of a new system. They did not even set about their task with any fixed 

plan orretognised set of doctrines. Their inconsistencies, their variations, their in- 

terval differences, their very retractations witness to the gradualuess with which the 
new light dawned upon them, and dispelled the old darkness. The charges of hypoc- 
“risy and time-serving which: have been made so wantonly against Cranmer and his 
brethren are all honourably interpreted by the real changes which took place in their 
“own opinions. ‘ihe patient, loving, accurate study of Holy Scripture was an emi- 
nent characteristic of all these men. Thus the opinions they were receiving from 
others who had advariced far before them in the new faith, were continually modified 

by this continual voice of God’s Word sounding in their ears, and by corresponding 
changes in their own views. Thus they were enabled by God’s grace, out of the 
utter disintegration round them, to restore in its primitive proportions the ancient 
~ Church of England. 
: BISHOP ELLICOTT. 


Dr. CHarLEs JoHN Exticott, Bishop of Glovtester and Bristol, a 
distinguished Scripture commentator and divine, was born in 1819, 
son of the Rev. C. S. Ellicott, Rector of Whitwell, near Stamford, 
- Lincolnshire. He studied at St. John’s College, Cambridge; ob- 
tained the Hulsean prize in 1843;* in 1858 was chosen to succeed 
_ Dr. French as Professor of Divinity in King’s College, London; in 1860 
was elected Hulsean Professor of Divinity in Cambridge; in 1861 was 
~made Dean of Exeter; and in 1°63 was promoted to the see of Gloucester 
and Bristol. Dr. Ellicott’s first work was a ‘ Treatise on Analytical 
Science,’ 1842, which was followed by the Hulsean lecture on the 
‘History and Obligation of the Sabbath,’ 1844. His most important 
work is a series of * Critical and Grammatical Commentaries on Bt. 
_Paul’s Epistles,’ published separately (all of which have gone through 
‘several editions), namely, ‘ Galatians,’ ‘Ephesians,’ ’ Philippians,’ 
‘Colossians,’ ‘ Philemon,’ ‘ Thessalonians; also ‘ Pastoral Epistles.’ 
A volume of ‘ Historical Lectures_on the Life of Our Lord’ by the 
‘bishop is now in its sixth edition; and he has also published * Con- 
siderations on the Revision of the Authorised Version of the New 
Testament.’ In the preface to his Lectures, Bishop Ellicott says: 
~~ ‘J neither feel nor affect to feel the slightest sympathy with the so- 


~  *%he Rey. John Hulse of Elworth, in the county of Chester. by his will, bearing 
‘date 1777. directed that the proceeds of certain estazes should be given yearly toa dis- 
fertator and a lecturer who should ‘shew the evidence for revealed religion. and de- 
*monstrate the truth and excellence of Christianity.’ The discourses were to be twenty 
h: dn-number but she Court of Chancery in 1830 reduced the number to e’ght 


on m. G . 


= 


id - 
m~ 
< 


146 < CYCLOPADIA OF fro 1876, 


_called popular theology of the present day, but I-still trust that, in 
the many places in which it has been almost necessarily called forth — 
_ In the present pages, no expression has been used towards sceptical — 

writings stronger than may have been positively required by allegi- — 
ance to catholic truth. Towards the honest and serious thinker who — 
may feel doubts or difficulties in some of the questions connected — 
with our Lord’s life, all tenderness may justly be shewn” = 

The Lectures do not aim at being-a complete Life of our Saviour, — 
but go over the leading incidents—the birth and infancy, the Judean, — 
Eastern Galilee, and Northern Galilee ministries, the journeyings “ 
towards Jerusalem, the Last Passover, and the Forty Days. Copious © 
notes from the great Greek commentators and German expositors are — 
given. The critical and grammatical commentaries on St. Paul's — 
Epistles are also. copious and invaluable to students. A passage is — 


‘here subjoined from the “Historical Lectures.’ . t : 
The Triumphant Entry into Jerusalem. - ae 
oe 


In the retirement of that mountain-hamlet of Bethany—a retirement soon to be — 
broken in upon—the Redeemer of the world may with reason be supposed to have ~ 
spent His last earthly Sabbath. There too, either in their own house or, as seems — 
more probable, in the house of one who probably owed to our Lord his return to the ~ 
society of his fellow-men, did that loving household ‘ make a supper’ for their Diviiie 
Guest. Joyfully and thankfully did each one of that loving family instinctively do 
that which might seem,most to tend to the honour and glorification of Him whom ~ 
one of them had declaréd to be, and whom they all knew to be, the Son of God that — 
was to come into the world. So Martha serves ; Lazarus it is specially noticed tak 
his place at the table, the visible living proof of the omnipotence of his Lord; Mary 
performs the tender office of a mournfully foreseeing love, that thought nought too — 
Pas or too costly for its God—that tender office, which, though grudgingly rebuked 

y Judas and, alas! others than Judas, who could not appreciate the depths of such — 
a devotion, nevertheless received a praise which it has been declared shall evermore — 
hold its place on the pages of the Book of Life. My ot | 

But that Sabbath soon passed away. Ere night came on, numbers even of- those — 
who were seldom favourably disposed to our Lord, now came to see both Him and — 
the living monument of His merciful omnipotence. The morrow probably brought 
more of these half-curious, half-awed, yet, 2s if would now seem, in a great measure 
believing visitants. 'The deep heart of the people was stirred, and the time was fully — 
come when ancient prophecy was to receive its fulfilmerit, and the daughter of Zion — 
was to welcome her King. Yea and in kingly state shall he come. Begirt not only — 
by the smaller band of His own disciples but by the great and now hourly increasing _ 
multitude, our Lord leaves the little wooded vale that had ministered to Him its Sab-— 
bath-day of seclusion and repose, and directs his way onward to Jerusalem. As — 
yet, however, in but humble guise and as a pilgrim among. pilgrims He traverses ally 
rough mount in-track which the modern traveller can even now somewhat hopefully 
identify ; every step bringing him nearer to the ridge of Olivet, and to that bamlet 
or district of Bethphage, the exact site of which it is so hard to fix, but which was 
separated perhaps only by some narrow valley from the round alopg which thepro- 
cession was now wending its way. But the Son of David must not solemnly enter — 
the city of David as a scarcely distinguishable wayfarer amid a mixed and wayfat- 
ing throng. Prophecy must have its full and exact fulfilment; the King ne . 
proach the city of the King with some meck symbols of kingly majesty. th 
haste, it would seem, two disciples sre despatched to the village over against er , 
to bring to Him ‘who had need of it’ the colt ‘whereon yet never man sat:’ with — 
haste the zealous followers cast upon it their garments. and all-unconscious of the — 
significant nature ot their act, place thereon their Master—the — King. 
Strange it would have been if feelings such as now were eagerly stirring in every — 


" 
4. 


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“ELLICOTT.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 147 


heart had not found vent in words. Strange indeed if, with the Hill of Zion now 
breaking upon their view, the long prophetic past had not seemed to mingle with the 
present, and evoke those shouts of mysterious welcome and praise, which, first be- 
pinning with the disciples and those immediately round our Lord, soon were heard 
from every mouth of that glorifying multitude. _And notfrom them alone. Number- 
Jess others there were fast streaming up Olivet, a palm-branch in every hand, to greet 
the raiser of Lazarus and the Conqueror of Death; and now all join. One common 
feeling of holy enthusiasm now pervades that mighty multitude, and displays itself 
in befitting acts. Garments ‘are torn off and cast down before the Holy One; green 
boughs bestrew the way; Zion’s King rides onward in meek majesty, a thousand 
voices before, and a thousand voices behind rising up to heaven with Hosannas and 
- with mingled words of magnifying acclamation, some of which once had been sung 
to the Psalmist’s harp, and some heard even from angelic tongues... . But the 
hour of triumph was the hour of deepest and most touching compassion. If, as we 
have ventured to believe, the suddenly opening view of Zion may have caused the 
excited feelings of that thronging multitude to pour themselves forth in words of 
exalted and triumphant praise. full surely we know from the inspired narrative, that 
on our Redeemer’s nearer approach to the city, as it rose up, perhaps suddenly, in 
all its extent and magnificence before Him who even now beheld the trenches cast 
about it, and Roman legions mustering round its fated walls, tears fell from those 
Divine eyes—yea, the Saviour of the world wept over the city wherein He had come 
to suffer and die. . . . The lengthening procession again moves onward, slowly de- 
scending into the deep valley of the Gedron, and slowly winding up the opposite 
slope, until at length by one of the Eastern gates it passes into one of tue now 
exywiied thoroughfares of the Holy City. Such was the Triumpkal Entry into Jeru- 
Salem. j 


BISHOP EDWARD HAROLD BROWNE. 


The present learned Bishop of Winchester, son of the late Colonel 
Browne of Morton House, Bucks, was born in 1811, and was edu- 
_eated at Eton, and at Emmanuel College, Cambridge, where he was 

wrangler in 1832. His academical career was highly distinguished. 
In 1833 he obtained the Crosse theological scholarship, in 1834 the 
first Hebrew scholarship, and in 1835 the Norrisian prize: for a theo- 
logical essay. He became Fellow and tutor of his college. From 
- 1843 to 1849 he was Vice-principal and Professor of Hebrew in St. 
~David’s College, Lampeter; in 1854 he was elected Norrisian Profes- 
‘sor of Divinity in the university of Cambridge; in 1857 canon resi- 
_dentiary of Exeter Cathedral; in 1864 he was consecrated Bishop of 
Ely; and in 1874, Bishop of Winchester. The principal theological 
work of Bishop Browne is his ‘ Exposition of the Thirty-nine Arti- 
“cles, Historical and Doctrinal,’ which was published (1850-53) in 
‘two volumes, but is now compressed into one large volume of 864 
pages (tenth edition, 1874). In his introduction (which is a.clear and 
‘concise historical summary, relating to the Liturgy and Articles) the 
‘bishop has the following sensible remarks: 


Interpretation of the Thirty-nine Articles. 


Tn the interpretation of them, our best guides must be, first, their own natural, 
literal, grammatical meaning; next to th's. a knowledge of the controversies which 
had prevailed in the Church, and made such articles necessary; then, the other au- 
-thorised formularies of the Church; af.er them the writings and known opinions of 
such men as Cranmer, Ridley, and Parker, who drew them up; then, the doctrines 
of the primitive Church, which they professed to follow; and, lastly, the general 
sentiments of the distinguished English divines who have been content to subscribe 


148 | ee CYCLOPAEDIA OF = 


the Articles, and have professed their agreement. with them for now three ae 
years. These are our best guides for their interpretation. Their authority is deriv- — 
able from Scripture alone. a 
On the subject of subscription, very few words may be sufficient. To sign any 4 
document in a non-natural sense seems neither consistent with Christian integrity 
nor with common manliness. But, on the other haud, a National church should — 
never be needlessly exclusive. It should, we can hardly ‘doubt, be ready to embrace, ™ ‘ 
if possible, all who truly believe in God, and in Jesus Christ ‘whom He hath sent. 
Accordingly. our own Church requires of its Jay members no confession of theig 
faith except that contained in the Apostles’ Creed. : 
In the following pages an attempt is made to interpret and explain the Articles of 
the Church, Ww hich bind the consciences of her clergy, according to their natural and 
genuine meaning; and to prove that meaning-to be both scriptural and catholic. — 
None can fee! so vere) nor act so straightfor wardly, as those who subscribe them 7 
in such a sense. But if we consider how much variety of sentiment may prevail é 
amongst persons who are, in the main, sound in the faith, we can never wish that a — 
national Church, which ought to have all the marks of catholici ty, should enforce too — 
rigid and uniform an interpretation of its formularies and terms of union. The ~ 
Church shon'd be not only holy and apostolic, but as well, one and catholic. Unity 
and universality are scarcely attainable, where a greater rigour of subscription is re= L 
quired than such as shall insure an adherence and conformity to those great catholic _ a 
truths which the primitive Christians lived by, and died for, <4 


Besides his elaborate ‘Exposition of the Thirty-nine Articles,’ Die 4 
Browne has published two volumes of Sermons, one on the * Atone-_ 
ment and other Subjects,’ 1859, and the second on ‘ Messiah as Fores , 
told and Expected,’ 1862. The latter is a vindication of the true pre-~ 
dictive character of Messianic prophecy, derived chiefly from Jewish — 
sources. He is author also of ‘The Pentateuch and the Elohistic_ 
Psalms,’ written in reply to Bishop Colenso in 1863; and * The Dea- i 
coness,’ a sermon preached in 1871. The bishop is also one of the 
writers in ‘ Aids to Faith,’ in Smith’s s ‘ Dictionary of the Bible,’ thet ; 
‘Speakers’ Commentary,’ &. 


ARCHBISHOP THOMSON. a 


The Archbishop of York, Dr. Wit1t1AmM THomson, is a native of | 7 
Whitehaven, Cumberland, born February 11, 1819. He was educated 
at Shrewsbury School and at Queen’s College, Oxford, of which he 
was successively scholar, Fellow, and tutor. ‘He took his degree of — ; 
B.A. in 1840, was or dained priest in 1843, and was four yeais pastor 
at Guildford and Cuddesden; in 1848 he was appointed select preacher 
at Oxford, and in 1853 was chosen to preach the Bampton Lecture. 
The subject was the ‘Atohing Work of Christ.’ Two years after-— 
wards (1855) he became incumbent of All-Souls, Marylebone; and in 
1858 was chosen preacher of Lincoln’s Inn. This appointment is_ 
generally held to be preliminary to the bishopric, and_Dr. Thomson 
was in 1861 made Bishop of Gloucester and Bristol. In 1863 he was” 
promoted to the archiepiscopal see of York. His first work was a 
logical treatise, acute and learned, entitled ‘ An Outlineof the Neces-— 
sary Laws of Thought,’ 1842. This was’ followed by the Bampton | 
Lecture; by ‘Ser mous Preached in Lincoln’s Inn Chapel,’ 1861; 
‘Pastoral Letter,’ 1864; ‘Life in the Light of God’s Word,’ ght; 


3 fa 


= 


THOMSON, } ENGLISH LITERATURE. 149 
‘Limits of Philosophical Inquiry,’ 1869; and by a Life of Christ and 
other articles in Dr. Smith’s ‘Dictionary of the Bible,’ as well as 
contributions to reviews and other literary journals: One of the 
most valuable of Archbishop 'Thomson’s professional labours was 
editing and assisting in the authorship of ‘ Aids to Faith,’ a series of 
theological essays by several writers, designed as a reply to ‘ Essays 
and Reviews.’ In this volume (third edition, 4870) Dean Mansel took 
“up the subject of the ‘ Miracles;’ the Bishop of Cork (Fitzgerald), 
the ‘ Evidences ;’ Dr. M’Caul, ‘ Prophecy’ and the ‘ Mosaic Record 
of Creation;’ Canon Cooke, ‘Ideology and Subscription; ’ Professor 
Rawlinson, the ‘ Pentateuch;’ Dr. Browne, Bishop of Ely, ‘ Inspira- 
-tion;’ Dr. Ellicott, Bishop of Gloucester and Bristol, ‘ Scripture and 
its Interpretation;’ while the archbishop himself, as editor, selected 
as the subject of his essay the ‘ Death of Christ,’ or the doctrine of 
Reconciliation: 


- What is there about this teaching that has provoked im times past and present so 
“much disputation? Not, I am persuaded, the hardness of the doctrine, for none of 
the theories put in its place are any easier, but its want of logical completeness, 
Sketched out for us in a few broad lines, it tempts the fancy to fill it in and lend it 
_colour; and we do not always remember that the hands that attempt this are trying 
-tomake a mystery into a theory, an infinite truth into a finite one, and to reduce the 

great things of God-into the narrow limits of our little field of view. To whom was 
_theransom paid? What was Satan’s share of the transaction? How can one suffer 
for another? How could the Redeemer be made miserable when He was conscious 
“that His worix was one which could bring happiness tothe whole human race? Yet 
’ this condition of indefiniten:ss is one which is-imposed on usin the reception of 
_é€very mystery: prayer, the incarnation, the immortality of the soul, are all subjects 
that pass far beyond our range of thought. And here we see the wisdom of God in 
- connecting so closely our redemption with our reformation. If the object were to 
_ give us a complete theory of salvation, no doubt there would be in the Bible much to 
seek. ‘The theory is gathered by fragments out of many an exhortation and warn- 
ing; nowhere does it stand out entire and without logical flaw. But if we assume 
~ that the New Testament is written for the guidance of sinful hearts, we find a won- 
- derful aptness for that particular end. Jesusis proclaimed as the solace of our fears, 
48 the founder of our moral life, as the restorer of our lost relation with our Father, 
If He had a cross. there is a cross for us; if He pleased not Himself, let us deny our- 
_ Selves ; if he suffered for sin, let us hate sin. Andthe question ought not to be, what 
_ do all these mysteries inean, but are these thoughts really such as will serve to guide 
_ our life, and to assuage our terrors in the fear of death? The answer is twofold— 
~ one from history and one from experience. The preaching of the Cross of the Lord 
even in this simple fashion converted the world. The sime doc rine is now the 
_ ground of any definite hope that we find in ourselves, of forgiveness of sins and of 
everlasting life. 
= : DR. WILLIAM SMITH. 


Most of the divines who assisted Archbishop Thomson in his 
-f Aids to Faith’ have been associated with Dr. WILLIAM SMITH in a 
‘Dictionary of the Bible,’ its antiquities, biography, geography, and 
natural history (1860-1863). This work is a complete storehouse of 
information on every subject connected with the Bibie. Dr. Smith 
~has also edited Dictionaries of Greek and Roman Antiquities, Biog- 
-raphy, Mythology, and Geography (1840-1852), and several students’ 
Manuals, grammars, and small dictionaries. In 1867 ne became ed- 


150 : CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876, 


itor of the ‘ Quarterly Review. This indefatigable scholar and lit- 
térateur is a native of London, born in 1815, and educated at the Lon- 
don University, in which he was Classical Examiner from 1853 till 
1869. In 1870 he published, in conjunction with a friend(Mr, Hall), 
a ‘Copious and Critical English-Latin Dictionary,’ said to be the 
result of fifteen years’ labour. In acknowledgment of his services to — 
the cause of education-and classical literature, the university of Ox. 
ford, in 1870, conferred upon him the honorary degree of D.C.L. — 
Perhaps no university honour was ever more worthily won. . 


< r Me 
Fier a ew! hn 


DR. CHARLES JOHN VAUGHAN. ; ic 

The Master of the-Temple, Coartes Joun Vauanan, D.D., is 
author of a vast number of sermons and addresses, besides several — 
works of a more elaborate character. His ‘ Expository Lectures on — 
the Romans,’ ‘ on Philippians,’ ‘ the First Epistle to the Thessalonians,’ — 
‘the Acts,’ ‘the Revelation of St. John,’ &c., are valuable and popular ~ 
theological works. Some of his collected sermons were delivered — 
in the chapel of Harrow School (two series, 1849 and 1853); in the — 
parish church of St. Martin's, Leicester, 1853; ‘ Epiphany, Lent, — 
and Easter Sermons,’ 1860; ‘Sermons at Doncaster,’ 1863; ‘The ~ 
Book and the Life,’ being four sermons at Cambridge, 1862; ‘ Twelve 
Sermons on Subjects connected with the Church of England,’ 1867; — 
‘ Lessons of the Cross and the Passion’ (six lectures), 1869; ‘Earnest 
Words for Earnest Men,’ 1869; ‘Last words in the Parish Church of ~ 
Doncaster; &c. For thirty years or more, it may be said that not — 
a single year has passed without some work from Dr. Vaughan; and — 
his ministrations in the beautiful Temple Church in London (of old — 
the church of the Knights Templars) are attended by large congrega- 
tions. Dr. Vaughan was born about 1817, and having passed a — 
brilliant university career at Trinity College, Cambridge (in 1837 — 
Browne’s medallist for the Greek ode and epigram, and gainer of — 
the members’ prize for Latin essay; in 1838, senior classic), he 
entered into holy orders, and became Vicar of St. Martin’s, Leicester — 
—a parish of which his father had been incumbent. He was next — 
Head Master of Harrow School (1844-1859), refused the bishopric 
of Rochester in 1860, and shortly afterwards became Vicar of © 
Doncaster. After a residence of nearly ten years at Doncaster, he — 
accepted the Mastership of the Temple in 1869. As parish clergy-— 
man and as Master of*the Temple, Dr. Vaughan has been distin-— 
guished equally for his affectionate earnestness and zeal and his— 
unwearied activity, while his classical attainments have placed him ~ 
in the first rank of English scholars. | ae 


- Three Partings. — From ‘ Last Words in the Parish Church of 
Doncaster.’ re 


Life ts full of pirtings. Every day we see some one whom we shall never seo 
again. Homes are full of these partings, and churches are full of these partings, and ~ 
therefore Scripture also, the mirror ot life, is full of these partings; tells us how : 


5 > ae 
=< 


_ YAUGHAN. ] -ENGLISH LITERATURE, 151 


bitter they are—or takes that for granted, and tells us rather how solemn they are, 
how PO TAOEAARY, how important—bids us regard them, use them,-turn them to ac- 
count. 

First, I will speak of bodily partings. Those who were once near together in the 
flesh are no longer so. It is a thing of every-day experience. ‘lo-night there is a 
family in this congregation which before next Sunday will have left the town. If I 


~ had not gone, they would have gone. You will say it is a small event to chronicle in 


this manner. Still it shews, it serves as an example, how common are these local 
changes which make people who co-existed before co-exist no longer. It shews how 
hopeless it is to avoid such separations. They are part of our lot. They remind us 
of the great dispersion ; they should make us long for the great reunion, 

It is a serious thing to stand on the pier of some seaport town, and see a son or & 


brother setting sail for India or New Zealand. Such an experience marks, in a thou- 


sand homes, a particular day in the calendar with a peculiar, a life-long sadness. 


_ And when two hearts have grown into each other by a love real and faithful, and the 


‘hour-of parting comes—comes under compulsion put upon them, whether by family 


arrangement or by God’s providence—when they know that in all probability they 


“can meet never again on this side the grave—tell us not that this is a light sorrow, 


a irifling pain ; for the time, and it may be for all time, it is a grief, it is a bereave- 


ment. it is a death; long days and years may run their course, and yet the image is 


“there; there, and not there—present in dream and vision, absent in converse and in’ 


communion. The Word of God is so tender to us, so full of sympathy, that it 
paints this kind of parting in all its bitterness. No passage of Scripture has been 
more fondly read and re-read by severed friends than that which contains the record 


Of the love, ‘ passing the love of women,’ between David and the king’s son. That 


Jast farewell, of which the Prophet Samuel did not disdain to write the full, the al- 
‘most photographic history, had in it no pang of unfaithfulness or broken vow: the- 


two friends loved afterwards, in absence and distance; and it was given to one of 
them to bewail the death, in glorious though disastrous battle. of the other, ina 


strain of lyric lamentation which for beauty and pathos stands still unrivalled 
“among the dirges and dead-marches of the most gifted minstrels and musiciuns of 


‘earth. 


There are partings between souls. I speak still of this life. The sands of Tyre 
and Miletus were wet with tears when St. Paul there took leave of disciples and 


elders. But those separations were brightened by an immortal hope, and he could 


commend his desolate ones to the word of God’s grace, as able to give them an in- 
heritance at last with him and with the saved. I call that a tolerable, a bearable 


parting. God-grant ittous! How different is it when souls part! 


There are partings every day between souls. There are those who once knew 


each other intimately, calied each other friends, who now scarcely know whether the 
“once beloved be dead or living. There are those who have drifted asunder, not be- 


cause one is a lawyer and the other a clergyman; not because one has had experi- 
ence abroad of battles or sieges, and the other has Jed the home life of a merchant or 


-ajandowner; not even because seas and lands have permanently separated them, 


- and hands once closely clasped in friendship can never meet again in loving embrace 


on this side the grave. ‘They have parted, not in body but in spirit. Ghosts of old 
‘obsolete worn-out friendships haunt the chambers of this being, to remind us of the 


hollowness of human possessions, and the utter transitoriness of all affections save 


- ore. 


Go on then from the partings of time to the death-parting which must come. Set 
yourselves in full view of that—take into your thought what it is—ask, in each 


‘several aspect of earth’s associations and companionships, what will be for you the 
“meaning of the text—* He saw him no more.’ 


The life-partings, and the sou\-partings, all derive their chief force and signifi- 
cance from the latest and most awful—the one death-parting, which is not probably, 
but certainly, before each and all. ‘He saw him no more.’ That parting which the 
text itself describes was momentous, was memorable. That consecration of the 

rophet by the prophet—that original casting upon him of the mantle, by which his 
designation was announced to him—now frifilled inthe very falling upon him of the 


- @ame mantle, as the chariot of fire made its way into the abyss of heaven above— 
turned a common life, a life of ploughing and farming, presnerous (it should seem) 


: oR é ; : , Pa St! 
152 -. CYCLOPADIA OF =~ ~ © fro 187 
and weathy, into’a life of absolute unworldliness, a life of dedication to God’s ser-— 
vice, and to the highest interests of a generation. This parting was indeed a meet. — 
ing. it brought two lives and two souls into one, as no length of bodily converse — 
could have united them, ‘The spirit of Elijah then began to rest on Elisha, when — 
they were parted for ever as to the socicty and fellowship of the living. It has ever 
been so with those highest and most solemn uuities in which man with man, and 
man with his God, finds the crown and consummation of his being. Itis through 
the death-parting that the everlasting meeting begins. se a 


hie “is. 


The Ascension. 


. When a man’s heart is crushed within him by the gall‘ng tyranny of sense ; when, d 
from the dawning of the day till the setting of the sun, and for hours beyond it, he 
-is compelled to gather straw for Egypt’s bricks, and’ to bake. them in the world’s ~ 
ecorching kiln, till the spring of life is dried up within, and he is ready to say. Let 
me but eat and drink and sleep, for there is nothing real but this endless task-work ; — 
‘then, how swect to say to one’s self ‘ And a cloud received him out of their sight.’ ~ 
. Yes, just out of sight, but as certainly as if the eye could pierce it, there is a heaven 
-all bright, all pure, all real; there is Ore there who has my very nature, in it toiled 
as ceaselessly as the most care-worn and world-laden ‘of us all, having no home, and 
no leisure so much as: toeat.. He. is there—His warfare accomplished, His life's — 
labour fulfilled ; He is there, at rest, yet still working, working for me, bearing me — 
upon His heart, feeling for and feeling with mein each trial and in each temptation; — 
and not feeling only. but praying too, with that intercession which is not only near 
but inside God ; and not interceding only, but also ministering grace hour by hour, - 
coming into me with that very thought and recollection of good, that exact resolu- 
tion and purpose and aspiration which is needed to keep me brave and to keep me 
pure. Only let my heart be fully set to-maintain that connection, that spiritual mar-_ 
riage and union, which is between Christ above and the soul below; only let me 
cherish, by prayer and watching that spirit of soberness, that freedom (to use St. 
Peter’s strong phrase in this day’s Epistle) from the intoxications of sense, which” 
makes a man in the world and yet not of it—and I too shall at last reach that blessed 
home where Christ already is, and is for me! ; ee 
Thus, too, when sorrow comes, when the light of this life is quenched and anni-_ 
hilated by reason of some fond wish frustrated or some precious possession tern 
away; when I am beginning to say, take away now my life, for there is nothing left 
to live for—then I look upward and see, if not at this moment the bow in the cloud, 
the bow of hope and promise, yet at least the cloud—the cloud behind which Jesus’ 
is, Jesus the Man of Sorrows, having still a thought for every struggling sorrowing 
man. and holding in His hand the very medicine, the very balm. for the particular sor- 
row, the particular void, the particular stroke and pang, cf each disconsolate deso-— 
late wayfarer towards the home and the rest. yy: 
Such is one part of the doctrine—let .us say. one utterance of the voice—of the 
ascension. ‘his is not your home. ‘This life is not your all—no, not even now. 
Behind the cloud which witnessed the view of the ascending Lord, there, there is — 
your country, your city, your church, your dwelling-place, even now. ‘Ye are 
come,’ the apostle says, ‘ to the city of the living God, to the spirits of the perfected — 
just, to Jesus the Mediator, and to God the Father of all.’ . 
Comfort is strength. The very word means it. But we separate the two—in idea 
at least—and the ascension has both for us. We want not soothing ouly, buat vie 
oration too. The ascension has a voice of this kind. *The.Lord working with 
them.’ They went forth everywhere, in the strength of the ascension—the Lord 
working with them. He who is Himself in heaven for us, will have us on earth for — 
Him. e must be His witnesses. . 
Think we, ail of us, of that coming day when the cloud which concealed shall he — 
the cloud which reveals Him. It isasolemn and touching thing to gaze into bls | 
fathomless depth of a perfectly clear sunlit or starlit sky, and lose ourselves in won-— 
der and awe, as we vainly search out its mysterious, its ever-growing and mole 
ing secrets. But scarcely less solemn or less touching, to one whose Bible is in li Fd 
heart, to mark that little cloud, small as a man’s hand, which just specks with white 
the otherwise blue expanse, and which, though it seems nearer. less ethereal, 


celestial far than the other, is‘'yet the token to Christian eyes of an ascension p 


4 


BS Smet be ~ Pa Eee Y a8 - 5 \ = < eS 


“G2? = - S “oO ~ 


_ LIDDON.} ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 153 

and an advent future. A cloud then received Him. Ye shall see Him coming ina 

‘cloud. Knit the two in your thoughts—knit the two in your prayers and your aspi- 

-vations—live in the twofold light of the angels’ ascension-day ereeting, ‘This same 

_desus which is taken up from you into heaven, shail so come in Jike manner as ye 
have seen him go.’ : 

DR. LIDDON. 


~- The Rev. Henry Parry Lippon, D.D., D.C.L., Canon of St. 
_ Paul’s, and Ireland Professor of Exegesis in the university of Oxford, 
is author of the Bampton Lectures for 1866, the subject being ‘ The 
Divinity of our Lord and Saviour;’ also ‘Sermons Preached before 
_ the Univetsity of Oxford,’ ‘Some Elements of Religion, being Lent 
- Lectures,’ &c. Dr. Liddon was educated at Christ Church, Oxford, 
and took his degree of M.A. in 1852. From 1854 to 1859 he was Vice- 
principal of the Theological College of Cuddesden; in 1864 he was 
appointed a prebendary of Salisbury Cathedral, The volume of uni- 
versity sermons was originally published under the title ‘Some Words 
‘for God,’ but that title was soon dropped—wisely we think—as ‘ liable 
_to misconstruction and in deference to the opinion of critics.’ The 
- author says his volume makes no pretention to be a volume of essays. 
‘ An essay Lelongs to general literature; a sermon is the language of 
the Church.’ Dr. Liddon, however, is an eloquent preacher, whose 
pulpit ministrations are highly prized, and appear to want no other 
graces of literature than those which he adopts. 


Faith and Intellect (2 Cor. x. 5). 


Here is an Apostle of the Lord Jesus who used the language of a soldier. He is 

_ planning a campaign; nay, rather he is making war: he glows with the fire of a gen- 
_ uine military enthusiasm. _ The original Greek which he uses has in it a vigour and 
point which is lost, to a great extent, in our English translation. The writer might 
almost be a Roman general, charged to sustain the honour of the Empire ina re- 
- volted province or beyond a remote frontier, and bent upon illustrating the haughty 
~ maxim which defined the duty of an imperial people— z 


To spare the vanquished, but to crush the proud. 


> Indeed, it has been urged that the recent history of Cilicia itself may have weil sue- 
_ gested this language to St. Paul. The Apostle’s native country had been the scene of 
 80me very fittce struggles in the wars against Mithridates and the pirates: and we are 
told that the latter war was only ended, not sixty years before the Apostle’s birth, by the 
reduction of one hundred and twenty strongholds and the capture of more than ten 
_ thousand prisoners, The dismantled ruins may have easily and naturally impressed the 
- boyish imagination of Saul of Tarsus with a vivid sense of the destructive energy of the 
Military power of Rome; but the Apostle of the nations only remembers these earlier. . 
impressions to give them a spiritual application. The wearors of his warfare are 
not carnal; the standard under which he fights is a more sacr d sign than that of the 
Cesar; the operations which he projects are to be carried out in a territory more dif- 
ficult of conquest than any which kept the conquerors of the world at bay. He 
is invading the region of human thought; and as he fights for God. he is sternly re- 
solved upon conquest. He sees rising before him the lofty fortresses of hostile errors ? 
they must be reduced and razed.. Every mountain fastness to which the enemy of 
Light and Love can retreat must be scaled and destroyed; and all the thought of the 
-umrn soul which is hostile to the authority of the Divine truth, must be ‘led away 
a8 a prisoner of war’ into the camp of Christ. Truly a vastand unaccountable ame 

- bition ; a dream—if it were not, as it was, a necessity; a tyranny—if anything less 


E.L.V.8—6 


ae 


~. rocks at its immediate base, speaks to the geologist of a subterranean fire that at 


Po pe ee ee ee ‘pee: OS ae eR Gs 
Z ? ot, Me. ike > ne 5 


, mee, 
154 CYCLOPEDIA OF fro 187609 
- vigorous and trenchant had been consistent with the claims of the Truth of God, or — 
equal to the needs of the soul of man. v a 
The particular opposition to the work of Christ which the Apostle encountered at — 
Corinth was indeed less intellectual] in its form than the Galatian Judaism, or than the 
theosophic angel-worship which was popular at Colosse, or than the more sharply- 
defined heresies of a later time which, as we know-from the pastoral. epistles, 
threatened or infected the churches of Ephesus and Crete. St. Paul’s Corinthian op- ~ 
ponents resisted, deprecated, disowned, beyond everything else, the Apostle’s own — 
personal authority. This, however, was the natural course of things at a time when _ 
single apostles well-nigh impersonated the whole doctrinal action of the Church; and — 
feeling this, St. Paul speaks not as Oue who was reasserting a personal claim of any — 
sort, but merely and strictly as a soldier, as an organ, I might say, as a function, of — 
the truth.- ‘The truth had an indefeasible right to reign in the intellect of man. The 
Apostle asserts that right, when he speaks of bringing the whole intelligence of man 
into the obedience of Christ. Now, as then, Christ’s Church is militant here on — 
earth, not less in the sphere of thought than in the sphere of outward and visible ac- — 
tion; and St. Paul’s burning words rise above the temporary circumstances which ~ 
called them forth, and furnish a motto and an encouragement to us who, after the — 
lapse of eighteen centuries, fight in the ranks of the same army and against thesame — 
kind of foes as he did. + a 
Remark, first of all, that it is ‘the undue exaltation of’ intellect with which the a 
Church of Christ is in energetic and perpetual conflict. With intellect itself, with y 
really moral and reasonable intellect, with the thought of man recognising ~ 
at once its power and its weakness, its vast range and its necessary lim- 
its, religion has, can have, no quarrel. It were a libel on the all-wise Crea- — 
tor to suppose that between intellect and spirit, between thought and faith, ; 
there could be any original relations other than those of perfect harmony. — 
Paradise could have been the scene of no such unseemly conflict as that which we ~ 
are considering ; and here, as elsewhere in human nature; we are met with unmis- 
takable traces of the fall of our first parent. A range of granite mountains, which 
towers proudly above the alluvial soil of a neighbouring plain and above the softer — 


is her 


some remote epoch had thus upheaved the primal crust of the earth with convulsive — 
violence. And the arrogant pretensions of human thought in the children of Adam — 
speak no less truly of an ancient convulsion which has marred the harmony of the ~ 
faculties of the soul, and has forced the mind of fallen man into an attitude which — 
instinctively disputes the claims of revelation. 


The Mysteries of Nature. 


The wonderful world in which we men pass this stage of our existence, whether the 
higher world of faith be open to our gaze or not, is a very temple of many and august 
mysteries. You will walk. perhaps, to-morrow afternoon into the country ; and here 
or there the swelling buds, or the first fresh green of the opening leaf, will remind — 
you that already spring is about to re-enact before your eyes the beautiful spectacle 
of her yearly triumph. Everywhere around you are evidences of the existence and 
movement of a mysterious power which you can neither see, nor touch, nor define, 
nor measure, nor understand. This power livés“speethless, noiseless, uzseen, yet 
energetic, in every bongh above your head, in every blade of grass beneath your feet. 
It bursts forth from the grain into the shoot, from the branch into the bud; it bursts — 
into leaf, and flower, and fruit. It creates bark, and fibre; it creates height and 
bulk ; it yields grace of form and lustre of colour. It is incessant in its labour; itis 
prodigal of its beauty; it is uniformly generous and bountiful in its gifts to man. 
Yet, in itself, what is it? You give ita name}; you call it vegetation And perhaps — 

“you are a botanist; you trace out and you register the variety of its effects, and the 
signs of its movement. But-after all you have only labelled it. Althoughitisso — 
common, it is not in. reality familiar to you. Althongh you have watched it unthink- — 

ingly from your childhood upwards, and perhaps see in it nothing remarkable now, _ 
you may well pause in wonder and awe before it, for of a truth it is a mystery. What A 
1s it in itself—this power which is so certainly around-you, yet which so perfectly 
escapes you when you attempt to detect or to detain it in your grasp? What is ij ~ 


elated sila oo at te Mi 


Se Be aie = i Red ‘: phe Starla: Po Ss 
“qppon.}) .. . ENGLISH LITERATURE. a ne 


this pervading force, this life-principle, this incomprehensible yet most certainly 
resent fact, but an assertion of the principle of mystery which robes the soil of 
~ God’s earth with life and beauty, that everywhere it may cheer the faith and rebuke 
the pride of man! Yes, when next you behold the green field or the green tree, be 
_ sure that you are in the presence of a very sacrament of nature; your eye rests upon 
_ the outward and visible sign of an inward and wholly invisible force. 
‘ Or look at those other forces with which you seem to be so much at home, and 
which you term attraction and gravitation. What do you really know about them ? 
~ Youname them. perhaps you can repeat a mathematical expression which measures 
 theiraction. Butafter all you have only named and described an effect ; you have not 
accounted for, you have not penetrated into, you have not unveiled itscause. Why, I 
- ask, in the nature of things, should such laws reign around us? They do reign; 
but why? what is the power which determines gravitation? where does it reside? 
how is it to be seized, apprehended, touched, examined? ‘There it is. but there, in- 
~ accessible to your keenest study, it remains veiled and buried. You would gladly 
- capture and subdue and understand it; but, as it is, you are forced to confess the 
presence of something which you cannot even approach. 
-~ And you yourselves—fearfully and wonderfully made as you are—what are you 
but living embodiments, alike in your lower and your higher natures, and in the law 
_ of their union, of this all-pervading principle of mystery? The life-power which 
_ feels and moves in your bodies successfully eludes the knife of the anatomist, as he 
’ lays bare each nerve and each muscle that contributes to the perfection of feeling and 
_inovement. Yet how much more utterly mysterious is your human nature when you 
~ examine its higher aspects; when you analyse mind, and personality, and that mar- 
~ vellous mystery of language, wherein thought takes nothing less than a physical 
_ form, and passes by means of a sensible vehicle from one immaterial spirit to 
- another! . 


ISAAC TAYLOR—DR. WARDLAW. 


A long series of works on theology and mental philosophy—ingeni- 
ous in argument, and often eloquent though peculiar in style—pro- 
ceeded from the pen of Isaac Taylor (1787-1865). Mr. Taylor’s father 
was an artist and engraver, a nonconformist, who afterwards became 

minister of an independent congregation at Colchester, and sub- 
_ sequently at Ongar in Essex (ante). Isaac Taylor was born at 
* Tavenham in Suffolk. He first commenced writing in the ‘ Eclectic 
- Review.’ He seems to have early settled down to literature as a pro- 
' fession. In 1822 appeared ‘ Elements of Thought; in 1825, ‘The 
‘History of the Transmission of Ancient Books to Modern Times,’ in 
1826, ‘ The Process of Historical Proot; in 1829, ‘ The Natural His- 
tory of Enthusiasm.’ At that time the belief that a bright era of re- 
novation, union, and extension presently awaited the Christian 
Church was generally entertained. Mr. Taylor participated, he says. 
in the cheering hope, and his glowing language and unsectarian zeal 
found many admirers. The tenth edition of the volume is now before 
us. Discord, however, soon sprung up in Oxford ; and Mr. Taylor, 
in some papers on ‘ Ancient Christianity,’ published periodically, com- 
pated the arguments of the Tractarians, and produced a number of 
works, all of a kindred character, iJlustrating Christian faith or mor- 
als. These are—‘ Spiritual Despotism,’ 1835; ‘Physical Theory of 
Another Life,’ 1839; ‘ Lectures on Spiritual Christianity,’ 184! ; ‘Sat- 
-urday Evening,’ 1842; ‘ History of Fanaticism,’ 1843; ‘ Loyola and 
Jesuitism,’ 1849; ‘ Wesley and Methodism,’ 1851; ‘Home Education,’ 


~ 


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156 CYCLOPAIDIA OF. | fro 1876 4 


. 
- 


4952.‘ The Spirit of Hebrew Poetry,’ 1852; ‘The Restoration of Be- — 


) 


viet’ 1850; &c. In 1856, Mr, Taylor wrote for the ‘North British — 


Review’ a long critical analysis ot the works of Dr. Chalmers, which ~ 
cave great Oifence to many ot the leading supporters of the ‘ Review,’ — 
and led to its suspension tor some time. With cordial admiration of ~ 


. 


the character and exertions of our great countryman, Mr. Taylor — 
questioned if much of his writing would live. ‘Che works of Dr. | 
Chalmers, he said, were deficient in method, in condensation, and 4 
style; his reasoning was also frequently inconsistent, and his opinions 
were hampered by adherence to creed, or to the systematic theology — 
of Scotland. The following extracts will give an idea of the style 


and manner of Mr. Taylor. 
& 
Rapid Exhaustion of the Emotional Faculties.— From ‘ Physical Theory — 
of Another Life.’ ~ 
Every one accustomed to reflect upon the operations of his own mind, must be 
aware of a distinction between the intellectual and the moral faculties as to the rate — 
at which they severally move; for while the reasoning power advances in a manner — 
that might be likened to an increase according to the rule of arithmetical progres. ~ 
sion, and which consists in the adding of one proposition to another, and in the — 
accumulation of equal quantities; it 1s, on the contrary, the characteristic of the — 
passions, and of all intense sentiments, to rise with an-accelerated movement, and to — 
increase at the rate ot a g20ometrical progression. Even the milder emotions of love ~ 
and joy, and much more the vehement sensations, such as hatred, anger, jealousy, — 
revenge, despair, tend always towards this sort of rapid enhancement, and failtodoso — 
only as they are checked, either by a sense of danger conuected w:th the indulgence ~ 
of them, or by feelings of corporeal exhaustion, or by the interference of the inci- — 
dents and interests of common life. Especialiy itis to be noticed that those of 
the emotions which kindle or are kindled by the imagination, are liable to an acceler- — 
ation such as produces a physical excitement highly perilous both to mind and body, 
and needing to be speedily diverted. And although the purely moral emotions are ~ 
not accompanied with precisely the same sort of corporeal disturbance, nevertheless, 
when they actually gain full possession of the soul, they rapidly exhaust the physical ~ 
powers, and bring on a state of torpor. or of general indifference. : * 
Now this exhaustion manifestly-belongs to the animal organisation : nor can we ~ 
doubt that if it were possible to retain the body in a state of neutrality. or of perfect 
quiescence, from the first to the last. during a season of profound emotion, then these 
same affections might advance much further. and become far more intense, than as 
it is. they ever can or may. The corporeal limitation of the passions becomes, in 
truth. a matter of painful consciousness whenever they rige to ar. anusual height, or~ ~ 
are long continued ; and there takes place then within the bosom, an agony, partly — 
animal, partly mental, and a very uneasy sense of the inadequateness of our strongest 
emotions. to the occasion that calls them out. We feel that we cannot feel as we 
should : emotions are frustrate, and the affections which should have sprung upward 
are detained in a paroxysm on earth. It is thus with the noblest sentiments. and — 
thus with profound grief; and the malign and vindictive passions draw their tor- 
menting force from this very sense of restraint, and they rend the soul becanse they — 
can move it so little. Does there not arise amid these convulsions of ournnture. a tacit — 


anticipation of a future state, in which the soul shall be able to feel, and to take its — 
fi!l of emotion? : : 


Vishive, = ; - : 
Selfishness of the Anchoret.—From ‘* The Natural History of Enthusiasm.” 


Che ancient monkery was a system of the most deliberate selfishness. That — 
solcitude for the preservation of individual interests which forms the basis _of the 
human constitution. is so broken up and counteracted by the claims and pleasures — 
of domestic life, that though the principle remains, its mazifestations are sup- a 


as 


“pavior.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 151 


pressed, and its predominance effectually prevented, except in some few tempers 
peculiarly unsuciut. but the anchoret isa veltiss by his very professiou; aud like 
tue Sehsudlist, though his taste 1s of anot er kind, he pursues his persouai gratitica- 
tion, reckless Of tie Ww. lfure of others. Liis Own advantage or delight, 0O:i—to use 
his favourliec phrase—tue good of his soul is the sovereign object of his cares. 
His incditatious, even if thcy embrace the compass Of heaven, Coine round ever and 
again to find their ultiniate Issue in his own bosom; but can that be true wis- 

dom which just ends at the point whence it staited? ‘irue wisdom is a progressive 
principle. in abjuriug the use of the active iaculties, im reducing himseit by the 
speli of yows to a Coudition of physical and moial unnibiiation, the msuluted says to 
bis fellows, concerning whatever might otherwise have been conveited to their 
benefit, -1t is corban ;’ thus making void the law of love to our neigubour, by a pre- 
tended inteusity of love to God. 

‘+hat 80 moustrous an immorality should have dared to call itself by the name of 
fanctity, and should have done so too in front of Christianity, is indeed arunzing, 
und couid never have happeued if Christianity had uot first been shorn of its life- 
giving warmth, as the suu is deprived of its power of heat when we ascend into the 
varity of upper space. . 

‘Lhe tendency of a taste for imaginative indulgences to petrify the heart, has 
been already adverted to, aud it receives a signai illustration in the monkish life, es- 
pecially in its more perfect torm of absolute separation from the socieiy of man. 
“Lhe anchoret was u disjoined particle, frozen deep iiito the mass of bis own seltish- 
ness, and there embedded, below the touch of every human sympathy. ‘his sort of 
meditative insulation is the ultimate and natural issue of all enthusiastic piety ; and 
Thay be met with even in our own times. among those who have no inc:ination to 
ran away from ‘the cuinforts of common life. 


Hebrew Figurative Theology.—From ‘ The Spirti of Hebrew Poetry.’ 


The Hebrew writers, one and all, with marvellous unanimity. spexk of God 
welatively only or as He is related to the immediate religious purposes of their 
‘teaching. . . Itis the human spirit always that is the central or cohesive principle of 
the Hebrew Theology. ‘The theistic affi: mations that are scattered throughout the 
_ books of the Old Testament are not susceptible of a synthetic adjustment by any 
rule of logical distribution ; and although they are never contradictory one of ano- 
ther, they may seem to be so. inasmuch as the principle which would shew their 
accordance stands remote from human apprehension : it must be so; and to suppose 
utherwise would be fo affirm that the finite mind may grasp the infinite. The several 
elements of Theism are complementary one of another, only in relation to the needs 
and to the discipline of the human mind; not so in relation to its modes of specu- 
lative thonght, or to its own reason. ‘Texts packed in order will not build upa 

_ theology. in a scientific sense ; vhat they will do is this: they mect the variable 
ae of the spiritual life, in every mocd, and in every possible occasion of that 

EAS a es 
Tf we were to bring together the entire compass of the figurative theology of the 


~ 


Scriptures (and this must be the theology of the Old Testament). it would be easy to_ 


arrange the whole in periphery around the human spirit, as related to its manifold 
experiences; but a hopeless task it would be to arrange the same passages as if in 

_cifele around the hypothetic attributes of the Absolute Being. The human reason 
falters at every step in attempting so to interpret the Divine Nature; yet the 
quickened soul interprets for itseif, and it does so anew every day, those signal 
passages upon which the fears, the hopes, the griefs, the consolations of years gone 
by have sct their mark. 

A son of Tsaae Taylor, bearing the same name, and Vicar of Holy 
Trinity, Twickenham, is author of an interesting volume, ‘ Words 
and Places,’ or etymological illustrations of history. ethnology, and 
geography (third edition, 1873). Myr. Taylor bids fair to add fresh 
justre to the ‘ family pen.’ 


Dr. RatpH WaRrpDLAW (1779-1853), of the Independent Church, — 


158 . CYCLOPADIA OF "© © fr 1876.7 | 


Glasgow, was author of ‘Discourses on the Socinian Controversy,’ 
1814, which have been frequently reprinted; and which Robert Hail 
_ Said completely exhausted the subject. Dr. Wardlaw published various 
sermons and theological essays, and was a learned, able divine, anda 
very impressive preacher. A Life of Dr. Wardlaw was published in 
1856 by Dr. W. L. Alexander. 


REV. THOMAS DALE, ETC. 


The Rev. THomas Dawg, Canon of St. Paul’s, Vicar of St. Pan- 
cras, and ultimately Dean of Rochester, was author of two volumes 
of ‘Sermons,’ the first preached at St. Bride, 1830, and the second be- 
fore the university of Cambridge, 1832-36. The other publications 
of Mr. Dale are—‘ The Sabbath Companion,’ 1844; ‘Commentary on 
the Twenty-third Psalm,’ 1845; ‘The Domestic Liturgy and Family 
‘Chaplain.’ 1846; &c. ~ Mr. Dale, while at college in Cambridge, pub- 
lished some poetical narratives, ‘The Widow of Nain,’ ‘ The Outlaw 
of Tarsus,’ and ‘ Irad and Adah,’ afterwards collected into one vol- 
ume, 1842. Mr. Dale was a native of London, born in 1797. He 
was for some time Professor of English Literature at the London Uni- 
versity, and subsequently at King’s College. He died in 1870. 

The ‘ Bridgewater Treatises’ form a valuable series of works on 
the theology of natural history. The Earl of Bridgewater (1758- 
1829) bequeathed a sum of £8000 to be invested in the public funds, 
and paid to persons appointed by the President of the Royal Society 
to write and publish works on the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of 
God as manifested in the Creation. The works so produced are— 
‘The Hand, its Mechanism and Vital Endowments, as evincing De- 
sien,’ by Str CHARLES Beuu, Professor of Surgery in the university 
of Edinburgh (1774-1842); ‘Geology and Mineralogy considered with 


Reference to Natural Theology,’ by Dr. Winu1aAmM BucKkuanD, Dean- 


of Westminster (1784-1856); ‘’The Moral and Intellectual Constitution 
of Man,’ by Dr. THomags CHatmers (1780-1847); ‘The Physical 
Condition of Man,’ by Dr. Jonn Kipp; ‘The Habits and Instincts 
of Animals,’ by the Rev. W. Kirsy (1759-1851); ‘ Chemistry and 
Meteorology,’ by Dr. W. Prout; ‘Animal and Vegetable Physiology,’ 
by Dr. P. M. Roger (1779-1869); ‘Astronomy and General Physics,’ 
by Dr. W. WHEWELL (1794-1866). The names here given afford 
sufficient evidence of the judicious administration of the trust. The 
President of the Royal Society called in to his aid, in selecting the 
writers, the Archbishop of Canterbury and Bishop of London, and 
it is creditable to their liberality that the first of the treatises was 
assigned to a Presbyterian minister—Dr. Chalmers. 


PROFESSOR JOWETT. 


The Rev. BENJAMIN JOWETT, a native of Camberwell, and born 
in 1817, was elected to a scholarship at Balliol College, Oxford, in 


1835, and became a Fellow in 1838. In 1842 he commenced his career ~ 


Y 


‘ » s 
Teecao ea SP ae 


_ JoWETT. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 159 


as tutor, which he held till 1870, when he was elected Master of Bal- 
liol College. In the interval Mr. Jowett held several appointments 
and published several works. In 1855; on the recommendation of 
Lord Palmerston, he was appointed Regius Professor of Greek, and 
the same year he published a ‘Commentary on the Epistles of St. 
Paul to the Thessalonians, Gallatians, and Romans.’ In 1860 he con- 
tributed an essay on the ‘Interpretation of Scripture’ to the volume 


entitled ‘Essays and Reviews.’ In this essay, and also in his commen- 


tary on St. Paul’s Epistles, Professor Jowett was charged with having 
promulgated heretical opinions, and the case was brought before the 
Church courts, but dismissed on the ground of the inapplicability of 
the statute under which the proceedings had been instituted. In 1871 
the learned professor published the result of many years’ labour, 
‘Plato’s Dialogues translated into English, with Analyses and Intro- 
ductions,’ four volumes. 


On the Interpretation of Scripture. 


The difference of interpretation which prevails among ourselves is partly tradi- 
tional, that is to say, inherited from the controversies of former ages. ‘he use made 
of Scripture by Fathers of the Church, as well as by Luther and Calvin, affects our 
idea of its meaning at the present hour. Another cause of the multitude of interpre- 
tations is the growth or progress of the human mind itself. Modes of interpreting 
vary as time goes on; they partake of the general state of literature or knowledge. 
It has uot been easily or at once that mankind have learned to realise the character 
of sacred writings—they seem almost necessarily to veil themselves from human eyes 
as circumstances change; itis the old age of the world only that has at length under- 
stood its childhood. (Or rather perhaps is beginning to understand it, and learning 
to make allowance for its own deficiency of knowledge ; for the infancy of the human 
race, as of the individual, affords but few indications of the workings of the mind 
within.) More often than we suppose, the great sayings and doings upon the earth, 
‘thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,’ are lost in a sort of chaos to the ap- 
prehension of those that come after. Much of past history is dimly seen, and re- 
ceives only a conventional interpretation, even when the memorials of it remain. 
There is a time at which the freshness of early literature is lost; mankind have 
turned rhetoricians, and no longer write or feel in the spirit which created it. In this 
unimaginative period in which sacred or ancient writings are partially unintelligible, 
many methods have been taken at different times to adapt the ideas of the past to the 
wants of the present. One age has wandered into the flowery paths of allegory, 


In pious meditation fancy fed ; 


another has straichtened the liberty of the Gospel by a rigid application of logic, 
the former being a method which was at first more naturally applied to the Old Testa- 
ment, the latter to thee New. Both methods of interpretation, the mystical and 
logical, as they may be termed, have been practised on the Vedas and the Koran, as 
well as on the Jewish and Christian Scriptures, the true glory and note of divinity in 
these latter being not that they have hidden mysterious or double meanings, but a 
simple and universal one, which is beyond them and will survive them. Since the 
revival of literature, interpreters haye not unfrequently fallen into error of another 
kind from a pedantic and misplaced use of classical learning; the minute examina- 
tion of words often withdrawing the mind from more important matters. A tend- 
ency may be observed within the last century to clothe systems of philosophy in the 
phraseology of Scripture. But ‘new wine cannot thus be put into old bottles.’ 
Though roughly distinguishable by different ages, these modes or tendencies also exist 


together ; the remains of all of them may be remarked in some of the popular com- 


mentaries of our own day. 


OF SB gpa cee i a ee ins. wale 3 a 
Pees S - See 
190. .. ~—s- ~*~ CYCLOPEDIA OF = “fro 1876," = 


More common than any of these methods, and not peculiar fo any age, is that — 
which may be called by way of distinction the rhetorical one. The tendency to ex- — 
aggerate or ainplify the meaning of simple words for the sake of edification mayin- __ 
deed have a p-actical use in sermons, the object of which is to awaken not so tnuch 

he inteliect as the heart and conscience. Spiritual food, like natural, may require- 
to he of a certain bulk to nourish the human mind. But this ‘tendency to edifica- 
tion’ has had an unrortunate influence on the interpretation of Scripture. For the 
preacher almost necessarily oversteps the limits of actual knowledge; his feelings_ 
overflow with the subject; even if he have the power, he has seldom the time for 
accurate thought or inquiry; and in the course of years spent in writing, perhaps 
without study, he is apt to persuade himself, if not others, of the truth of his own 
repetitions. . ; 

REV. JAMES MARTINEAU. 


The Rev. JAMES MARTINEAU (brother of Harriet Martineau), born 
in 1805, was for some time pastor of dissenting congregations (Uni- 
tarian) in Dublin and Liverpool, and afterwards Professor of Moral — 
Philosophy in New College, Manchester, and in London. In 1861, 
he acceptcd the appointment of preacher im a chapel in Little Port-_ 
land Street. Mr. Martineau is an eloquent preacher and writer: his 
chief works are—‘ The Rationale of Religious Inquiry,’ 1825; ‘ En- 
deavours after the Christian Life,’ 1847; ‘Studies of Christianity,’ 
1858; ‘ Essays, Philosophical and Theological,’ two series, 1868-69; 
&c. We subjoin two passages from the ‘ Endeavours after the Chris- 
tian Life.’ . 

Nothing Human ever Dies. ; 


Standing as each man does in the centre of a wide circumference of social infin- 
ences. recipient as he is of innumerable impressions from the mighty human heart, 
his inward being may be justly said to consist far more In others’ lives than in his 
own; withoutthemand alone. he would have missed the greater part of the thoughts 
and emotions which make up his existence ; and when he dies, he carries away their 
life rather than his own. He dwells still below, within their minds: their image in 
his soul (which perhaps is the best element of their being) passes away to the world 
incorruptible above. 

All that is noble in the world’s past history, and especially the minds of the great 
and good, are, in like manner, never lost. rag aa 

The true records of mankind, the human annals of the earth, are not to befound — 
in the changes of geographical names, in the shifting boundaries of dominion,in 
the travels and adventures of the baubles of royalty, or even in the undulations of 
the greater and lesser waves of population. We have learned nothing. till we have 
penetrated far beyond these casual and external changes, which are of interest only 
as the effect and symptoms of the great mental! vicissitudes of ourrace. History 
is an account of the past experience of humanity; and this, like the life of the 
individual, consists in the ideas and senti.nents, the deeds aid passions. the truths 
and toils. the virtues and the guilt. of the mind and heart within. We have a deep 
concern in preserving from destruction the theughts of the past, the leading concep- ~ — 
tions of all remarkable forme of civilisation : the achievements of genius. of virtue, 
and of high faith. And in this nothing can disappoint us; for though these things 
may be individually forgotten, collectively they survive. and are in action still. Al 
the past ages of the world were necessary to the formation of the present; they are 

essential ingredients in the events that occur daily before onr eyes. One layer of — 
time his Frovidence piled upon another for immemorial ages: we that live stand _ 
now upon this * great mountain of the Lord :’ were the strata below removed. the 
fabric and ourselves would fal in ruins. Had Greece, or Rome, or Palestine been 
other than they were, Christianity could not have been what it is: had Romanism — 
been different. Protestantism could not have been the same. and we might not have — 


be here this day. The separate civilisations of past countries may be of colours 


~ 


MARTINEAU.] _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. } 161 


singly indiscernible; but in truth they are the prismatic raya which, united, form our 
present light. And do we look back on the great and good, lamenting that they are 
one? Do we bend in commemorative reverence before them, and wish that our lot 


had been cast in their better days? What is the peculiar function which Heaven as- 


signs to such minds, when tenants of our earth? Have the great and the good any 
nobler office than to touch the human heart with deep veneration for greatness and 
goodness ?—to kindle in the understanding the light of more glorious conceptions, 
and in the-conscience the fires of a holier virtue? And that we grieve for their de- 
parture. and invoke their names, is proof that they are performing such blessed 
Office still—that this their highest life for others, compared with which their personal 
agency is nothing, isnot extinct. Indeed, God has so framed our memory that it is the 
infirmities of noble souls which chiefly fall into the shadows of the past: while 
whatever is fair and excellent in their lives, comes forth from the gloom in ideal 
beauty, and leads us on through the wilds and mazes of our mortal way. Nor does 
the retrospect, thus glorified, deceive us by any fallacy; for things present with us 
we comprehend far less completely, and appreciate less impartially. than things past. 


Nothing can become a clear object of our thought, while we ourselves are in it: we 


understand not our childhood till we have left it; our youth, till it has departed ; our 
life-itself, till it- verges to its close; or the majesty of genius and holiness, till we 
Jook back on them as fled. Each portion of our human experience becomes in suc- 
cession intelligible to us, as we quit it for a new point or view. God has statioved us 
at the intersecting line between the known and the unknown: He has planted us on 
a floating island of mystery, from which we survey the expanse behind in the clear 
light of experience and truth, and cleave the waves, invisible. yet ever breaking, of 
the unbounded future. Our very progress, which is our peculiar glory, consists in at 
once losing and learning the past; in gaining fresh stations from which to take a 


wiser retrospect, and become more deeply aware of the treasures we have used. We 


are never so conscious of the succession of blessings which God’s providence has . 
heaped on us, as when lamenting the lapse of years; and are then richest in the 
fruits of time, when mourning that time steals those fruits away. 


Space and Time. 


Who can deny the effect of wide space alone in aiding the conception of vast 
time ?. The spectator who, in the diney cellar of the city, under the oppression of a 
‘narrow dwelling, watching the Jast moments of some poor mendicant, finds incon- 
gruity and perplexity in the thought of the eternal state, would feel the difficulty 


vanish in an instant. were he transplated to the mountain-top, where the plains and 
streams are beneath him, and the clouds are near him, and the untainted breeze 


~ sweeps by, and he stands alone with nature and with God, And when, in addition to 


the mere spectacle and love of nature, there is a knowledge of it too ; when the laws 


-and processes are understood which surround us with wonder and beauty every day, 


when the great cycles are known through which the material world passes without 
decay-; then, in the immensity of human hopes. there appears nothing which needs 
stagger faith : it seems no longer strange, that the mind which interprets the mate- 
rial creation should survive its longest period, and be admitted to its remoter realms. 


Some Scottish Presbyterian ministers remain to be mentioned: 


- DR. CANDLISH—DR. CUMMING. 


Dr. Rosert 8. Canpuisn was one of the ministers of Edinburgh 
—son of an early friend of Burns the: poct. . He was born in Edin- 
burgh in 1806. In 1834 he became minister of St George’s, Edin- 
burgh; but seceding from the Established Church in 1843 along with 
Dr. Chalmers and a large body of the clergy, he was an active and influ- 
ential member of the Free Church, and an able debater in its courts. 
He wrote several theological works—‘ Exposition of the Book of 
Genesis,’ ‘Examination of Mr. Maurice’s Theological Essays,’ ‘ Dis~ 


courses on the Resurrection,’ &c. Dr. Candlish died in 1873.—Dr. 


182 : CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876. 


JOHN CuMMING, of the Scotch Church, London (born in Aberdeen- 
shire in 1809), has distinguished himself by his zeal against popery, 
and by his interpretation of the Scriptures as to the duration of the 
world. He has written a great number of religious works—‘ Apoca- 
lyptic Sketches,’ ‘ Voices of the Night,’ ‘ Voices of the Day,’ ‘ Voices 
of the Dead,’ ‘Expository Readings on the Old and New ‘Testament,’ 
and various controversial tracts. He isin theology what Mr. G. P. 
R. James was in fiction—as fluent and as voluminous. Amidst all 
the fluctuations of opinion on theology and forms of worship, Dr. 


Cumming has kept together a large congregation of various Classes in ~ 


London. 
DR. GUTHRIE. 


The Rev. Thomas GUTHRIE was born at Brechin, Forfarshire, 
July 12, 1803. His father was a banker and merchant. The son 
was: educated for the Scottish Church. ‘It occupied me,’ he says, 
‘eight years to run my regular curriculum. I attended the univer- 
sity for two additional years before I became a licentiate, and other 
five years elapsed before I obtained a presentation to a vacant church, 


and became minister of the parish of Arbirlot. Here were fifteen ~ 


years of my life spent—the greater part of them at no small cost— 
qualifying myself for a profession which, for all that time, yielded 
me nothing for my maintenance.’ And Guthrie adds: ‘The inade- 
quate means of creditably supporting themselves and their families 
of which most ministers have to complain is a very serious matter, 
threatening, in an enterprising and commercial, and wealthy country 
such as ours, to drain away talent from the pulpit.’ This point is 
well worthy of consideration. In 1837 Mr. Guthrie was appointed 
one of the ministers of Old Greyfriars parish in Edinburgh, and by 
his zeal and eloquence and philanthropy rose into high and general 


estimation. He left the Establishment at the period of the Disrup- _ 


tion in 1848, and became one of the founders of the Free Church. 
His efforts to reclaim the wretched population of the worst parts of 


Edinburgh, and his exertions in the promotion of tagged schools, ~ 


were appreciated by the public, and Dr. Guthrie became not only one 
of the most popular preachers, but one of the best-beloved citizens of 
Edinburgh. He was a man of a large heart and truly catholie spirit. 
As a pulpit orator he has rarely been surpassed. His sermons were 
marked by poetic imagery and illustration—perhaps too profusely— 
but generally striking, pathetic, and impressive in a high degree. 
‘He had all the external attractions of a pulpit orator; an unusu- 
ally tall and commanding person, with an abundance of easy and 
powerful, because natural, gesture ; a quickly and strongly expressive 


» wes . 
eae fF 


vial 


Abe peg 


countenance, which age rendered finer as well as more comely; a 


powerful, clear, and musical voice, the intonations of which were 


varied and appropriate, managed with an actor’s skill, though there 
was not the least appearance of art.’ 
The variety of his illustrations was immense, but he delighted 


j 
& | 


5 


- GUTHRIE. } ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 163. 


most, and was most successful, in those of a nautical character. A 
storm at sea and a shipwreck from Guthrie were paintings never to 
be forgotten. This eminent preacher and philanthropist died at St. 
Leonard’s-on-Sea, February 24, 1873. His principal works are— 
“The Gospel in Ezekiel,’ 1855; ‘ Christ and the Inheritance of the 
Saints,’ 1858; ‘The Way of Life,’ 1862; ‘The City, its Sins and Sor- 
rows; ‘Pleas for Ragged Schools; ‘Saving Knowledge, addressed 
to Young Men; and various other short religious treatises and tracts 
on intemperance. 


Decadence of the Ancient Portion of Edinburgh. 


There is a remarkable phenomenon to be seen on certain parts of our coast. 
Strange to say, it proves, notwithstanding such expressions as ‘the stable and solid 
jand,’ that it is not the land but the sea which is the stable element.~ On some sum- 
mer day, when there is not a wave to rock her, nor breath of wind to fill her sail or 
fan a cheek, You launch your boat upon the waters, and, pulling ont beyond lowest 
tide-mark, you idly lie upon her bows to catch the very glance of a passing fish, 
or watch the movements of the many curious creatures inat travel the sea’s sandy 
bed, or creeping out of their rocky homes, wander amid its tangled mazes, If the 
traveller is surprised to find a deep-sea shell imbedded in the marbles of a mountain 

eak, how great is your surprise to see beneath you a vegetation foreign to the deep ! 
Below your boat, submerged many feet beneath the surface of the lowest tide, away 
down in these green crystal depths, you see no rustiug anchor, no mouldering re- 
maius of some shipwrecked one, but in the standing stumps of trees, the mouldering 
vestiges of a forest, where once the wild cat prowled, and the birds of heaven, sing- 
ing their loves, had nestled and nursed their young. In counterpart to those por- 
tions of our coast where sea-hollowed caves, with sides the waves have polished, and 
fioors still strewed with shells and sand, now stand high above the level of strongest 
stream-tides, there stand these dead. decaying trees—entombed in the deep. A 
strange phenomenon, which admits of no other explanaticn than this, that there the 
coast-line has sunk beneath its ancient level. 

Many of our cities present a phenomenon as melancholy to the eye of a philan- 
throphist, as the other is interesting to a philosopher or geologist. In their econom- 


_ical, educational. moral, and religious aspects, certain parts of this city bear palpable 
evidence of a corresponding subsidence. Not a single house, nor a block of houses, 


but whole streets, once from end to end the homes of decency, and industry, and 
wealth, and rank. and piety, have been engulfed. A flood of ignorance, and misery, 
and sin now breaks and roars above the top of their highest tenements. Nor do the 
old stumps of a forest still standing up erect beneath the sea-wave, indicate a greater 
change, a deeper subsidence, than the relics of ancient. grandeur. and the touching 
memorials of piety which yet linger about these wretched dwellings, like evening 
twilight on the hills—like some traces of beauty on a corpse. The unfurnished floor, 
the begrimed and naked walls, the stifling, sickening atmosphere, the patched and 
dusty window—through which a sunbeam, like hope. is faintly stealing—the ragged, 
hunger-bitten. and sad-faced children, the ruffian man. the heap of straw where some 
wretched mother, in muttering dreams, sleeps off last night’s debauch, or lies un- 
shrouded and uucoffined in the ghastliness of a hopeless death, are sad scenes. We 


have often looked on them. And they appear all the sadder for the restless play of 


fancy. Excited by some yes'iges of a fresco-painting that still looks out from the 
foul and broken plaster, the massive marble rising over the cold and cracked hearth- 
stone, an elaborately carved cornice too high for shivering cold to pull it down for 
fuel, some stucco flowers or fruit yet pendent on the crumbling ceiling, fancy, kindled 
by these, calls up the gay scenes and actors of other days—when beauty, elegance, 
and fashion graced these lonely halls, and plenty smoked on groaning tables, and 
where these few cinders, gathered from the city dust-heap, are feebly smouldering, 
hospitable tires roared up the chimney. : 
But there is that in and about these houses which bears witness to a deeper subsi- 
dence, a yet sadder change. Bent on some mission of merey, you stand at the 
foot of a dark and filthy stair. It conducts you to the crowded rooms of a tenement, 


164 -- CYCLOPADIA OF 


where—with the exception of some old decent widow who has seen better days, and 
when her family are all dead, and her friends all gone still clings to God and-her 
faith in the dark hour of adversity and amid the wr.ck of fortune—from the cellar- 
dens below to the cold garrets be:.eath the roof-tree, you shall find none either read- 
ing their Bible, or even with a Bible to read. Alas! of prayer, of morning or evening 
psalms, ot earthly or heavenly peace, it may be said the place that once knew them 
knows them no more. But before you enter the doorway, raise your eyes to the 
lintel-stone. Dumb, it yet speaks of other and better times. Caryed in Greek or 
Latin. or our own mother-tongue, you decipher such texts as these: ‘ Peace be to this 


house ;’? - Except the lord build the house, they labouri vain that build it;? ‘We. — 


have a building of God, an house not made with hand-, eternal in the heavens ;? 
‘Fear God ;’ or this, ‘Love your neighbour.’ Like the mouldering remnants of a 
forest that once resounded with the melody of birds. but hears nought Dow save the 
angry dash or melancholy moun of breaking waves these vestiges of piety furnish a 


gauge which enables us to measure how low in these dark localities the whole stratum _ 


of society has sunk. 
Dr. Guthrie's First-Interest in Ragged Schools. 


My first interest in the cause of Rageed Schools was awakened by a picture 
which I saw.in Anstruther, on the shores of the Firth of Forth. It represented a 
cobbler’s room; he was there himself, spectacles on nose, an old shoe between his 
knees; that massive forehead and firin- mouth indicating great determination of 
character; and from beneath his shaggy eyebrows henevolence gleamed out on a 
group of poor children, some sitting, some standing, but all busy at their lessons 
around him. Interested by this scene. we turned from his picture to the inscription 


below; and with growing wonder read how this man, by name John Pounds, by ~ 


trade a cobbler in Portsmouth. hai taken pity on the ragged children, whom minis- 
ters and magistrates, ladies and gentlemen. were leaving to run wild, and go to ruin 
on their strects ; how, like a good shepherd, he had gone forth to gather in these out- 
casts, how he had trained them up in virtue and knowledge, and how, looking for no 
famine, no recompense from man, he, single-handed, while earning his daily bread by 
the sweat of his face, had, ere he died, rescued from ruin and saved to seciety no 
fewer than five hundred childrez. 

I confess that I felt humbled. I felt ashamed of myself. I well remember saying 
to my companion, in the enthusiasm of the moment. and in my calmer and cooler 
hours I have seen no reason for unsaying it: ‘That man is an honour to humanity. 
He has deserved the tallest monument ever raised on British shores Nor was John 
Pounds only a benevolent man. He was a genius in his way; at anyrate he was in- 
genious; and if he could not catch a poor boy in any other way, like Paul, be would 
win him by guile. He was sometimes seen hunting down a ragged urchin on the 
quays of Portsmouth, and compelling him to come to school. not by the power of a 

oliceman, but a potato! He knew the Jove of an Trishman for a-potato, and might 
be seen running alongside an unwilling boy with one held under his nose, with a 
temper as hot and a coat as ragged as his own... . 

Strolling one day with a friend among the romaritic scenery of the crags and green 
valleys around Arthur’s Seat. we came at length to St. Anthony’s weil, and sat down 
on the great black stone beside it to have a talk with the ragged boys who pursue 
their calling there. ‘Their ‘tinnies’ [tin dishes] were ready with a draught of the 
clear cold water in hope of a halfpenny.... We began to question them about 
schools. Asto the beys themseives, one was fatherless, the son of a poor widow ; 
the father of the other was alive, but a man of low habits and bad character. Both 
were poorly clothed. The one had never been at school: the other had sometimes 
attended a Sabbath-school. Encouraged by the success of Sheriff Watson, who bad 
the honour to lead the enterprise, the idea of a Ragged School was then floating in 
my brain; and s0, with reference to the scheme, and by way of experiment, I said: 
‘Won'd you go to school if—besides your learning—you were to get breakfast, din- 


ner, and supper there?’ It wenld have done any man’s heart. good. to have seen the - 
- flash of joy that broke from the eyes of one of them, the flush of pleasure on his” 


check, as—hearing of three sure meals a dav—the boy leaped to his feet ard ex- 
claimed: ‘Ay, will I, sir, and bring the hail land [the whole tenement or flat] too ;” 
and then, as if afraid I might withdraw what seemed to him so large and munificent 
an Offer, he exclaimed: ‘I'll come for but my dinner, sir!’, ‘Po 


he 


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SMacueop.} - ENGLISH LITERATURE, AGS 
2 a . - DR. NORMAN MACLEOD. 


- The Rey. Norman Macteop (1812-1872), a distinguished member 
of the Scottish Church, was a native of Campbelton, Argyleshire. 
He was descended from a family of Highland clergymen, of whose 
_ life and labours he has drawn an interesting picture in his ‘ Reminis- 
-cences of a Highland Parish,’ 1867. His paternal grandfather was 
minister of Morven, where his uncle, the Rev. John Macleod, still 
labours. His father, an enthusiastic Celtic scholar and a shrewd able 
man, became minister of Cumpsiec, in Stirlingshire, but Norman 
' spent several of his boyish years at Morven, where he enjoyed an 
open-air life with the excitement of fishing and boativg. A love of 
_ the sea and of ships and sailors remained with him throughout all 
- his life, and’ was of importance to him in the way of oratorical illus- 
tration, both as a preacher and writer. He studied at Glasgow and 
Edinburgh Universities—not with any marked distinction—and is 
described as a special favourite with his fellow-s:udents, ‘ever ready 
with apt quotations from Shakspeare, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and 
Keats.’. He was a short time tutor to the son of a Yorkshire squire, 
- with whom he visited Weimar. He sang well to the guitar, sketched 
' cleverly, was as keen a waltzer as any attache in Weimar, and threw 
_ himself with a vivid sense of enjoyment into the gaieties of the little 
capital. But with it all, he held fast to his own convictions of right 
’ and truth, and only once attended the duke’s court on Sunday. ‘To 
~ the simple forms and service of the Presbyterian Church he was 
strongly attached, though he gradually dropped -some of the strict . 
' Calvinistic doctrines, and inclined to the more genial theology of 
men like Stanley, Maurice, and others of what is termed the Broad 
Church. He thus describes a confirmation scene in York Cathedral: 
‘The scene was beyond all description. Fancy upwards of three 
~ thousand children under fifteen, the females dressed in white, with 
ladies and gentlemen, all assembled in that glorious minster—the 
- thousand stained glass windows throwing a dazzling light of various 
hues on the white mass—the great organ booming through the never- 
ending arches! The ceremony is intensely simple: they come in for- 
ties and fifties and surround the bishop, who repeats the vows, an 
lays his hand successively on each head I could not help compar- 
ing this with a sacramental occasion in the Highlands, where there is 
no minster but the wide heaven, and no organ but the roar of the 
_ eternal sea, the church with its lonely churchyard and primitive con- 
_ gregation, and—think of my Scotch pride—I thought the latter scene 
_ more grand and more impressive.’ 

He received his first app:intment in the church as minister of 
Loudon in Ayrshire, a district inhabited by a small proportion of 
Covenanting farmers and a large number of political weavers. With 

both, of course, he had his difficulties. The strict theologians exam- 
- jned him on the ‘fundamentals,’ and the weavers scoffed at religion, 


Ate eri oe Oe ae 


166 : CYCLOPAEDIA OF 


and disputed his political opinions. Visiting one well-known Char: * ! 
tist, he was requested to sit down on a bench at the front of the door, — 
and discuss the ‘seven points.’ The weaver, with his shirt sleeves 
turned up, his apron rolled about his waist, and his snuff-mull in his 

hand, vigorously propounded his favourite political dogmas. . 

‘When he had concluded, he ee to the minister and demanded — 
an answer. ‘‘In my opinion,” was the reply, ‘‘ your Snel 
would drive the country into revslueate and create in the long-run 
national bankruptcy.” ‘* Nay-tion-al bankruptcy!” said the old man 
meditatively, and diving fora pinch. ‘‘ Div—ye—think—sae?” then, 
briskly, after a long snuff, ‘‘Dod, Pd risk it?’ The naiveté of this — 
philosopher, who had scarcely a. sixpence to lose, ‘‘risking” the na- — 
tion for the sake of his theory was never forgotten by his com- ~ 
panion.’ 

The frankness and geniality of the young minister melted dowel 
all opposition. From Campsie he removed to Dalkeith, and in 1851 — 
he succeeded to the Barony parish, in Glasgow, with which in future a 
his name was to be identified, and in which he laboured with unflag- — 
ging zeal. His first publication was a volume entitled ‘The Earnest ~ 
Student,’ being an account of the life of his brother-in-law, John — 
Mackintosh. The proceeds of the work, amounting to £200, he © 
sent as a contribution to the Indian missions of the Free Church, ~ 
of which Mackintosh had been a student. In 1858 he received the — 
honorary degree of D.D. He was appointed one of the deans of ~ 
the Chapel Royal, and one of Her Majesty’s chaplains for Scotland. ‘ 
From 1860 till his death, he was editor of ‘Good Words,’ a periodical 
projected by Mr. Strahan, the publisher, and which under Dr. ~ 
Macleod became (as it now continues under his brother and biogra- 3 
pher, the Rev. Donald Macleod) eminently successful. To its pages © 
he contributed his stories, ‘The Old Lieutenant,’ ‘The Highland y 
Parish,’ ‘ The Starling,’ &c. He was more a man of action than a ~ 
student, but these works—especially his reminiscences of the High- — 
land parish of his youth—form pleasant and instructive reading. - | 
His ‘Peeps in the Far East,’ describing scenes he had visited, and. 
sketches of society, during a mission to India, are of the same 
character. His mission to India greatly increased his popularity, ; 
and he was equally a favourite with the court and aristocracy and ~ 
with the inmates of the darkest closes and miserable lodgings in — 
Glasgow. He charmed all circles, and sympathised with all. He | 
was honoured with the fri endship of the Queen. ‘I am never 
tempted,’ he says, ‘to conceal my convictions from the Queen, for IZ 
feel she sympathises with what is true, and likes the speaker to utter ~ 
the truth exactly as he believes it.’ In another place, Le says: ‘ She 
has a reasoning, searching mind, anxious to get at the root and 
reality of things, and abhors all shams, whether in word or deed. . 

It was really erand to hear her talk on moral courage and living for 
duty.’ The domestic life of her Majesty at Balmoral is indicated i in 4 


— ee 


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aah = Oy ‘ oe 
ar : £ - » 
ia - ans oe FM, 


“mactrop.} «ENGLISH LITERATURE. 167 


a little note which states that ‘the Queen sat down to spin at a nice 
Scotch wheel, while I read Robert Burns to her—‘‘ Tam o’ Shanter,” 
‘and “‘ A Man’s a Man for a’ that.”’ ‘These particulars are given in 
a ‘Memoir of Norman Macleod’ by his brother (1876), a work 
executed with admirable taste and judgment., The Indian mission 
of Dr. Macleod and his incessant work at home, undermined his 
naturally robust constitution. On the 3d of June 1872 he completed 
his sixtieth year, and on the 16th he expired—leaving behind him a 
noble example of devotion to duty, and of self-sacrificing efforts to 
promote the good of mankind. . 


ae Life in a Highland Bothy Fifty Years Since. : 


* When I was young, I was sent to live among the peasantry in the parish (in 
the West Highlands) so as to acquire a knowledge of the language, and living, as 
- I did, very much like themselves, it was my delight to spend the long evenings in 
their huts, hearing their tales and songs. hese huts were of the most primitive 
_ description. They were built of loose stones and clay; the walls were thick, the 
- door low, the rooms numbered one only, or in more aristocratic cases two. The floor | 
was clay; the peat-fire was built in the middle of the floor, and the smoke, when . 
amiable and not bullied by a sulky wind, escaped quietly and patiently through a 
hole in the roof. The window was like a port-hole, part of it generally filled with 
Bass and part with peat. One bed, or sometimes two (with clean home-made sheets, 
lankets, and counterpane), a ‘dresser’ with bowls and plates, a large chest, and a 
corner full of peat.-filled up the space beyond the circle about the fire. Upon the 
rafters above, black as ebony from peat-reek, a row of hens and chickens with a 
stately cock roosted in a paradise of heat. 
_ Let me describe one of these evenings. Round the fire are seated, some on stools, 
’ some on stones, some on the floor, a happy group. ‘wo or three girls, fine healthy 
blue-eyed lassies, with their hair tied up with ribbon snood, are knitting stockings. 
Hugh, the son of Sandy, is busking hocks; big Archy is peeling willow-wands and 
fashioning them into baskets; the shephe:d Donald, the son of Black Jobn, is play~ 
ing on the Jew’s harp; while beyond the circle are one or two herd-boys in kilts, re~ 
_ ¢lining on the floor, alleyes and ears for the stories. The performances of Donald 
_ begin the evening, and form interludes to its songs, tales, and recitations. He has 
two large Lochaber trumps, for Lochaber trnmps were to the Highlands what Cremona 
violins were to musical “Europe. He secures the end-of each with his teeth, and 
- grasping them with his hands so that the tiny instruments are invisible. he applies 
the little finger of each hand to their vibrating steel tongues. He modulates their - 
tones with his breath, and brings out of them Highlaud reels, strathspeys, and jigs— 
such wonderfully beautiful, silvery. distinct, and harmonious sounds as would draw 
forth cheers and an encore even in St. James’s Hall. But Donald, the son of Black 
John, is done, and he looks to bonny Mary Cameron for a blink of her hazel eye to re- 
‘ward him, while in virtne of his performance he demands a song from her. Now 
_ Mary has dozens of songs, so has Kirsty, so has Flory—love songs, shearing songs, 
-washing songs, Prince Charlie songs, songs composed by this or that poet in the 
parish ; and therefore Mary asks ‘What song?’ So until she can make up her mind, 
_and have a little playful flirtation with Donald, she requests Hugh, the son of Sandy, 
to tella story, Although Hugh has abundance of this material, he too protests that 
he has none. But having betrayed this modesty, he starts off with one of those 
_which are given by Mr. Campbell (‘ Highland Tales’), to whose admirable and truth~ 
ful volumes I refer the reader. When the story is done, improvisation is often tried, 
and amidst roars of laughter the aptest verses, the truest and most authentic speci« 
-mens of tales, are made, sometimes in clever satire. sometimes with knowing illu~ 
‘sions to the weakness or predilections of those round the fire. Then follow riddles 
and puzzles; then the trumps resume their tunes,and Mary sings her song, and 
Kirsty and Flory theirs. and all join in chorus, and who cares for the wind outside or 
_ tha peet-reek inside! Never was a more innocent or happy group. 
. This fondness-for music from trump, fiddle, or. bagpipe, and for song-singing, 


ome 


” 


163 - CYCLOPEDIA OF ———_—-[r0.1876,, 


story-telling, and improvisation, was universal, and imparted a marvellous buoyancy ~ 
and intelligence to the people. : a. 
‘These peasants were, moreover, singularly inquisitive and greedy of information, q 
It was a great thing if the schoolmaster or any one else was present who could tell — 
them about other people and other places. I remember an old shepherd who ques- 
tioned me closely how the hills and rocks were formed, as a gamekeeper had heard — 
some sportsmen talking about this. ‘lhe questions which were put were no doubt ~ 
often odd enough. A woman, for example, whose husband was anxious to emigrate — 
to Australia, stoutly opposed the step until she could get her doubts solved on some — 
geographical point that greatly disturbed her. She-consulted the minister, and the — 
tremendous question which chiefly weighed on her mind was, whether t was true ~ 
that the feet of the people there were opposite to the feet of the people at home? ~ 
} 5 
bs 
: 


And if so, what then ? 
Wee Davie. e 


‘Wee Davie’ was the only child of William Thorburn, blacksmith. He had — 
reached the age at which he could venture, with prudence and reflection, on a journey 
from one chair to another; his wits kept alive by maternal warnings of ‘Tak care, — 
Davie; mind the fire, Davie.’ When the journey was ended in safety, and he looked — 
over his shoulders with a crow of joy to his mother, he was rewarded, in addition to — 
the rewards of his own brave and adventurous spirit, by such a smile as equalled only ~ 
. his own, and by the well-merited approval of ‘ Weel done, Davie!’ § 

Davie was the most powerful and influential member of the household. Neither ~ 
the British fleet, nor the French army, nor the Armstrong gun had the power of © 
dole what Davie did. They might as well have tried to make a primrose grow ora ~ 

ark sing! "a 

He was, for example, a wonderful stimulus to labour. The smith had been rather — 
disposed to idleness before his son’s arrival. He did not take to his work on cold 
mornings as he might have done, and was apt to neglect many opportunities, which — 
offered themselves, of bettering his condition ; and Jeanie was easily put off by some 
plausible objection when she urged her husband to make an additional honest penny — 
to keep the house. But ‘the bairn’ became a new motive to exertion; and the thought — 
of leaving him and Jeanie more co.::fortable, in case sickness laid the smith aside, or — 
death took him away, became like a new sinew to his powerful arm, ashe wielded the 
hammer and made it ring the music of hearty work on the sounding anvil. The — 
peeping of benefit-clubs, sick-societies, and penny-banks was fully explained by | ; 

wee Davie. ik 

Davie also exercised a remarkable influence on his father’s political views and social —_ 
habits. The smith had been fond of debates on political questions ; and no more so- ~ 
nor us growl of discontent than his could be heard against ‘ the powers that be.’ the 5 
injustice dane to the masses, or the misery which was occasioned by class legislation. _ 


He had also made up his mind not to be happy or contented, but only to-endure life — 
‘as anecessity laid upon him, until the required reforms in church and state, at home ~ 
and abroad, had been attained. But his wife, without uttering a syllable on matters 4 
which she did not even pretend to understand ; by a series of acts out of Parliament; — 
‘by reforms in household arrangements ; by introducing good bills into her own House ~ 
of Commons; and by a charter, whose points were chiefly very commonplace ones— ; 
such as a comfortable meal, a tidy home, a clean fireside, a polished grate, above all, 
.2 cheerful countenance and womanly love—by these radical changes-she-had made — 
cher husband wonderfully fond of his home. He was, under this teaching, getting ~ 
too contented for a patriot, and too happy for a man in an ill-governed vot His — 
-old companions at last could not coax him out at night. He was lost as a member of ~ 


-one of the most philosophical clubsin the neighbourhood. ‘His old pluck,’ they — 
said, ‘was gone.’ The wife, it was alleged by the patriotic bachelors, had ‘cowed’? — 
him, and driven all the spirit out of him. But ‘wee Davie’ completed this revolu- 4 
.tion: I shall tell you how. = 

One failing of William’s had hitherto resisted Jeanie’s silent influence. The 
e@inith had formed the habit, before he was married. of meeting a few companions, — 
‘just in a friendly way,’ on pay-nights at a public-house, It was true that he was 
never ‘what might be called a drunkard ’—‘ never lost a day’s work ’—‘ never was 
the worst for liquor,’ &c. But, nevertheless, when he pategsa, the snuggery in Peter 


4 
2 
Z 


J 


PMacteop.} ENGLISH LITERATURE. . 169 


_ Wiison’s whisky-shop, with the blazing fire and comfortable atmosphere; and 
when, with half-a-dozen talkative. and. to him, pleasant fellows and o!d companions, 
‘he sat. round the fire, and ihe glass circulated ; und the gos-ip of the week was dis- 
cussed; und racy stories were told; and one or two songs sung, linked together. by 

memories of old merry-meetings ; and current jokes were repeated, with humour, of 

- the tyrannical influence wiich some would presume to exercise ov “innocent social 
- enjoyment ’—then would thesmith’s brawny ciest expand. and his fiee beam, and his 

~ feelings become malleable, and-his sixpences bevin to melt, and fli out in gener- 

- ous sympathy into Peter Wilsoun’s fozy hand, to be counted greed\'y beneath his 
soddeneyes. And so it was that the smith’s wages were always lesce red by Peter’s 

- gains. His wife had her fears—her horrid anticipations—but did nct like to ‘ even 
_ to’ her husband anything so dreadful as what she in her heart dreade’. She took 

~ her own way, however, to win him to the house and to good, and geni'? insinuated 
_ wishes rather than expressed them. ‘The smith, 10 doubt, she comfortee herseif by 

thinking, was only ‘merry,’ and never ill-tempercd cr unkind—‘ yet 6‘ times ’— 

- fand then, what if—!’ Yes, Jeanie, you are right! The demon sneaks into the 
house by degrees. and at first may be kept out, and the door shut upon hina; but let 
him only once take possession, then he will keep it, and shut the door agaiz st every- 
thing pure, lovely. and of good report—barring it against thee and ‘wee Devie,’ ay, 

ana against One who is best of all—and will fill the house with sin and shame, with 

‘misery and kespair! But ‘wee Davie,’ with his arm of might, drove the demvun out. 

_ It happened thus: 

- —_ One evening when the smith returned home so that ‘you could know zt on him,’ 

_ Davie toddled forward; and his father, lifting him up, made him stand on his knee. 

- ‘The child began to play with the locks cf the Samson, to pat him on the cheek. and 

_ to repeat with glee the name of ‘dad-a.’ Tho smith gazed on him intently, and with - 
“a peculiar look of love, mingled with sadness. -‘Isn’t he a. bonnie bairn ?’ asked 
~ Jeanie, as she looked over her husband’s shoulder at the child, nodding and smiling 

- to him. - The smith spoke nota word, but gazed intently upon his boy, while some 

_ sudden emotion was strongly vorking in his countenence. . 

‘It’s done!’ he at last said. as he put his child down. 
. ‘What’s wrang? what’s wrang?’ exclaimed his wife as she stood before him, and 
put her hands round his shouldcrs, bending down until her face was close to his. 
‘Everything is wrang, Jeanie.’ 
; ‘Willy, what is ’t? are ye no weel ?—tell me what’s wrang wi’ you!—oh, tell me!? 

_ 8he exclaimed, in evident alarm. 

< ‘It’s a’ richt noo,’ he said, rising up and seizing the child. He lifted him to his 

_ breast, and kissed him. Then looking upin silence, he said: ‘Davie has done it, 

_ along wi’ vou. Jeanie. Thank God, Iam a free man !’ 

His wite felt awed, she knew not how. 

- _ ‘Sit doon,’ he said, as he took out his handkerchief, and wiped away a tear from 

his eye, ‘and [’ll tell you a’ aboot it.’ ‘ 

_.° Jeanie sat on-a stool at his feet.With Davie on her knee. The smith seized the 

~ child’s little hand in one of his own, and with the other took his wife’s. 

‘TI hav’na been what ye may ca’ a drunkard.’ he said, slowly, and like a man 

_ abashed, ‘but I hae been often as I shouldnua hae been, and as, wi’ God’s help, 1 

- -Hever, never will be again ! 

‘Oh? exclaimed Jeanie. 
‘Tt ’s done, it’s done!’ he said; ‘¢sI’ma leevan man, it’s done! But dinna greet, 
Jeanie. Thank God for you and Davie, my best blessings.’ 

“ ‘Except Himsel’!’ said Jeanie, as she hung on her husband’s neck. 

‘And noo, woman,’ replied the smith, ‘nae mair about it; it’s done. Gie wee 
_ Davie a piece, and get the supper ready.” 


REV. DR. JOHN EADIE. 


~_ Dr. Jonny Eaprm (1813-1876), an eminent Biblical scholar and 

Professor of Hermeneutics and Christian Evidences to the United 
* Presbyterian Church, was a voluminous writer. His principal works 
» are—* An Analytical Concordance of the Holy Scriptures;’ ‘ Biblical 
_ Cyclopeedia;’ ‘Commentaries on the Greek Text of the Hpistles of 


170° CYCLOPADIA OF © - [10 i876, 


Paul to the Colossians, Ephesians,-and Philippians;’ * Karly Oriental — 
History’ (issued as a volume of the ‘Encyclopedia Metropolitana): 
‘ History of the English Bible,’ and various other theological writings — 
—lectures, sermons, biographical sketches, &c. His ‘ History of the. 
English Bible,’ published only a few weeks before his death, is an ex- | 
ternal and critical account of the various English translations of 4 
Seripture, and is completely exhaustive of the subject. From his 
c_lebrity as a IHlebrew scholar and Biblical critic, Dr. Eadie was 
appointed a member of the committee engaged at Westminster in 
translating and revising the Scriptures, and ‘regularly attended the — 
monthly meetings of the committee. The Glasgow University (his — 
alma miter) conferred upon him the degree of LL. D., and he received — 
the degree of D.D. from the university of St. Andrews. Asa pro- 
fessor, “Dr. Eadie was highly popular, and in private life was greatly 
esteemed. He was liberal in many of his views, and differed from — 
most of his Presbyterian brethren in being favourable to the intro-— 
duction of instrumental music in churches, and in believing that the 2 
Scriptures did not forbid marriage with a deceased wife’s sister. One 
interesting trait of the learned divine has been recorded: ‘ He was 
particularly fond of flowers and animals, especially birds, of which — 
from his earliest years he kept many about him’ (Scotsman). Dr. 
Eadie was a native of Alva in Stirlingshire. After studying at the 
university of Glasgow he was licensed as a preacher in 1835, and at — 
the time of his death was minister of Lansdowne Church, Glasgow. — = 
In 1860, having attained his semi-jubilee as a pastor, his congregation — 
honoured him with a substantial token of their good-will and ven- — 
eration. Ea 
DR. JOHN TULLOCH—DR. JOHN CAIRD. ge 


Dr. Joun Tuttocn, Principal of St. Mary’s College, St. Andrews, ~ 
in 1855 received one of the Burnett prizes for a treatise on ‘Theism, 
the Witness of Reason and Nature to_an All-wise and All-beneficent — 
Creator.’ The Burnett Prize Essays are published under the bequest — 
of an Aberdeen merchant, John Burnett (1739-1784), who left £1600 © 
to be applied every forty years to the foundation of two premiums — 
for essays on the Being and Character of God from Reason and — 
Revelation. Dr. Tulloch, in 1859, published a volume of four lec- — 
tures, delivered at the Philosophical Institution, Edinburgh—‘ Lead- _ 
ers of the Reformation,’ or sketches of Luther, Calvin, Latimer, — 
and Knox. He is also author of ‘English Puritanism and its Lead- 
ers ’—‘ Cromwell,’ ‘ Milton,’ &c. 1861; ‘Beginning Life,’ ‘Chapters — 
for Young Men,’ 1862; ‘Christ of the ‘Gospels and Christ in Modern _ & 
Criticism,’ 1864; ‘Studies in the. Religious Thought of England,’ — 
1867 ; “Rational Theology and Christian Philosophy in England in~ 
the Seventeenth Century,’ two volumes, 1872. This last is an able ~ 
work, supplying a desideratum in our literature. Also ‘The Chris = 2 
tian Doctrine of Sin,’ 1876. se “a 


| 


yey 


ii) 


> 
3 
: 
} 


i 


“TULLOCH. ] - ENGLISH LITERATURE. rae et 


Liberal English Churehmen. 


Tt was the merit of Hales, and Chillingworth. and» Taylor (says Dr. Tulloch), at- 
- tached as they were personally to one side in this struggle [between the two theories 
of church organisation], that they penetrated beneath the theoretical narrowness 
’ which enslaved both sides, and grasped the idea of the church more profoundly and 
comprehensively. ‘They saw the inconsistency ofa formal jus divinwm with the es- 
- sential spirit of Protestantism, imperfectly as this spirit had been developed in Eng- 
- Jand; or indeed elsewhere. According to this spirit, the true idea of the churchis 
“moral.and not ritual. It corsists in certain verities of faith and worship, rether than 
in any formal unities of creed or order. The genuine basis of Christian communion 
is to be found in a common recognition of the great realities of Christian thought and 
- ‘life, and not in any outward adhesion to a definite ecclesiastical or: theological sys- 
- tem. Ail who profess the Apostles’ Creed are members of the church, and the na- 
__ tional worship should be so ordered as to admit of all who make this profession. The 
purpose of these churchmen, in short, was comprehension and not exclusion. While 
they held that that no single type of church government and worship was absolutely 
_ divine, they acknowledged in different forms of church order an expression more or 
less of the divine ideas which lie at the root of all Christian society, and which—and 
- notany accident of external form—gave to that society its essential character. Ina 
word, the church appeared to them the more divine, the more ample the spiritual ac- 
tivities it embraced, and theless the circle of heresy or dissent it cut off. This 
- breadth and toleration separated them alike from Prelatists and Puritans. 


Principal Tulloch is a native cf the parish of Tibbermore, Perth- 
shire, of which his father was minister. He was born in 1823. Be- 
sides the above works, he has contributed to the reviews and other 

periodicals, and holds a conspicuous place in the national church. 
He is author also of ‘ Religion and Theology, a Sermon for the 
- Times,’ 1876. -The object of this discourse is to shew that religion 
and theology are two distinct things, and that a person may be de- 
voutly religious without accepting a complicated creed : 


% The knowledge that is essential to religion is a simple knowledge, like that which 
. the loved has of the person who loves, the bride of the bridegroom. the child of the 
parent. It springs from the personal and spiritual, ezd not from the cognitive or 
critical side of our being; from the heart, and not from the head. Not merely so; 
_ but if the heart or spiritual sphere be really awakened in us—if there be a true stir- 
- ring of life here, and a true seeking towards the light—the essence and strength of a 
true religion may be ours, although we are unable to answer many questions that 
may be asked, or to solve even the difficulties raised by our own intellect. 


-. Inthe course of this argument, the preacher notes the fact that 
under the most various influences and the most diverse types, the 
same fruits of character appear. 


Diverse Modes of Christian Thought. 


As some men are said to be born Platonists, and some Aristotelians, so some are 
-born Augustinians, and some Pelagians or Arminians. These names have been 
strangely identified with true 01 false views of Christianity. What they really denote 

_ ig diverse modes of Christian thinking, diverse tendencies of the Christian intellect, 
_- which repeat themselves by a law of nature. It is no more possible to make men 
- think alike in theology than in anything else where the facts are complicated and 
the conclusions necessarily fallible. The history of theology is a history of ‘ varia- 

'. tions;’ not indeed, as some have maintained, without an inner principle of move- 
_. ment, but with a constant repetition of oppositions underlying its necessary devel- 
- opment. The same contrasts continually appear throughout its course, and seem never 
‘to wear themselves out. From the beginning there has always been the broader and 

_ the narrower type of thought—a St. Paul and St. John, as well as a St. Peter and St. 


ba z a “ 7 Z 2 ale es { a= OS iy Pers 


i ae a ~ 


172 CYCLOPADIA OF =. ——-—s [0 1876. 


James ; the doctrine which leans to the works and the doctrine which Jeans to grace 3 

the milder and the severer interpretations of human nature and cf the divine deal- 
ings with it—a Clement of Alexandria, an Origen and a Chrysostom, as well asa 
Tertullian, an Augustine, and a Cyril of Alexandria. an Erasmus no less thana 
Luther, a Castalio as well as a Calvin, a Frederick Robertson as well as a John New-_ 
man. Look at these men and many others equally significant on the spiritual side 

as they look to God, or as they work for men, how much do they resemble one — 
another! The saine divine life stirs them all. Who will undertake to settle which © 
is the truer Christian? But look at them on the intellectual side, and they are hope- 

lessly disunited. They lead rival forces in the march of Christian thought—forces 
which may yet find a point of conciliation, and which may not be so widely opposed _ 
as they seem, but whose present attitude is one ef Cbyious hostility. Men may mect — 
incommon worship and in common work, and find themselves at one.. The same 

faith may breathe in their prayers. and the same love fire their hearts. But men 

who think can never be at one in their thoughts on the great subjects of the Christian 

revelation. “they may own the same Lord, and recognise and reverence the same 
types of Christian character, but they will differ so soon as they begin to define their 
notions of the Divine, and draw conclusions from the researches either of ancient — 
or of modern theology. Of all the false dreams that have ever hauuted humenity, — 
none is more false than the dream of catholic un ty in this sense. It vanishes in | 
th: very effort to grasp it, and the old fissures appear within the most carefully com- — 


5 


pacted structures of dogma, 

The Rrv. Dr. Jonn Cairp, in the year 1855, preached a sermon 
before the Queen in the parish church at Crathie, which was pub-— 
lished by a royal command, and attracted great attention and admi-~ 
ration, and was translated. under the auspices of Chevalier Bun-— 
sen. This popular discourse was of a prectical nature, and was cn-— 
titled ‘The Religion of Common Life.’ -In 1858 Dr. Caird published ~ 
a volume of ‘ Sermons,’ which also was wide-y circulated. Heis one 
of the most eloquent of divines. Dr. Caird is a native of Greenock, — 
born in 1823. In 18738 he was elected Principal of the university of © 
Glasgow. 2 

Character and Doctrine. aa 


Actions in many ways teach better than words, and even the most persnasive oral 
instruction is ereatly vivified hen supplemented by the silent teaching of the life. 
Consider, for oue thing, that actions are more intelligible than words. All verbal 
teaching partakes more or less.of the necessary vagueness of lauguage, and its intel- 
ligibility is dependent, in a great measure, on the degree cf intellectual culture and — 
ability in the mind of the hearer. Ideas, reflections, deductions. distinctions. when — 
resented in words, are liable to misapprehension ; their power is often modified or — 
ost by the obscurity of the. medium through which they are conveyed, and the im-— 
pression produced by them is apt very speedily to vanish from the mind. Many minds — 
are inaccessible to any form of teaching that is not of the most elementary charace— 
ter; and there are comparatively few to whom an illustration is not more intelligible. 
than an argument. . ~t 
But whatever the difficulty of understanding words, deeds are almost alwavs in- 
telligible. Let a man not merely speak but act the truth : let him revel his soul in the. 
inarticulate speech of an earnest. pure, and truthful Ife. and this will be a language 
which the profoundest must admire, while the simplest can appreciate. The most - 
elaborate discourse on sanctification will prove tame and ineffective in comparison 
with the eloquence of a humble. holy walk with God. In the spectacl» of a penitent 
soul pouring forth the broken utterance of its contrition at the Savicur’s feet. there 
is a nobler sermon on repentance than eloquent lips ever spoke. Instruct yourchild-_ 
ren in the knowledge of God’s great love and mercy, but let them see that love cheer=_ 
ing. animating, hallowing your daily life; describe to them the divinity and glory of 
the Saviour’s person and work. but Jet them note how dany y-v think of Him. hear 
with what profoundest reverence you name His name, see how the sense of a divine. 


-s 


fies. ow ENGiISH: LITERATURE. - - : 173 
‘presence sheds a reflected moral beauty around your own—and this wil be a livin 
-and breathing theology to them, without which formal teaching wili avail but little, 
Sermons and speeches, too, may weary ; they may be listened to with irksomeness, 

and remembered with effort: but living speech never tires : it makes no formal demand 
on the attention, it goes forth in feelings and emanations that win their way insensi- 
bly into tae secret depths of th: soul. ‘The medium of verbal instruction. moreover, 
-is conventional, and it can be understood only where one special form of speech is 
Vernacular, but the language of action and life is instinctive and universal. The liv- 
ing epistie needs no translation to be understood in every country and clime; anoble 
act of heroism or self-sacrifice speaks to the common heart of humanity ; a humble, 
gentle, holy, Christlike life preaches to the common ear all the world over. There is 
no speech nor language in which this voice is not heard, and its words go forth to the 
world’s end 


_ The Rev. Jonn Ker, D.D., minister of a United Presbyterian 
‘ehurch in Glasgow, has published a volume of ‘Sermons,’ 1868, 

which has gone through several editions, and forms a valuable cen- 

tribution to our works of practical divinity. Fine literary taste and 

power are combined with the illustration of Christian dectrine and 

duty. We subjoin some passages from a sermon on the ‘Eternal 

Future.’ 

a o ‘ Ti doth not yet Appear what We shall Be.’ 


aor first step of the soul into another state of being is a mystery. No doubt it 


= 


‘continues conscious, and its c nscious existence. in the case of God’s children, is 
most biessed. Yo departand be with Christ is far better. But the existence of the 
soul separate from the body, and from all material organs, is incomprehensible. 
_ The place of our future life is obscure. How there can. be relation to place with- 
‘out a body, we do not know; and even when the body is restored, we cannot tell the 
locality of the resurrection-world. Nothing in reason, and nothing certain in revela- 
Tion, connects it with any one spot in God’s universe. It may be far away from 
earth. in some central kingdom, the ¢iittering confines of which we can perceive in 
‘thick-sown stars, that are the pavemeut of the laud which has its dust of gold. It 
may be, as our hearts would rather suggest, in this world renewed and glorified—a 
‘world sacred as the scene of Christ’s sufferines, and endeared to us as the cradle of 
our immortal life. Or-that great word, Heaven—the heaven of heavens—may 
gather many worlds around this one as the centre of God’s most godlike work—niay 
‘dciose the new and old, the near and far, in its wide embrace. Jt doth not yet ap- 
pear 
~ The outward manner of our final existence is also unecrtain. That it will be 
Dlessed and glorious. freed from all that can hurt or annoy, we may well belicve. 
We may calculate that, in the degree in which the incorruptible and immortal body 
‘shall excel the body of sin and death, our final home, with its scenes of beauty and 
grandeur, its landscapes and skies, shall surpass our dwelling-place on this earth. 
Whether we may possess mccrely our present facultics, enlarged and strengthened, 
asa child’s mind expands into a man’s, or whether new facultics of perception may 
not be made to spring forth, as if sight were given to a blind man, we find it impos- 
sible to-affirm. -.. : 
.., here are some minds which trouble themselves with the fear lest. their present 
life and its natural affections should be irrecoverahly Jost in the future world. The 
place and circumstances seem so indefinite, and must be so different from the present, 
that they are tossed in uncertainty. Will they mect their friends again so as to know 
them, or will they not be sepurated from them by the vast expanses of that world, 
and by the varied courses they may have to pursne? We may have our tlovughts 
about these things tranquillised. if we bring them into connection with Christ. Our 
eternal life begins in unison with Him, and it must for ever.so continue. If we are 
gathered round Him in heaven, and know Him, and are known of Him, this will in- 
eure acquaintance with one another. Tt is strange thatit could ever be made matter ot 
doubt. And when we think that He gave us human hearts and took one into His own 
‘breast—that He bestowed on us human homes and affections, and solaced Himself 


174 CYCLOPEDIA OF 


with them—we need not fear that He will deny us our heart’s wish, where itis natural 
and good. Variety of pursuit and temperament need no more separate us there than 
it does here, and his own name for heaven—the Father’s house of many mansions— 
speaks of uuity as well as diversity, of one home, one roof, one paternal presence, — { 


Mind above Matter. ; 4 


It is the presence of life, above all, of intelligent life, which gives significance to’ 
creation, and which stands like the positive digit in arithmetic, before all its blank 
Ciphers. The most beautiful landscape wants its chief charm till we see, or fancy 11 
it, the home of man. - Bl 24 

his may be charged as egotism, but it is the law of our being by which we ‘tat 


a. 


judge the world. We must look out on God’s universe with the eyes and heart tha 
its Maker has bestowed upon us, and we must believe that they were meant to guide 
us truly. The eras of geology receive their interest as they become instinct witl 
animation, and as they foreshadow the entrance of the intelligent mind, which wa 
at last to appear among them to be their interpreter. It is the reason of man which 
has reconstructed them out of their dead ashes. Itis that same reason which give 
to the present living world all that it has of meaning and unity. The formso 
beauty and grandeur which matter puts on are only the clothing furnished by mind. 
The Alps and Andes are but millions of atoms till thought combines them and stamps 
on them the conception of the everlasting hills. Niagara is a gush of water-drop 
till the soul puts into it that sweep of resistless power which the beholder feels. The 
ocean, wave behind wave, is only great when the spirit has breathed into it the idea 
of immensity. If we analyse our feelings we shall find that thought meets us 
wherever we turn. ‘lhe real grandeur of the world is in the soul which looks on it, 
which sees some conception of its own reflected from the mirror around it—for 
mind is not only living, but life-giving, and has received from its Maker a portion 
of his own creative power: it breathes into dead matter the breath of life, and it 
becomes a living’ soul. . ve 


J 
oe 
ag 
7’ 

ft 


MISCELLANEOUS WRITERS. 
RICHARD SHARP. 


16 | 
5s OE 
_ This gentleman, commonly called ‘Conversation Sharp’ (1759 
1835), after mingling in all the distinguished society of London, from 
the days of Johnson and Burke to those of Byron, Rogers, and Moore, 
in 1834 published—at first anonymously—a small volume of ‘ Letters 
and Essays in Prose and Verse.’ Rogers though tthe volume hardiy 
cqual to Sharp’s reputation ; but his reputation was founded on his 
conversational powers, and the hivher order of genius is not—as 
Sir Waiter Scott observed—favourable to this talent. ‘For forming 3a 
a good converser,’ adds Scott, ‘good taste, and extensive informa- 
tion and accomplishment are the principal requisites, to which must 
be added an easy and elegant delivery, and a well-toned voice.” 
Mackintosh, however, termed Sharp the best critic he had ever known, 
and Byron also bears testimony to his ability. Macaulay said he 
never talked scandal. From commercial concerns Mr. Sharp had re- 
alized a large fortunc—he left £250,000—and had a seat in parla. 


ment. The ‘Essays’ evince knowledge of the world and sound sense. 
&.few of his maxims and reflections are subjoincd: 2 nn | 


* 4 
. ae bi 
| 


SHARP} ENGLISH LITERATURE. 178 


'_ Satirical writers and talkers are not half so clever as they think themselves, nor 
‘as they ought to be. ‘hey do winnow the corn, ’tis true, but ’tis to teed upon the 
chaff. I am sorry to add that they who are always speaking ill of others, are also very 
apt to be doing illto them. It requires some talent und some generosity to find out 
talent and generosity in others; though nothing but self-couceit and malice are 
needed to discover or to imagine faults. The most gifted men that Ihave known 
have been the least addicted to depreciate either frieds or foes. Dr. Johnson, Mr. 
‘Burke, and Mr. Fox were always more inclined tc overrate them. Your shrewd, sly, 
evil-speaking fellow is generally a shallow personage, and frequently he is as venom- 
‘Ous and as false when he flattcrs as when he reviles—he seldom praises John but to 
vex ‘Thomas. 
_ Trifling precautions will often prevent great mischiefs; asa slight turn of the 
wrist parries a mortal trust. 
~ Untoward accidents will sometimes happen; but after many, many years of 
‘thoughtful experience, I can truly say, that nearly all those who began life with me 
have succeeded or failed as they deserved. 
+ Bven sensible men are too commonly satisfied with tracing their thoughts a little 
way backwards; and they are, of course, soon perplexed by a profounder adversary. 
In this respect, most people’s minds are too like a child’s garden, where the flowers 
‘are planted without their roots. Itmay be said of morals and of literature, as truly 
“as of sculpture and painting. that to understand the outside of human nature, we 
‘should be well acquainted with the inside. 


~ It appears to me indisputable that benevolent intention andbenefisial tendency 
Must combine to constitute the moral goodness of an action. To doas much good 
and as little evil as we can, is the brief and intelligible principle that comprehends all 
‘subordinate maxims. Both good tendency and good will are indispensable; for con- 
‘science may be erroneous as well as callous, may blunder as well as sleep. Perhaps 
‘aman cannot be thoroughly mischievous unless he is honest. In truth, practice is 
also necessary, since it 1s one thing to be able to see that a line is crooked, and an- 
Other thing to be able to draw a straight one. Itis not quite so easy to do good as 
those may imagine who never try. 


WILLIAM MAGINN. 


_ WiiiiAm Maeinn (1793-1842), one of the most distinguished peri. 
Odical writers of his day, a scholar and wit, has left scarcely any per- 
Manent memorial of his genius or acquirements. He was born at 
Cork, and at an early period of life assisted his father in conducting 
‘an academy in that city. He reccived his degree of LL.D. in his 
twenty-fourth year. In-1819 Maginn commenced contributing to 
“Blackwood’s Magazine.’ His papers were lively, learned, and libel- 
Tous—an alliterative enumeration which may be applied to nearly all 
the wrote. He was a keen political partisan, a Tory of the old Orange 
stamp, who gave no quarter to an opponent. At the same time there 
‘Was so much scholarly wit and literary power about Maginn’s con- 
tributions, that all parties read and admired him. For nine years he 
‘Was one of the most constant writers in ‘ Blackwood,’ and his Odo- 
herty papers (prose and verse) were much admired. He had removed 
to London in 1828, and adopted literature as a profession. In 1824 
My. Murray the publisher commenced a daily newspaper, ‘The 
Representative.’ Mr. Disraeli was reported to be editor, but he has 
contradicted the statement. He was then too young to be intrusted 
with such a responsibility. - Maginn, however, was-engaged as for- 
ign or Paris correspondent. His residence in France was short; the 


tn 


‘ pe 
a 
ae 
— ¥ 


176 “. <CYCLOPADIA OF’ 


Representative’ soon went dow n, and Maginn retur ete to onde 
to ‘spin his daily bread out_of his brains.” He was associated witl | 
Dr. Giffard in conducting the ‘Standard’ newspaper, and when 
*Fraser’s Magazine’ was ‘established in 1880, he -became one of its 
shief literary ‘supporters. One article in this periodical, a review of | 
Berkeley Castle,’ led to a hostile meeting between Maginn and the- 
Hon. Grantley Ber keley Mr. Berkeley had assaulted Fraser, the © 
publisher of the offensive criticism, when Maginn wrote to him, stat- ; 
ing that he was the author. Hence the challenge and the duel. The 
parties exchanged shots three several times, but without. any serious 
results. Happily, such scenes and such liter ary personalities have 
passed away. ‘Ihe remainder of Maginn’s literary career was irreg- 
ular. Habits of intemperance gained ground upon him; he was 
often arrested and in jail; but his good- humour seems never to have 
forsaken him. He wrote a series of admirable Shakspeare papers for 
‘Blackwood’ in 1837, and in the following year he commenced a 
series of Homeric ballads, which extended to sixteen in number. In 
1842 he was again in prison, and his health gave way. One of h 
friends wrote to Sir Robert Peel, acquainting ‘him with the lament- 
able condition of Dr. Maginn, and the.minister took steps for the re 
lief of the poor author, at the same time transmitting what has been 
termed a ‘ splcndid gift,’ but which Maginn did not live to receive. 
He died on the 29th of August 1842. ‘The sort of estimation in which 
he was held by his contemporaries may be gathered from the follow- 
ing rhyming epitaph on him by Lockhart: : : 
Here, early to bed, lies kind W1LL1AM MAGINN, 
Who, with genius, wit, learning, life’s trophies to win, 
Had neither great Jord nor rich cit of this kin, 
Nor discretion to set himeelf up as to tin 5 
So his portion soon spent—like the poor heir of Lynn—_ 
He turned author ere yet there was beard on his chin, ; 
And, whoever was out, or whoever was in, 
For your Tories his fine Irish brains he would spin, 
Who received prose and rhyme with a promising grin— : 
‘Go ahead, you queer fish, and more power to your fin,’ hae 
But to save from starvation stirred never a pin. oe 
Light for long was bis heart, though his breeches were thin, : a 
Else his acting for certain was equal to Quin ; J 
But at last he was beat, and sought help of the bin— 3 
All the same to the doctor from claret to gin— . a 
Which Jed swiftly to jai] and consumption therein. “= 
It was much when then the bones rattled Joose in the skin, ae 
He got leave to die here out of Babylon’ s din. Be. 


Barring drink and the girls, I ne’er heard a sin: eg 
Many worse, better few, than bright, broken MAagInnN.’ yet | 


FRANCIS. MAHONY (FATHER PROUT). 


The Rev. Francis Manony (1804-1866) was also a native of Cork, 
and equally noted for»scholarship -and conviviality. He was @ UW 
cated at St. Acheul, the college of the Jesuits at Amiens. Among 
the Jesuits he lived, as he said, in an atmosphere of Latin, and ~be- 
€ame a first-rate Latin scholar. He studied afterwards at Rome, and 


- ~4-% 


_ 


Fon, 


Dotnong 


Aen 


ae, &: = 


PME RS. 
lta} 


oe 


‘ant * 
~~ ‘. 2 = 


Se eH 
_ MAHONY.) ENGLISH LITERATURE. 177 


pe 5 
Raving taken priest’s orders. he officiated in London and at Cork. 
He broke off from the Jesuits, and became one of the writers in 
*Fraser’s Magazine’ (about 1834), and contributed a series of 
papers, afterwards collected and published as ‘The Reliques of 
-Pather Prout,’ 1836. From the gay tavern life of the ‘ Fraserians,? 
‘Mahony went abroad and travelled for some years. He became 
-Roman correspondent of the ‘ Daily News,’ and his letters were in 
1847 collected and published as ‘Facts and Figures from Italy, by 
‘Don Jeremy Savonarola, Benedictine Monk.’ For the last eight 
‘years of his life he lived chiefly in Paris, and was the correspondent 
ete ‘ Globe,’ his letters forming the chief attraction of that Lon- 
don evening journal. A volume of ‘Final Memorials of Father 
Prout’ (or Manony) was published in 1876 by Mr. blanchard Jerrold, 
Who has recorded Mahvny’s wonderfy! facility in Latin composition, 
Aus wit, quaint sayings, genial outbursts of sentiment, reverence for 
feligion among all his convivialities, and his genuine goodness’ of 
heart. James Hannay said of this Irish humorist : ‘Mahony’s fun is 
essentially lrish—fanciful, playful, odd, irregular, and more grotes- 
que, than Northern fun. In one of his own phrases, he is an Irish 
potato, seasoned with Attic salt. 


% 


The Shandon Belts. 
With deep affection I've heard bells tolling 
Ee And recollection, Old ¢ Adrian’s Mole’ in, 
ae I often think of Their thunder rolling 
Bs Those Shandon bells, From the Vatican ; 
Whose sounds so wild would, And cymbals glorious 
In the days of childhood, Swinging uproarious 
Fling round my cradle In the gorgceons turrets 
Their magic spelis. Of Notre Dame. 
~~ On this I ponder, But thy sounds were sweeter 
~  Where’er I wander, . Than the dome of Peter 
And thus grow fonder, Flings o’er the Tiber, - 
-  _ Sweet Cork, of thee ; . Pealing solemnly— 
With thy bells of Shandon, O the bells of Shandon 
_ ‘That sound so grand on Sound far more grand on 
_ _The pleasant waters The pleasant waters 
=  Of'the river Lee. - Of ihe river Lee. 
"~ I’ve heard bells chiming, There ’s a bell in Moscow, 
_ Fall many a clime in, While on tower and kiosk Q, 
Tolling sublime in * In Saint Sophia, 
Cathedral shrine: > The Turkman gets; 
While at a glibe rate, And loud in sir 
Brass tougues would vibrate— Calls men to prayer, 
«But all their music From the tapering summitg 
Z Spoke nonght like thine; Of tall minarets. 
_. For memory dwelling Such empty phantom 
Ca each proud swelling I freely grant them; 
_ OF the belfry knelling But there is an anthem 
j Tts bold notes free, More dear to me— 
~ Made the bells of Shandon ’Tis the bells of Shaudon, 
_ Sonnd far more grand on That sound so grand on 
‘The pieasant waters The pleasant waters 
_- Of the river Lee. Of the river Lee, 
| ean 
¢ i 
ou 


4 = eae a x EE die Oe ene Tt ye 
7 Caney Et ae gat "TPE eee 


178 “CYCLOPADIA OF 


SIR GEORGE AND SIR FRANCIS BOND HEAD. 


Tho elder of these brothers—sons of an English gentleman, James 
Roper Head, Esq.—was author of ‘Forest Scenes in North America,” 
1829, and ‘Home Tours in England,’ 1835-87. The ‘Home Tours’ 
were made in the manufacturing districts, through which the auth 
travelled as a Poor-law Commissioner, and were written in a ligh 
pleasing style. He afterwards applied himself to a laborious topo- 
graphical and antiquarian account of ‘Rome’ » a8, 
1849, and he translated Cardinal Pacca’s ‘ Memoirs’ 
Metamorphoses.’ He died in 1895, aged seventy-three. 

His brother, FRaNcis Bonp Heap (born at Rochester, 

1793), had more vivacity and_ spirit ig 
many of the family characteristics. While a captain in the army, he 
published ‘ Rough Notes taken during some Rapid Journeys across 
the Pampas and among the Andes,’ 1826. The work was exceed 
ingly popular, and the reputation of ‘Galloping Head,’ as the gay 
captain was termed, was increased by his ‘Bubbles from the Brun 
nen of Nassau.’ He was appointed governor of Upper Canada in 
1835, and created a baronet in 1837; but his administrative was n0j 
equal to his literary talent, and he was forced to resign in 18838. Ht 
published a narrative of his administration, which was more amus! 
than convincing. Turning again to purely literary pursuits, 
Francis wrote ‘The Emigrant,’ 1892, and essays in the ‘ Quart 
Review,’ afterwards republished in a collected form with the title 
‘Stokers and Pokers—Highways and Byways.’ He wrotea ‘Lif 
Bruce, the Traveller,’ for the ‘Family Library.’ The national de- 
fences of this country appearing to Sir Francis lamentably deficient 
he issued a note of warning, ‘The Defenceless State of Great Brit 
ain? 1850. Visits to Paris and Ireland produced ‘A Faggot 0 
French Sticks, or Paris in 1851,’ and ‘A Fortnight in Ireland,’ 1852 
In 1869 he produced a practical work, ‘The Royal Engineer.” The 
judgments and opinions of the author are often rash and prejudic 
but he is seldom dull, and commonplace incidents are related in 2 
picturesque and attractive manner. Sir Francis died at Croydon i 
1879. - =the 
Description of the Pampas. : oP 
The great plain, or pampas, on the east of the Cordillera.4s about nine hundre 
miles in breadth, and the part which I have visited, though under the same latitnd 
is divided into regions of differeut climate and produce. On leaving Buenos Ayres, 
the first of these regions is covered for one hundred and eighty miles with clove 
and thistles; the second region, which extends for four hundred and- miles 
produces long grass ; and the third region, which reaches the base of the Cordiller 
is a grove of low trees and shrubs. The second and third of these regions ha 
nearly the same appearance throughout the year, for the trees and shrubs are eV! 
reens, and the immense plain of grass only changes its colour from en 
rown: but the first region varies with the four seasons of the year in & MMOs 
extraordinary manner. In winter the leaves of the thistles are large and Juxuria! 
and the whole surface of the conntry has the rough appearance of a turn 
The clover in this season is extremely rich and strong; and the sight of 


—— 


A ng 


Pv ‘ 


cattle grazing in full liberty 


HEAD] _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 179 


on such pasture is very beautiful. In spring the clover 


has vanished, the leaves of the thistles have extended along the ground, and the 
‘Couniry still looks like a rough crop of turnips. In less than a month the change is 
most extraordinary: the whole region becomes a luxuriant wood of enormous 
thistles, which have suddenly shot up to a height of ten or eleven feet, and are all 


in full bloom. ‘he road or 


path is hemmed in on both sides; the view is completely 


obstructed ; not an animal is to be seen; aud the stems of the thistles are so close to 


each other, and so strong, 


that, independent of the prickles with which they are 


armed, they forma an impenetrable barrier. The sudden growth of these plants is 
quite astonishing ; and though it would be an unusual misfortune in military history, 
yet it is really possible that an invading army, unacquainted with this country, 
might be imprisoned by these thistles before it had time to escape from them. The 
summer is not over before the scene undergoes another rapid change; the thistles 


suddenly lose their sap and 


verdure, their heads droop, the leaves shrink and fade, 


the stems become black and dead, and they remain rattling with the breeze one 
against another, until the violence of the pampero or hurricane levels them with the 
ground, where they rapidly decompose and disappear—the clover rushes up, and the 


scene is again verdant. 


A 


French Commisstonnatre. 


In Paris this social luxury has been so admirably supplied, that, like iced water 
tt Naples, the community could now hardly exist without it. Accordingly, at the 
ntersection of almost all the principal streets, there is posted by the police an intelli~ 


ent, respectable-looking m 


an—there are about twelve thousand of them—cleanly 


ressed in blue velveteen trowsers, and a blue corduroy jacket, on the breast of which 


8 affixed a brass ticket, inv 
md number. The duties of 


ariably forfeited by risconduct, bearing his occupation 
this commissionnaire are not only at various fixed prices + 


0 go messages in any direction and at determined rates to perform innumerable 


ither useful services, but he 
oth sexes in crossing street 


is especially directed to assist aged and infirm people of 
8 croy/ded with carriages, and to give to strangers, who 


bay inquire their way, every possible assistance. The luxury of living, wherever 
‘ou may happen to lodge, within reach of a person of this description. is very great. 


‘or instance, within fifty ya 
ent, dark-blue fellow, who 


rds of my lodgings, there was an active, honest, intelli- 
was to me a living book of useful knowledge. Crump- 


ne up the newspaper he was usually reading, he could in the middle of a paragraph, 
Hd at a moment’s notice, get me any sort of carriage—recommend me to every de- 
cription of shop—tell me the colour of the omnibus I wanted—where I was to find 
where I was to leave it—how I ought to dress to go here, there, or anywhere; 


‘hat was done in the House of Assembly last night—who spoke best—what was said 
f{ his speech—and what the world thought of things in general. 


The Hlectrie Wires, and Tawell the Murderer. 


Whatever may have been 


his fears—his hopes—his fancies 


or his thoughts—there 


iddenly flashed along the wires of the electric telegraph, which were stretched close 


eside him, the following wo 


rds ; ‘A murder has just been committed at Salthill, and 


le suspected murderer was seen to take a first-class ticket for London by the train 
hich left Slough at 7h. 42m. p.m. He is in the garb of a Quaker, with a brown 
teatcoat on, which reaches nearly down to his feet. He is in the last compartment 
{the second first-class carriage.’ 

And yet, fest as these words flew like lightning past him, the information they 
yntained, with all its details, as well as every secret. thought that had preceded them, 
id aiready consecutively flown millions of times faster ; indeed, at the very instant 
‘at, within the walls of the little cottage at Slough, there had been uttered that 
‘eadful scream, it had simultaneously reached the judgment-seat of heaven ! 

On arriving at the Paddington station, after mingling for some momeuts with the 

owd, he got into an omnibus, and as it rambled along, taking up one passenger and 
utting down another, he probably felt that his identity was every minute becoming 


‘founded and confused by 


the exchange of fellow-passengers for stran gers that was 


onstantly taking place. Bui all the time he was thinking, the cad of the omnibus— 


policeman in disguise—kne 


: 


‘ 
ae 


w that he held his victim like aratinacage. Without, 


» ‘ 
° » 


180 | ~ CYCLOPADIA OF © > 


however, apparently taking the slightest notice of him, he took one sixpence, ga 
change for a shilling, handed out this lady, stuffed in that one. until, arriving at 
bank, the guilty man, stooping as he walked towards the carriage-door. descend 
the steps. paid his fare; crossed over to the Duke of Wellington’s statue, whe 
pausing for a few moments, anxiously to gaze around him, he proceeded to the Jet 
salem Coffer-house, thence over London bridge to the Leopard Coffee-house in” 
Borough, and finally to a lodging-house in Scott’s Yard, Cannon Street. 
He probably fancied that, by making so many turns and doubles, he had not on 
effectually puzzled all pu:suit, but that his appearance at so many coffee-louse 
would assist him, if necessary, in proving an alibi; but whatever may have been” 
motives or his thonghts. he had scarcely entered the lodging when the policem. 
who, like a wolf, had followed him every step of the way—-opening the door, ” 
calmly said to him—the words no doubt were infinitely more appalling to him « 
than the scream that had been haunting him—‘ Haven’t you just come trom Slou 
‘he monosyllable ‘ No,’ confusedly uttered in reply. substantiated his guilt. 
The policeman made him*his prisoner; he was thrown into jail; tried; fonné 
euilty of wilful murder; and hanged. — * 
A tew months afterwards, we happened to be travelling by rail from Padding 
to Slough, in a carriage filled with people all strangers to one another. Like bngl 
travellers, they were all mute. For nearly fifteen miles no one had uttered a ‘singh 
word, until a short-bodied, short-necked, short-nosed, exceedingly respectable-] 
ing man ia the corner, fixing bis eyes on the apparent)y fleeting posts and rails of the 
electric telegraph. significantly nodded to us as he muttered aloud: *‘ ‘hem’s the cords 
that hung John Tawell!’ MK 


. 
+ 


T. C. HALIBURTON. au 


THOMAS CHANDLER HaAurpurton (1796-1865), long a judge 
Nova Scotia, is author of a series of amnsing works illustrative 
American and e¢olonial manners; marked by shrewd, sarcastic 
marks on ‘political questions, the colonies, slavery, domestic inst 
tions and customs, and almost every familiar topic of the day. — 
first series—which had previously been inserted as letters in a Ni 
Scotia paper—appeared in acollested form under the title of ‘ 
Clockmaker, or the Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick of 5 
ville.’ A second series was published in 1888, and a third in 1 
‘Sam Slick’ was a universal favourite, and in 1843-the suthor ¢ 
ceived the idea of bringing him to England. ‘The Attaché, or 
Slick in England,’ gives an account of the sayings and doings of 
clockmaker when elevated to the dignity of the ‘Honourable 
Slick, Attaché of the American Legation-to the court of St Jame 
There 1s the same quaint humour, acute observation, and laugh 
exaggeration in these volumes as in the former. but, on the wh 
Sam is most amusing on the other side of the Atlantic. Mr. 
burton has also written an ‘ Account of Nova Scotia,’ 1828; ‘ Bubb 
of Canada,’ 1839; ‘The Old Judge, or Life in a Colony,’ and ‘ Letter 
bag of the Great Western,’ 18389; ‘Rule and Misrule of the Engli 

in. America,’ 1851; ‘ Yanke» Stories, and Traits of American Hu 
mour,’ 1852; ‘Nature and Human Nature,’ 1855. a 

We must do our publishers the justice to say, that the first per 
eal in Great Britain which noticed Mr. Haliburton’s works 
*Chambers’s Journal,’ 


* 


~ = ~ . f 


“HALIRURTON.| | ENGLISH LITERATUEE. 181 


Soft Sawder and Human Natrr. 


¥n the course of a journey which Mr. Slick performs in company with the repor- 
ter of his humours, the latter asks him how, in a country so poor as Nova Scotia, 
he contrives to sell so many clocks. ‘ Mr. Siick paused,’ continues the author, ‘as if 
considering the propriety of auswering the question, and looking me in the face, 
~ said, in a confidential tone: ** Why, I don’t care if I do tell you, for the market-is 
_giutted, and I shall quit this circuit. It is done by a knowledge of soft sawder 
and human natar. But here is Deacon Flint’s,” said he; “I have but one clock 
left, and I guess I will sell it to him.” At the gate of a most comfortable-look'ng 
_farm-house stood Deacon Flint, a respectable old Iman, who had understood the value 
_of time better than most of his neighbours. if one might judge from the appearance 
Of everything about him. After the usual salutation, an invitation to alight was aes 
cepted by Mr. Slick, who said ** he wished to take leaye of Mrs. Flint before he left 
- Colchester.” We had hardly entered the house, before the Clockmaker pointed to 
the view from the window and addressing himself to me, said: “If I was to tell 
them in Connecticut there was such a farm as this away down east bere in Nova 
Scotia, they wouldu’t believe me—why, there ain’t such a location in all New Eng- 
land. ‘the deacon has a hundred acres of dike” * ** Seventy,” said the dea- 
-con—* only seventy.” ‘> Well, seventy; but then there is your fine deep bottom; 
why, Icould run a ramrod into iit. ‘hen there is that wa er-privilege, worth three 
or tour thousand dollars, twice as good as what Governor Cass paid fifteen thousand 
for. I wonder, deacon, you don’t put up a carding-miil on it: the same works would 
carry a turning-lathe, a shingle machine, a circular saw, grind bark, and” 
“Too old,” said the deacon—‘‘too old for all those speculations.” “ Od!” re- 
peated the Clockmaker—* not you; why, you are worth half a dozen of the 
young men we see nowadays.” ‘The deacon was pleased. ‘‘ Your beasts. dear me, 
your beasts must be put iu and have afeed;” saying which, he went out to order them 
‘to be taken to the stable. As the old gentleman closed the door after him. Mr. Slick 
drew near to me, and said in an undertone: * That is what I call soft sawder, An 
Englishman would pass that man asasheep passesa hog ina pasture—without 
looking at him. Now I find” Here his lecture on soft-sawder was cut short 
by the entrance of Mrs. Flint.“ Jist come to say good-bye. Mrs. Flint.” What! 
have you sold all your clocks?” ‘Yes, and very low, too. for money is scarce. and 
I wished to close the consarn ; no, Tam wrong in saying all, for [have just one left. 
Neighbour Steel’s wife asked to have the refusal of it, but I guess T won ’t sell it. 
“Thad but two of them, this one and the feller of it. that I sold Governor Lincoln. Gen- 
eral Green, secretary of state for Maine, said he’d give me fifty dollars for this here one 
‘—it has composition wheels and patent axles: it isa beautiful article—a real first chop 
—no mistake, genuine superfine; but I guess ll take it back: and. b side. Squire 
‘Hawk might think it ba d that I did not give him the offer.” “ Dear me.” said Mrs. 
Fiint. ‘“Tshould like to see it; where is it?” “It isin a chest of mine over the way, 
at Tom Tape’s store; T eness he can ship it on to Eastport.” “ That ’sa good man,” 
‘Said Mrs. Flint, “jist let’s look at it.’ Mr Slick. willing to oblige, yielded to these 
entreaties, and soon produced the clock—a gaudy. highly varnished, trumpery-looking 
affair. He placed it on the chimney-piece, where ifs beauties were pointed out 
and duly appreciated by Mrs. Flint, whose admiration was about ending ina pro- 
osal. when Mr. Flint returned from giving his directions about the care of the 
horses. The deacon praised the clock; he, too, thought it a handsome one; but the 
‘deacon was 2 prudent man: he hada watch, he was sorry, but-he had no occasion 
fora clock. ‘I guess you’re in the wrong furrow this time. deacon: in ain’t for 
sale.” said Mr. Slick; ‘‘and if it was, I reckon neighbor Steel’s wife would have it, 
for she gives me no peace about it.” Mrs. Flint said that Mr. Steel had enough todo, 
poor man, to pay his interest. without buying clocks for his wife. “It’s no corsain of 
mine,” said Mr. Slick, *‘as long as he pays me. what he has to do: but I encss I 
don’t want to sel] it; and beside, it comes too high: that clock can’t be made at 
Rhode Island under forty doliars.— Why, it an’t possible !” said the Clockmaker. in 
apparent surprise, looking at his watch; “why, as I’m alive, it is four o’clock, and if 
Thayn’t been two hours here—how on airth stall I reach’ River Philip to-night ? 
[li tell you what Mrs. Fhnt: I'll leave the clock in your care ti!l I return on my way 
ISLE ates a el aan “pie ee 


*Flat rich land diked in from the sea. 


> ‘ . — 5 ee QO Ee eS 2 ee a Y 

St aes os git tae <4 ptr es pan eae an : 

s ee + ee tobe Foe oe - 
» ‘ ~! ‘ a < a 
2 “ . ~ > = 

~ » 


182 CYCLOPEDIA OF ~——S™—=«S ro. 1876. 


YR a eee 


to the States—Ill set it agoing, and put it to the right time.” As soon as this oper- 
ation was performed, he delivered the key to the deacon with a sort Of serio-comic 
injunction to wind up the cloek every Saturday night,which Mrs. Flintsaidshe would — 
take care should be done, and promised to remind her husband of it, in case he should 
chance to forget it. : 

“That,” said the Clockmaker, as soon as we were mounted, “ that I call human - 
natur ! Now, that clock is sold for forty dollars—it cost me just six dollars and fifty ~ 
cents. Mrs. Flint will never Jet Mrs. Steel have the refusal—nor will the deacon learn 
until I call for the clock, that having once indulged in the use of a superfluity, it is 
difficult to give it up. .We can do without any article of luxury we have never had, — 
but when once obtained, itis not in human natur to surrender it voluntarily. Of- 
fifteen thousand sold by myself and partners in this province, twelve thousand were ~ 
left in this manner, and only ten clocks were ever returned—when we called for them, 
they invariably bought them. We trust to soft sawder to get them into the house, 
and to human natur that they never come out of it.””’ 


a A ait 


THOMAS MILLER—W. HONE—MISS8S COSTELLO. 


Among the littérateurs inspired—perhaps equally—by the love of ~ 
nature and admiration of the writings of Miss Mitford and the — 
Howitts, was THomas MILLER (1809-1874), a native of Gainsborough, — 
-one of the humble, happy, industrious self-taught sons of genius. — 
He was brought up to the trade of a basket-maker, and while thus —~ 
obscurely labouring ‘ to consort with the muse and support a family,’ ~ 
he attracted attention by his poetical effusions. Through the kind- — 
ness of Mr. Rogers, our author was placed in the more congenial — 
situation of a bookseller, and had the gratification of publishing and — 
selling his own writings. Mr. Miller was the author of various — 
works: ‘A Day in the Woods,’ ‘ Royston Gower,’ ‘ Fair Rosamond,’ — 
‘Lady Jane Grey,’ and other novels. Several volumes of rural de- ~ 
scriptions and poetical effusions also proceeded from his pen. | 
The ‘ Every-day Book,’ ‘ Table Book,’ and ‘ Year Book,’ by WILLIAM ~ 
Hone (1779-1842), published in 1833, in four large volumes, with 
above five hundred wood-cut illustrations, form a calendar of popular ~ 
English amusements, sports, pastimes, ceremonies, manners, customs, — 
and events incident to every day in the year. Mr. Southey has said — 
of these works: ‘I may take the opportunity of recommending the 
*‘Every-day Book ” and ‘‘ Table Book ” to those who are interested in — 
the preservation of our national and local customs: by these very ~ 
curicus publications their compiler has rendered good service in an” 
important department of literature.’ Charles Lamb was no less” 
eulogistic. Some political parodies written by Hone led to his prose-— 
cution by the government of the day, in which the government was 
generally condemned. Hone was acquitted and became popular ;_ 
the parodies are now forgotten, but the above works will preserve 
his name. a 
A number of interesting narratives of foreign travel were published — 
by Miss Lovrsa Stuart CosTeLLo, who died in 1870; she com- 
menced her literary career in 1835 with ‘Specimens of the Early 
Poetry of France.’ Her principal works are—‘A Summer among 
the Bocages and Vines,’ 1840 ; ‘A Pilgrimage to Auvergne, fr 


Sti Pr aan t? ah a 


"mrs, JAMESON.] = ENGLISH LITERATURE, 183 


_ -Picardy to Le Velay,’ 1842 ; ‘Béarn and the Pyrenees,’ 1844 ; ‘The 

Falls, Lakes, and Mountains of North Wales,’ 1845 ; «A Tour to and 

from Venice by the Vaudois and the Tyrol,’ 1846 ; &c. Miss Cos- 

tello was also one of the band of lady-novelists, having written ‘The 

Queen Mother,’ ‘Clara Fane,’ &.; and in 1840 she published a serieg 

of ‘ Memoirs of Eminent Englishwomen,’ commencing with the 
reign of Elizabeth. i 

MRS. JAMESON. 


On subjects of art and taste, and generally in what may be termed 
_ elegant literature, the writings of Mrs. ANNA JAMESON (1797-1860) 
- occupy a prominent place. They are very numerous, including— 
‘The Diary of an Ennuyée, (memoranda made during a tour in France 
and Italy), 1826; ‘ Loves of the Poets,’ two volumes, 1829; ‘ Lives of 
Celebrated Female Sovereigns,’ two volumes, 1831; ‘ Characteristics 
of Women,’ two volumes, 1832; ‘ Beauties of the Court of Charles II.’ 

_ (memoirs accompanying engravings from Lely’s portraits), two vol 
umes, 1833; ‘ Visits and Sketches at. Home and Abroad,’ two vol- 
umes, 1884; ‘ Winter Studies and Summer Rambles in Canada,’ three 
volumes, 1838; ‘ Rubens, his Life and Genius,’ translated from the 
German of Dr. Waagen, 1840; ‘Pictures of the Social Life of Ger- 
many, as represented in the Dramas of the Princess Amelia of Sax- 
ony, 1840; ‘ Hand-book to the Public Galleries of Art,’ two volumes, 
1842; ‘Companion to Private Galleries of Art in and “near London,’ 
1844; ‘Memoirs of the Early Italian Painters,’ two volumes, 1845; 
‘Memoirs and Essays on Art, Literature and Social Morals,’ 1846; 
‘Sacred and Legendary Art,’ two volumes, 1848; ‘ Legends of the 
Monastic Orders,’ 1850: < Legends of the Madonna,’ 1852; ‘ Common-- 
place Book of Thoughts, Memories and Fancies,’ 1854; ‘Sisters of 

_ Charity,’ a lecture, 1855; ‘The Communion of Labour,’ a lecture, 
1856; with various communications to literary journals. In sucha 
variety of works, all, of course, cannot be equal—some bear the 

_ appearance of task-work; but generally we may apply to Mrs. Jame- 
Son the warm eulogium of Prof. Wilson: she is ‘ one of the most clo- 
_ quent of our female writers; full of feeling and fancy; a true enthu- 
siast with a glowing soul.’ On the subject of art, her writing is next 
‘to that of Ruskin; to intense love of the beautiful, she adds a fine 
discriminating and cultivated taste, with rich stores of knowledge. 
Mrs. Jameson was a native of Dublin, daughter of Mr. Murphy, an 
artist of ability. Having married a barrister named Jameson, who 
accepted an official appointment in Canada, she resided there for some 
time, but her marriage proving unhappy, a separation took place, and 
‘Mrs. Jameson returned to England and devoted herself to literature— 
especially the literature of art. Her latest work (which she. did not 
live to complete, but which was finished by Lady Eastlake) was an 
“account of the ‘Scriptural and Legendary History of our Lord, as 

represented in Christian Art.’ 


SS ETO. B76. 


184 CYCLOPZEDIA OF 
Counsel to Young Ladies.—An Eastern Apologue. +o. 7m 

Tt is a common obser. ation, that girls of lively talents are apt to grow pert and _ 
satirical. I fell into this danger when about ten years old. - Sallies at the expense of 
ce'tain people, iil-looking, or il'-dressed, or ridiculous, or foolish. Fad been laughed at 
and applauded in company, until, without being naturally malignant, I ran some risk — 
of becoming so from sheer vanity. 

The tables which appeal to our high moral sympathies may sometimes do as 
much for us asthe truths of science. So thought our Saviour when he taught the 
multitude in parables. A good clergyman who lived near ns, a famous Persian 
scholar, took it iuto his head to teach me Persian—J was then about seven years old 
—and I set to work with infinite delight and earnestness. All I learned was soon 
forgotten ; but 2 few years afterwards, happening to stumble on a volume of Sir Wil- — 
liam Jones’s works—his Persian Grammar—it revived my orientalism, and I began — 
-to study it cagerly. Among the exercises given was a Persian fable or poem—one — 
of those traditions of our Lord which are preserved in the East. The beautiful apo- ~ 
legue of St. Peter and the cherries, which Gocthe has versified or imitated, is a well- — 
known example. ‘This fable I allude to was something similar, but I have not met — 
wich the original these forty years, and must give it here from memory. a 

‘ Jesus,’ suys the story, “arrived One evening at the gates of a certain city, and 3 
he sent his discip!es forward to prepare supper, while lhe himself, intent on doing 
good, walked through the streets into.the market-place. And he saw at the corner of 
the market some people gathered together looking at an object on the ground: and ~ 
he drew near to see what it might be. Itwas a dead dog, with a halter round his — 
neck, by which he appeared to have been Cragged through the dirt; and a viler, a 
more abject, a more uuclean thing, never met the eyesof man. And those who stood ~ 
by looked on with abhorrence. ‘* Faugh!” said one, stopping his nose; ‘it pollutes — 
the air.” “ How Jong,” said another, ‘‘shall this foul beast offend our sight?” 
** Look at his tern hide,” said a third; ‘fone could not even cut a shoe out of it.” 
“And his ears,” said a fourth, ‘all draggled and bleeding!” ‘*No doubt,” said a_ 
fifth, ** he hath been hanged for thieving!’ And Jesus heard them, and looking 
down compassionat:ly on the dead creature, he said: ‘* Pearls are not equal to the 
whiteness of his teeth!” ‘I'hen the people turned towards him with amazement, and 
said among themselves: ‘‘ Who is this? this must be Jesus of Nazareth, for only He — 
. could find something to pity and approve even in a dead dog ;” and being ashamed, © 
they bowed their heads before him, and went each on his way.’ ; aie 
~ I can recall, at this hour, the vivid, yet softening and pathetic impression left on 
my fancy by this old Eastern story. It struck me as exquisitely humorous, as well — 
as exquisitely beautiful. It gave me a pain in my conscience, for it seemed thencefor- ~ 
ward so easy and so vulgar to say satirical things, and so much nobler to be benign 
and merciful, and I look the lesson so home, that I was in great danger of falling into ~ 
the opposite extreme—seeking the beautiful even in the midst of the corrupt and — 

s 


the repulsive. ‘ 
Pictures of the Madonna. ‘| 


Of the pictures in our galleries, public or private—of the architectural adornments 
of those majestic edifices which sprung up in the middle ages (where they haye not 
heen desnoiled or desecrated by a zeal as fervent as that which reared them), t 
largest and most beautiful portion have reference to the Madonna—her character. h 
person, her history. It was a theme which never tired her votaries—whether, a8 in 
the hands of great and sincere arti-ts, if became one of the noblest and loveliest. or, 
as in the hans of superficial, unbelieving, time-serving artists, one of the most de- _ 
graded. All that human genius, inspired by faith. could achieve best—ail that fanati- — 
cism. sensualism..ath-ism, could perpetuate of worst, do we find in the cycle of_ 
those representations which have heen dedicated to the glory of the Virgin. And, 
indeed. the ethics of the Madonna worship, as evolved in art, might be not unaptl 
likened to the ethics of hnman love: so long as the object of sense remained in sub 
jection to the moral idea—so long as the appeal was to the best of our faeulties and 
affections—so long was the image grand or refined. and the influences to be ranked 
with those which have helped to humanise and civilise our race; but s0 soon as th 
eee eae a mere idol, then worship and worshippers, art and artists, were togeth 

egraded. Ree 


fm we te hos ge —— —— ne 
e 


‘ ‘ 


i me a pes 2 y. Se coe ep ae : - s 
MRS. JAMESON.) §.ENGLISH LITERATURE. oes 188 


Aq 
; 


- The Loves of the Poets. 


a The theory which I wish to illustrate, as far as my limited powers permit, is this 
_ that where a woman has been exalted above the rest of her sex by the talents of & 
lover, and consigned to enduring fame and perpetuity of praise, the passion was real, 
and was merited ; thatno deep or lasting interest was ever founded in fancy or in fic- 
tion ; that truth, in short, is the basis of all excellence in aiatory poetry as in every- 
thing else; for where truth is, there is good of some sort, and where there is truth 
and good, there must be beauty, there must be durability of fame. Truth is the 
go'den chain which links the terrestrial with the celestial, which sets the seal of Heaven 
on the things of this earth, and stamps them to immortality. Poets have risen up 
and been the mere fashion of a day. and have set up idols which have been the idols 
_Ofaday. If the worship be out of date, and the idols cast down, it is because those 
_ adorers wanted sincerity of purpose and feeling; their raptures were feigned; their 
“i>cense was bought or adulterate. In the brain orin the fancy, one beauty may 
eclipse another—one coquette may drive out another, and, tricked off in -airy verse, 
they float away unregarded like morning vapours, which the beam of genius has 
tinged with a transient brightness ; but let the heart be once touched, and it is not 
only wakened but inspired ; the lover kindled into the poet presents to her he loves 

_ his cup of ambrosial praise ; she ta-tes—and the womun is transmuted into a divinity. 
When the Grecian sculptor curved out his deities in marb’e, and left us wondrous 
and godlike shapes, impersonations of ideal grace unapproachable by modern skiil, 
was it through such mechanical superiority? No; it was the spirit of faith within 
which shadowed to his imagination what he would represent. In the same manuer, 
no woman has ever been truly, lastingly deified in poetry, but in the spirit of truth 


and love. ~ 
The Studious Monks of the Middle Ages. 


But for the monks, the light of liberty, and literature. and science, had been for 
ever extinguished ; and for six centuries there existed for the thoughtful, the gentle, 
_ the inquiring, the devout spirit, no peace, no security. no home but the cloister. 
There, Learning trimmed her lamp; there, Contemplation ‘pruned her wings;’ 
there, the traditions of art. preserved from age to age by lonely studious men, kept 
alive, in form and colour, the idea of a beauty beyond that of earth— of a might be- 
yond that of the spear and the shield—of a Divine sympathy with suffering 
humanity. ‘To this we may add another and a stronger cluim to our respect and 
moral sympathies, The protection and the better education given to women in 
these early communities: the venerable and distinguished rank assigned to them 
when. as governesses of their order, they became in a manner dignitaries of the 
church ; the introduction of their beautiful and saintly effigies. clothed with ail the 
; pusignis of sanctity and authority, into the decoration of places of worship and 
books of devotion—did more, perhaps, for the general cause of womanhood than all 
the boasted institutions of chivalry. 


=x 


a 


Venice—Canaletti and ‘Turner. 


; It is this all-pervading presence of light. and this snffusion of rich colour glow- 
- ng through the deepest shadows, which make the very life and soul of Venice; but 
_ not all who have dwelt in Venice, and breathed her air and lived in her life. have 

felt their influences ; it is the want of them which 'enders so many of Canaletti’s pic- . 
_ tures false and unsetisfactory—to meat least. Allthetime I wasat Venice I wasin @ 
rave with Canalet&. Icculd not come upon a palace, or a church, or a corner of a 
canal which I had not seen in one or other of his pictures. At every moment I was 

» reminded of him. But how has he painted Venice! Just.as we ave the face of av 
beloved friend reproduced by the daguerreotype. or by some bad conscientious 
‘psinter—some fellow who gives us eyes, nose, and mouth by measure of compass. 
_and leaves ont all sentiment. all countenance; we cannot deny the identity, and we 
cannot endure it. Where in Canaletti are the glowing evening skies—the trauspar- 
ent gleaming waters—the bright green of the vine-shadowed Traghetto—the fresh- 
ness and the glory—the dreamy, aérial, fantastic splendour of this city of the 
sea? Look at one of his pictures—all is real, opaque, solid, stony. formal ; 
- even his skies and water—and is that Venice? ‘But,’ says my friend, ‘if you 


" E.L.V8—7 


i - 


= : Re oy ea ieee 


shall I findit?. Venice is like a dream—but this dream-upon. the canvas, do — 
you call this Venice ? The exquisite precision of form, the wondrous beauty of: 3 
detail, the clear, delicate lincs of the flying perspective—so sharp and defined in the 
midst of a flood of brightness—where are they ? Canaletti gives us the forms without — ; 
the colour or light.‘ urner, the colour and light without the forms. Butif you would 
take into your soul the very soul and inwaid life and spirit of Venice—breathe the . ‘ 
; 
: 


a . 

would have Venice, seek it in Turner’s pictures!’ True, I may seek it, but ; 
; 

3 


- 


f 


saine air—go to Titian ; there is more of Venice in his * Cornaro Family,’ or his‘ Pe- ~~ 
saro Madonna,’ than in all the Canalettis in the corridor at Windsor. Beautiful they — 4 
are, I must needs say it; but when I think of Enchanting Venice, the most beautiful —- 
are to me like prose translations of poetry—petrifactions, materialities ; ‘ We start, for 
jife is wanting there!’ I know not how it is, but certainly things that would else- — 4 
where displease, delight us at Venice. It has been said, for instance, ‘put down the » 
church of St. Mark anywhere but in the Piazza, itis barbarous ;’ here, where east and_ 
west have met to blend together, itis glorious. And agan, with regard to the sepul- 
chral effigies in our churches—I have always been of Mr. Westmacott’s principles and 
party; always on the side of those who denounce the intrusion of monuments of) 
human pride insolently paraded in God’s temple; and surely cavaliers on prancing ~ _ 
horses in a chsrch should seem the very acme of such irreverence and impregpriety ~ 
in taste; but here the impression is far different. O those awful, grim. mounted ~~ 
warriors and dogs. highover our heads against the walls of the San Giovannie Paolo 
and the Frari!—man and horse in panoply Of state, colossal, lifelike—suspended, as 
it were, so far above us, that we cannot conceive how they came there, or are kept 
there, by human means alone. It seems as though they had been lifted up and fixed ~ 
on their airy pedestals as by a spell. At whatever hour I visited those churches, and — 
that was almost daily, whether morn, or noon. or in the deepening twilight, still did 
those marvellous effigies—man and steed, and trampled Turk; or mitred doge, up- | 
right and stiff in his saddle—fix me as if fascinated; and still T looked up at them, — 
wondering every day with anew wonder. and scarce repressing the startled exclama- 
tion. ‘Good heavens, how came they there?’ And not to forget the great wonder of 
modern times—I hear people talking of a railway across the Lagune. as if it were to 
unpoetise Venice; as if this new approach were a malignant invention to bring the 
syren of the Adriatic into the ‘ dull catalogue of common things.’ and they call on me 
to join the outcry, to echo sentimental denunciations, quoted out of *Murray’s Hand- — 
book ? but I cannot—I have no sympathy with them. ~T’o me. that tremendous bridge, 
spanning the sea, only adds to the wonderful one wonder more; tp great sources Of 
thought one yet greater. Those persons, methinks, must be strangely prosaic au fond — 
who.-can see poetry in a Gothic pinnacle, or a crumbling temple, or a gladiator’s cir- 
cus, and in this gigantic causeway and its seventy-five arches, traversed with flery — 
speed by dragons, brazen-winged, to which neither alp nor ocean can oppose a bar- 
rier—nothing but a commonplace. Imust say I pity them. Jsee a future fraught -¥ 


ie 


with hopes for Venice, k 
Twining memories of old time Pe 

With new virtues more sublime! i 

CHARLES WATERTON. : 3 


ing. Mr. Waterton set out from his seat of Walton Hall, Wakefield, 

in 1812, to wander ‘through the wilds of Demerara and Essequibo, _ 
with the view to reach the inland frontiey fort of Portuguese.Guiana; — 
to collect a quantity of the strongest Wourali poison; and to catch” 
and stuff the beautiful birds which abound in that part of South 
America.’ He made two more journeys to the same territories—in — 
1816 and 1820—and in 1825 published his ‘Wanderings in South ~ 
America, the North-west of the United States, and the Antilles.’ His 
fatigues and dangers were numerous. et * 


ye 


beta 


4 Bee oe gS : Bete / s = 


5 Ts : 2 ai ee ° & 
A-<¢ r. - ~ . be mle 
‘im ’ 4 “~ 


WATERTON. ) ENGLISH LITERATURE. 187 - 


oe 


es In order to pick up matter for natural history, I have wandered 

hrough the wildest parts of South America’s equinoctial regions. I 

nave attacked and slain a modern python, and rode on the back of a 
_cayman Close to the water’s edge; a very different situation from that 

of a Hyde-Park dandy on his Sunday prancer before the ladies. 

Alone and barefoot I have pulled poisonous snakes out of their lurk- 

ing-places; climbed up trees to peep into holes.for bats and vampires; 

and for days together hastened through sun and rain to the thickest 

parts of the forest to procure specimens I had never seen before.’ 

The adventures of the python and cayman—or the snake and cro- 

_ -codile—made much noise and amusement at the time, and the latter 

feat formed the subject of a caricature. Mr. Waterton had long 
| --wished to obtain one of those enormous snakes called Coulacanara, 
_ _ and at length he saw one coiled up in his den. He advanced towards 

it stealthily, and with his lance struck it behind the neck and fixed it 

to the ground. 
Adventure with the Snake. 

That moment the negro next to me seized the lance and held it firm in its place, 
while I dashed head foremost into the den to grapple with the snake, and to get hold 
of his tail before he could do any mischief. 

- On pinning him to the ground with the Jance, he gave a tremendous loud hiss, and 
the little dog ran away, howling as he went. We had asharp fray in the den, the 
~ rotten sticks flying on all sides, and each party struggling for the superiority. I 

“called out.to the second negro to throw himself upon me, as I found I was not heavy 
~ ~enough. He did so, and his additional weight was of great service. I had now got 
_ _ firm hold of his tail, and after a violent struggle or two he gave in, finding himself 

overpowered. This wus the moment to secure him. So while the first negro con- 

tinued to hold the lance firm to the ground, and the other was helping me, I con- 
-  trived to unloose my braces, and with them tied up the snake’s mouth. : 
The snake. now finding himself in an unpleasant situation, tried to better him- 
self, and set resolutely to work, but we overpowered him, [it measured fourteen 
feet, and was of great thickness.] We contrived to. make him twist himself round 
the shaft of the lance, and then prepared to convey him out of the forest. I stood 
at his head and held it firm under my arm, one negro supported tle belly, and the 
other the tail. In this order we begun to move slowly towards home, and reached it 
after resting ten times. : 

On the following day, Mr. Waterton killed the animal, securing 
its skin for Walton: Hall. The crocodile was seized on the Essequibo. 
He had been tantalised for three days with the hope of securing one 
-of the animals. He baited a shark-hook with a large fish, and at last 

_ was successful. The difficulty was to pull-him up. The Indians 
proposed shooting him with arrows; but this the ‘ Wanderer’ resisted. 

‘I had come above three hundred miles ou purpose to catch a cay- 

man uninjured, and not to carry back a mutilated specimen.’ The 

men pulled, and out he came—Mr. Waterton standing armed with 
the mast of the cance, which he proposed to force down the animal's 
throat. 
= Riding on a Crocodile. 
By the time the cayman was within two yards of me, I saw he was in a state of 
Year and perturbation; I instantly dropped the mast, sprung up and jumped on his 
_ back, turning half round as I vaulted, so that I gained my seat with my face ina 


is a 


188 CYCLOPAEDIA OF [to 1876. 
Tight position. I immediately seized his fore-legs, and by main force twisted them 

ou his back; thus they served me for a bridle. He now seemed to have recovered — 
from his surprise, and. probably fancying himself in hostile company, he began to — 
plunge furiously, and lashed the sand with his long and powerful tail. I was out of 
re .ch of the strokes of it, by being near his head. He continued to plunge and 
strike, and made my seat very uncomfortable. It must have been a fine sight foran 
unoccupied spectator. The people roared’ out in triumph, and were so vociferous, 
that it was-some time before they heard me tell them to pull me and my beastof 
burden further inland. I was apprehensive the rope might break, and thenthere 
would have been every chance of going down to the regions under water with the ~_ 
cayman. That would have been more perilous than Arion’s marine morning ride— 


Delphini insidens, vada csearyla sulcat Arion. a0 Sa 
The people now dragged us above forty yards cn the sand: 1t was the first and last 
time I was ever on a Cayman’s back. Should it be asked how I managed to keep my ~ E 
seat, I would answer, I hunted some years with Lord Darlington’s fox-hounds. ES 
The cayman, killed and stuffed, was also added to the curiosities of 
- Walton Hall. Mr. Waterton’s next work was ‘ Essays on Natural — 
History, chiefly Ornithology, with an Autobiography of the Author — 
and a view of Walton Hall,’ 1838—reprinted with additions in 1851. 
His account of his family—an old Roman Catholic family that had 
suffered persecution from the days of Henry VII. downwards—isa — 
quaint, amusing chronicle ; and the notes on the habits of’ birds 
shew minute observation, as well as a kindly genial spirit on the part — 
of the eccentric squire. ae 


Fw 


4 


ELIOT WARBURTON. j . a 


As atraveller, novelist, and historical writer, Mr. Enror WARBUR- — 
TON, an English barrister (1810-1852), was a popular though incor- — 
rect author. He had a lively imagination and considerable power of — 
description, but these were not always under the regulation of taste — 
or judgment. His first work, ‘The Crescent andthe Cross, or Ro- — 
mance and Realities of Eastern Travel,’ 1844, is the best of his pro- — 
ductions. To ride on a crocodile was Mr. Waterton’s unparalleled — 
feat, and Mr. Warburton thus describes his first shot at a crocodile, — 
which, he said, was an epoch in his life. aoe 


Crocodile Shooting in the Nite. eo 


We had only now arrived in the waters where they abound, for it is a curions fact 
that none are ever seen below Mineyeh, though Herodotus speaks of them as fighting 
with the dolphins at the mouths of the Nile. A prize had been offered for the first 
man who detected a crocodile, and the crew had now been for two days on the alert _ 
in search of them. Buoyed up with the expectation of such game, we had latterly 
reserved our fire for them exclusively, and the wild duck and turtle, nay, even the 
vuiture and the eagle. had swept past or soared above us in security, At length. the ~ 
cry of *Timseach, timseach !’ was heard from half-a-dozen claimants of the proffered 
prize, and half-a-dozen black fingers were eagerly pointed to a spit of sand, on whien 
were strewn appzrently some logs of trees. It was a covey of crocodiles! Hastily ~ 
and si ently the boat was run in-shore. R was il, so I had the enterprise to my= 
self. and clambered up the steep bank with a quicker pulse than when J first Jeyelled — 
a rifle at a Highland deer. My intended victims might have prided themselves On — 
their superior nonchalance; and, indeed, as I approached them. there seemed to” 
be a sneer on their ghastly mouths and winking eyes. Slowly they rose. one after ~ 
the other, aud waddicd to the water, all but one. the most gallant or most gorged of 
the party. He lay still until I was within a hundred yards of him; then slowly ris-— 


7 : ; 5 e 5 3 Jes a ny 


We 2 


WARBURTON.]) = ENGLISH LITERATURE. 189 


ing on his finlike legs, he lumbered towards the river, looking askance at me with an 
expression of count nance that seemed to say: ‘He can do me no harm ; however, 
‘IT may as-welf have aswim.’ I took aim at the throat of this supercilious brute, 
and, 2s soon as my hand steadied, the very pulsation of my finger pulled the trigger. 
Bang {went the gun; whiz! flew the bullet; and my excited ear could catch the 
thud with which it plunged into the scaly leather of his neck. His waddle became ¢ 
plunge, the weves closed over him, and the sun shone on the calin water, as Treached 
the brink of the shore, that was stil indented by the waving of his gigantic tail. . 
But there is blood upon the water, and he rises for a moment to the surface. ‘A 
hundred piasters for the timseach!’ I exclaimed, and balf-a-dozen Arabs plunged 

“into the stream. ‘There! he rises again, and the blacks dash at him asif he had n’t 
a tooth in his head. Now he is gone, the waters close over him, aud I never saw 
him since. From that time we saw hundreds of crocodiles of all sizes, and fized 
shots enough at them for a Spanish revoiution ; but we never could get possession of 
any, even if we hit them, which to this day remains uncertain. I believe each trav- 
eller, who is honest enough, will make the same confession. 


ln the same work is a striking incident illustrative of savage life: 
Nubian Revenge. 


There appears to be a wild caprice amongst the institutions, if such they may be 
calied, of all these tropical nations. Ina neighbouring state to that of Abyssinia, 
the king, when appointed to the r-gal dignity. retires into xn island, and is never 
.aguin visible to the eyes of men but once—when his ministers come to strargle him; 

for it may not be that the proud monarch of Behr should die a natural death, No 
men, with this fatal exception, are ever allowed even to set foot upon the island, 
which is guarded by a band of Amazons. In another border country, called Habeesh, 
the monarch is dignified with the title of Tiger. He was formeily Malek of Shendy, 
when it was invaded by Ismael Pasha, and was even then designated by tuis fierce 
cognomen. Ismael. Mehemet Ali’s second son, advanced through Nubia, claiming 
tr- bute and submission from all the tribes. Nemmir—which. signifies Tiger—the 
- king of Shendy, received him hospitably, as Mahmoud, our dragoman. informed us, 
and, when he was seated in his tent, waited on him to learn his pleasure. ‘My 
pleasure is,’ replied the invader, ‘that you forthwith furnish me with slaves. cattle, 
and money to the value of one hundred thousand dollars.’ ‘Pooh! said Nemmir, 
‘you jest; all my country could not produce what you require in one hundred 
moons.’ *Ha! Wallah!’ was the young pasha’s reply, and he strrck the ‘Viger across 
the face with his pipe. If he had done so to his namesake of the jungle, the in- 
sult could not have roused fiercer feelings of revenge, but the human ani- 
mal did not shew his wrath at once. ‘It is well,’ he replied; ‘Jet the 
pasha rest; to-morrow he shall have nothing more to ask.’ The Egyptian. and the 
few Mameluke officers of the staff, were tranquilly smoking towards evening, enter- 
tained by some dancing-girls, whom the ‘Tiger had sent to amuse them; when they 
observed that a buge pile of dried stacks of Indian corn was rising rapidly round 
the tent. ‘What means this?’ inquired Ismael angrily; ‘am notI pasha?’ ‘It is 
_ but forage for your highne+s’s horses,’ replied the Nubian, ‘for. were your troops 
once arrived, the people would fear to approach the camp.’ Suddenly. the space is 
filled with smoke, the tent curtains shrivel up in flames. and the pasha and his 
comrades find themselves encircled in what they well. know is their funeral pyre. 
Vuainly the invader implores mercy. and assures the Tiger of his warm regard for 
him and all his family; vainly he endeavours to break through the fiery fence that 
girds him round; a thousand spears bore him back into the flames, and the ‘iger’s 
triumphant yell and bitter mockery mingle with his dying screams, The Egyptians 
perished toaman. Nemmir escaped up the country, ercwn d with savage glory, 
and married the dxughter of a king. who soon left him his successor, and the Tiger 
still defies the old pasha’s power. ‘The latter. however, took a terrible revenge upon 
* his peopl: : he burned all the inhahitants of the village nearest to the scene of his 
son’s slaughter. and cut off the right hands of five hundred men besides. So much 
for African warfare. 


- The other works of Mr. Eliot Warburton are—‘ Hochelaga, or 


\ 


ie = Z 


190... 8 CYCLOPAIDIA OP 7 >) fro neem 


England in the New World,’ 1846 (Hochelaga is an aboriginal In ~ 
dian name for Canada); ‘Memoirs of Prince Rupert and the Cava-— 
liers,’ 1849; ‘Reginald Hastings’ and ‘Darien,’ novels, and a — 
‘Memoir of tie Earlof Peterborough ’—the famous earl (1658-1735), 
The last wes a postitumous work, published in 1853. Mr. Warburton ~ 
had been deputed by the Atlantic and Pacific Junction Company to — 
visit the tribes of Indians who inhabit the Isthmus of Darien, with — 
a view to effect a friendly understanding with them, and to make — 
himself thoroughly acquainted with their country. He sailed in the 
Amazon steamer, and was among the passengers who perished by — 
fire on board that ill-fated ship. That awful catastrophe carried ~ 
grief into many families, and none of its victims were more lamented — 
than Eliot Warburton. . ;. 


THOMAS DE QUINCEY. ia 


The ‘ Confessions of an English Opium-Eater,’ originally printed — 
in the ‘ London Magazine,’ and published in a separate form in 1822, — 
describe the personal experiences of a scholar and man of genius — 
who, like Coleridge, became a slave to the use of opium. ‘To such ~ 
an extent had he carried this baneful habit that in ‘the meridian 
stage of his career’ his daily ration was eight thousand drops of — 
Jaudanum. He had found. he says; that the solid opium required 
a length of time to expand its effects sensibly, oftentimes not less 
than four hours, whereas the tincture, laudanum, manifested its 
presence instantaneously, The author of the ‘ Confessions’ was — 
THomMAS Dre Quincey, son of an English merchant, and born August — 
15, 1785, at Greenhay, near Manchester. His father died while his” 
children were young, leaving to his widow a fortune of sixteen hun- ~ 
dred pounds a year. Thomas was educated at Bath, and subse-— 
quently at Worcester College, Oxford. When about sixteen, he ~ 
made his way to London, and tried to raise a sum of two hundred — 
pounds on his expectations from the paternal estate. He was re- — 
duced to extreme destitution by his dealings with the Jews, and by ~ 
his want of any profession or remunerative employment. He was — 
saved from perishing on the streets by a young woman he knew—one ~ 
of the unfortunate wadfs of the city—who restored him to conscious- ~ 
ness with some warm cordial, after he had fainted from exhaustion, — 
This ‘ youthful benefactress’ he tried in vain to trace in his after-” 
years. : Sally 

It is strange, as Miss Martineau has remarked, and as indeed oc- 
curred to himself when reflecting on this miserable period of his” 
life. ‘that while tortured with hunger in the streets of London for 
many weeks, and sleeping (or rather lying awake with cold and 
hunger) on the floor of an empty house, it never once occurred to him 
to earn money. Asa Classical corrector of the press, and in other 
ways, he might ne doubt have obtained employment, but it was not 


= 
os 


-pequincey.] || ENGLISH LITERATURE. 191 


till afterwards asked why he did not, that the idea ever entered his 
mind.’ His friends, fowever, discovered him before it was too late, 
and he proceedid to Oxford. . He was then in his eighteenth year. 
In the following year (1804) De Quincey seems to have first tasted 
opium. He took it as a cure for toothache, and indulged in the 
pleasing vice, as he then considered it, for about eight years. He 
continued his intellectual pursuits, married, and took up his residence 
in the Lake country, making occasional excursions to London, Bath, 


“and Edinburgh. Pecuniary difficulties at length embarrassed him, 


and, enfeebled by opium, he sank into a state of misery and torpor. 


-From this state he was roused by sharp necessity, and by the success 


of his contributions to the ‘London Magazine,’ which were highly 
prized, and seemed to open up a new source of pleasure and profit. 


_Healso contributed largely to.‘ Blackwood’s’ and‘ Tait’s ’ magazines, 


in which his ‘Autobiographic Sketches,’ ‘Recgllections of the 
Lakes,’ and other papers ‘appeared. Next to Macaulay, he was per- 
haps the most brilliant periodical writer of the day. After many 
years’ residence at Grasmere, De Quincey removed to Scotland, and 


- lived at Lasswade, near Edinburgh. He died in Edinburgh, Decem- 


+ 


ber 8, 1859, in his seventy-fifth year 

Besides the ‘ Confessions,’ Mr. De Quincey published the ‘Dia- 
logues of Three Templars on Political Economy,’ 1824; and twenty 
years later he produced. a volume on the same science—‘ The Logic 
of Political. Economy,’ 1844. The highest authority on political 


~ economy—Mr. M’Culloch—has eulogised these treatises of Mr. De 


— Quincey as completely successful in exposing the errors of Malthus 
and others in applying Ricardo’s theory of value. A collected edi- 
tion of the works of De Quincey has been published in sixteen vol- 
umes, distributed in the main, he says, into three classes: first, 
papers whese chief purpose is to interest and amuse (autobiographic 
sketches, reminiscences of distinguished tontemporaries, biographi- 

cal memoirs, whimsical narratives, and such like); secondly, essays, 
of a speculative, critical, or philosophical character, addressing the 


understanding as an insulated faculty (of these there are many); 
and, thirdly, papers belonging to the order of what may be called 


prose-pcetry—that is, fantasies or imaginations in prose—including 
the ‘Suspiria de Profundis,’ originally published in ‘ Blackwood’s 
Magazine ’—and whicl-are remarkable for pathos and eloquence. In 
all departments, De Quincey must rank high, but he would have 
been more popular had he practised the art of condensation. His 


_ episodical digressions and diffuseness sometimes overrun all limits— _ 


especially when, like Southey (in the ‘ Doctor’), he takes up some 
favourite philosophical theory or scholastic illustration, and presents 


it in every possible shape and colour. The exquisite conversation 
‘of De Quincey was of the same character—in “linked sweetness 


long drawn out,’ but rich and various in an extraordinary degree. 
His: ‘sntobiographic and personal sketches are almost as minute and 


-jife and scenery, I should go mad. ‘The causes of my horror lie deep, aud some of 


192 ‘~~. CYCLOPAIDIA OF 
unreserved as those of Rousseau, but they cannot be implicitly re- — 
lied upon. He spared neitlier neither himself nor his friends, and 
has been accused of unpardonable breaches of confidence and exag- 
ger itions, especially as respects the Wordsworth family. 1 has been 
said that if his life were written truthfully no one wouid believe it, 
so strange the tale would seem.* ‘. ay 
The following is part of the melancholy yet fascinating ‘ Confes- — 
sions.’ One day a Malay wanderer had called on the recluse author 
in his cottage at Grasmere, and De Quincey gave him a piece of ~ 
opium. _ 


kee he 


LP Ea A 


Y ae 


Dreans of the Opium-Hater. 


May 18 —The Malay has been a fearful enemy for months, Every night, through — 
his means, } have been trasported into Asiatic scenery. I know not whether others ~ 
share in my feelings on this point, but I have often thought that if I were compelled — 
+o forego England, and to live in China, and among Chinese manners and modes of 


them must be common to others. Southern Asia, in general. is the seat of awful © 
images and as<ociations. As the cradle of the human race. it would have a dim and 
reverential feeling connected with it. But there are other reasons. No man can ~ 
pretend that the wild, barbarous, and capricious superstitions of Africa, or of savage — 

tribes elsewhere, affect in the way that he is affected by the ancient, monumental, 
cruel, and elaborate religions of Indostan, &c. The mere antiquity of Asiatic things, — 
of their institutions, history, modes of faith, &c., is so impressive, that to me the vast — 
age of the race and name overpowers the sense of youth in the individual. A young 
Chinese seems to me an antediluvian man renewed. Even Englishmen, though not — 
bred in any knowledge of such institutions, cannot but shudder at the mystic sub- © 
limity of castes that have flowed apart, and refused to mix, through such immemorial — 
tracts of time; nor can any man fai! to be awed by the names of the Ganges or the ~ 
Euphrates. It contributes much to these feelings, that Southern Asia is, and has 

been for thonsands of years, the part of the earth most swarming with human life; 
the great Oficina gentiwm. Man is a weed in those regions. The vast empires, also, ~ 
junto which the enormous population of Asia has always been cast, give a further sub- — 
limity to the feelings ussociated with all oriental names or images. In China, over” 
and above what it has in common with the rest of Southern Asia, am terrified by — 
the modes of life, by the manners, and the barrier of utter abhorrence and want of 
sympathy placed between us by feelings deeper than I can analyse. I could sooner ~ 
live with lunatics or brute animals. AII this, and much more than I can say, or have 
time to ray, the reader must enter into before he can comprehend the unimaginable 
horror which these dreams of oriental imagery and mythological tortures impressed — 
upon me Under the connecting feeling of tropical heat and vertical sunlights 
brought together all creatures, birds, beasts, repules, all trees and plants, usages and 
appearances, that are to be found. in‘all tropical regions, and assembled them togeth- 
er in China or Indostan. From kindred feelings I soon brought Kgypt and all her 
gods under the same law. I was stared at, hooved at. grinned at, chattered at, by 
monkeys, by parroqnets, by cockatoos. I ran into pagodas, and was fixed for cent 
ries at the sumunit, or in secret rooms; I was the idol; I was the priest; I was wa 

7% . 


Mrs. Gordon, ‘ his(De Quincey’s) coming to Gloucester Place one stormy night. — 
remained hour aiter hour, in vain expectation that the waters would assuage. and the © 
hurly-burly cease. There was nothing for it but that our visitor should remnin all night, — 
The Professor( Wilson) ordered .room to be prepared for him, and they found each of er 
such good company, that this accidental detention was prolonged without further diffis — 
culty, for the greater part of a year... He rarely appeared at the family meals. preferring 
to dine in his own room. at his own hour, not un‘requently turning nightinto day. Am” 
ounce of luandanum per diem prostrated animal life in the early part of day. It was no” 
unirequent sight to flaud him Jying upon the rug in front of the fire, his head resting npe 

a book. with his arms crossed over his breast, plunged in profound slumber,’ 

most brilliant at supper parties, sitting till three or four in the morning. ee 


* Memoir of Professor Wiison, by his daughter, Mrs. Gordon, ‘I remember. ” ene | 
at 


pe guincey.} ENGLISH LITERATURE. 193 


_-shipped; I was sacrificed. I fled from the wrath of Brahma, through all the forests 
of Asia; Vishiuu hated me; Seeva laid wait for me. I came suddenly upon Isis and 
- Osiris; I had done a deed, they said, which the ibis and the crocodile trembled at. 
I was buried for a thousand years, in stone coffins, with mummies and sphinxes, in 
~~ narrow chambers, at the heart of eternal pyramids. Iwas kissed, with cancerous 
_ kisses, by crocodiles. and was laid, confounded with all unutterable abortions, 
amongst reeds and Nilotic mud. 
s Some slight abstraction I thus attempt of my oriental dreams, which filled me 
- always with such amazement ut the monstrous scenery, that horror seemed absorbed 
for a while in sheer astonishment. Sooner or later came a reflux of feeling that 
_ swallowed up the astonishment, and left me, not so much in terror, as in hatred and 
- abomination of what Isaw. Over every form, end threat, and punishment, and dim 
- sightless incarceration, brooded a killing sense of eternity and infinity. Into these 
_ dreams only it was, with one or two slight exceptions, that any circumstances of 
- physical horror entered. All before had been moral and spiritual terrors. But here 
~ the main agents were ugly birds, or snakes, or crocodiles, especially the last. The 
 eursed crocodile became to me the object of more horror than all the rest. I was 
compelled to live with him, and (as was always the case in my dreams) for centuries, 
- Sometimes I escaped, and found myself in Chinese houses. All the feet of the 
» tables, sofas. &c., soon became instinct with life: the abominable head of the 
~ crocodile, and his leering eyes, looked out at me, multiplied into ten thousand repeti- 
tions; and I stood loathing and fascinated. So often did this hideous reptile haunt 
my dreams, that many times the very same dream was broken up in the very same 
_ way. I heard gentle voices speaking to me (I hear everything when I am sleeping), and 
- instantly I awoke; it was broad noon, and my children were standing, hand in 
hand, at my bedside, come to shew me their coloured shoes, or new frocks, or to let 
me see them dressed for going out. No experience was so awful to me, and at the 
same time so pathetic, as this abrupt translation from the darkness of the infinite to 
’ the gaudy summer air of highest noon, and from the unutterable abortions of mis- 
created gigantic vermin to the sight of infancy and innocent human natures. 
‘3 June 1819.—I have had occasion to remark, at various periods of my life, that the 
- deaths of those whom we love, and, indeed, the contemplation of death generally, is 
(ceteris paribus) more affecting m summer than in any other season of the year. 
- And the reasons are these three, I think: first, that the visible heavens in summer 
- appear far higher, more distant, and (if such a solecism may be excused) more ijnfi- 
_ nite; the clouds by which chiefly the eye expounds the distance of the blue pavilion 
' stretched over our heads are in summer more voluminous, more massed, aiid are ac- 
_ cumulated in far grander and more towering piles; secondly, the light and the ap- 
_ pearences of the declining and the setting sun are much more fitted to be types and 
- characters of the infinite ; and, thirdly (which is the main reason). the exuberant and 
- riotous prodigality of life naturally forces the mind more powerfully upon the antag- 
- onist thought of death, and the wintry sterility of the grave. For it may be ob- 
- served generally, that wherever two thoughts stand related to cach other by a law of 
antagonism, and exist, as it were, by mutual repulsion, they are apt to suggcst 
~ each other. On these accounts it is that I find it impossible to banish the thought of 
_ death when I am walking alone in the endless days of summer; and any particular 
_ death, if not actually more affecting, at least haunts my mind more obstinately and 
__ besiegingly. in that season. _ Perhaps this cause, aid a_ slight incident which I omit, 
_ might have been the immediate occasions of the foliowisg dream, to which, however, 
a predisposition must always have existed in my mind; but, having béen once roused, 
_ it never left me, and split into a thousand fantastic variations, which often suddenly 
_ re-combined, locked back into a startling unity, and restored the original dream. 
. I thought that itwas a Sunday morning in May; that it was Easter Scnday, and 
as yet very early in the morning. I was standing, as it seemed to me, at the door of 
my own cottage. Right before me lay the very scene which could really be com- 
- Manded from that si:nation, but exalted, as waz usual, and solemnised by the power 
“of dreams. ‘There were the same mountains, and the same lovely valley at their 
- feet; but the mountains werc raised to more than Alpine height, and there was in- 
 terspace far larger between thein of savannahs and forest lawns; the hedges were 
_ ich with white roses ; and no living creature was to be seen, excepting that in the 
green churchyard there were cattle tranquilly ge upon the verdant graves, and 
? particularly round about the grave of a_child whom [ had once tenderly loved, just 


8 


494 ~. CYCLOPADIA OF 


as I had really beheld them, a little before sunrise, in the same summer when that 
child died. J] gazed upon the well-known scene, and I said to myself: ‘It yet wants - 
much of sunrise; and it is Easter Sunday ; and that is the day on which they céle- — 
brate the first fruits of Resurrection. I will walk abroad ; old griefs shall be forgot-~ 
a AT to-day » for the airds cool and still, and the hills are high, and stretch away to 
heaven ; and the churéliyird is as verdant as the forest lawns, and the forest lawus— 
are as quiet as the churchyard ; and with the dew I can wash ‘the fever from my ~ 
forehead; and then I shall.be unbappy no longer.’ I turned, as if to open my Bare. 
den gate,'and immediately I saw upon the lett a scene far different; but which yet. 
the power of dreams had reconciled into harmony. ‘The scene was an oriental one; 
and there also it was Easter Sunday, and very early in the morn ng. Axrd at a vast 
distance were visible, as a stain upon the horizon, the domes and eupolas of a grea 
city—an image or faint abstraction, canglt perhaps in childhocd from some picture 
of Jerusalem. And not a bow-shot from me, upon a stone, shaded by Judean palms, 
there sat 2 woman; and i Jooked, and it was—Ann! She fixcd her eyes upon we * 
earnestly ; and I said to her at length. ‘So, then, I have found you at last.” I 
waited; but she answered me not a word. Her face was the same as when I saw it 
last; the same, and yet, again, how different! Sevcntecn ycars ago, when the 
lamp-light of mighty Lon¢ on fell upon her face, es for the last time I kissed her ij 
(ips, Anu, that io me were not polluted !), her eves were streaming with tears. T 
tears were now no longer seen. Sonietimesshe scemed altered; yet again sometimes 
not altered; and hardly older. Her looks were tranquil, but with unusual solemnity — 
of expression, and I now gazcd upon her with some awe. Suddenly her count nance — 
prew dim; and, turning to the mountains, ] perccivced vapours rolling between us: 
in a moment all had venished; thick darkness came on; and in the twinkling of an 
cye I was far away from meuntains, and by Jamp-hght in London. walking eguin 
- with Ann—just as we Lad walked, when both children, eighteen years before, along 
ihe endless terraces of Oxford Street. 2 
Then suddenly would come adream cf far different character—a tumultuous 
dream—commencing with a music such as now I o!ten heard in sleep—music of pr 
paration and of awakening suspense. ‘The undulations of fast-gathering inmults 
were like ihe opening of the Coronation Anthem; and like that, gave the feeling of a 
multitudinous movement, of infinite cavalcades filing off, and the tread of innumer_ 
able armies.. The morning was come of a mighty day—a day of crisis and of ulti- 
inate hope for human nature, then suffering mysterious eclipse, and labouring in | 
some dread extremity. Somewhere, but I Knew not where—somehow, but I knew : 
not how—by some beings, hut I knew not by whom—a battle, a strife, an agony, was 
travelling through all its stages—was cvolvinz itself, like the catastrophe of some 
mighty drama, with which my sympathy was the more insuppoiteble, from deepening 
confusion as to its local scene, its cause, its nature, end its undeciphc gable issue. 
(as is usual in dreams where, of necessity, we make ourselves central to every Move 
nent) had the power, and yet had no: the power, to decide it. I had the power, if I 
could raise myself to willit; and yet again had not the power. for the weight of 
twenty Atlantics was upon me, or the oppression of inexp‘able guilt. ‘* Deeper than 
ever plummet sounded,’ I Jay inactive. ‘Then, like a chorus, the pass'on deepened, 
Some greater interest was at stake, some mightier cause, than ever yet the sword lia¢ 
pleaded, or trumpet had proclaimed. Then came sudden alarms; hurzyings to an 
tro, trepidations of innumerable fugitives ; I knew not whether from the good caus 
or the bad; darkness and iights; tempest and human faces; and at last, with th 
scnse that all was lost, female forms, and the features that were worth ali the work 
to me: and but a moment allowed—and clasped hands. with heart-breaking partings 
and then—everlasting farewells! and, with a sigh such as thecaves of tell sighed 
when the incestuous mother uttered- the abhorred name of Death, the sound was 
reverberated—everlasting faréwelis! And again, and yet again reverberated—eyer 
lasting farewells! : ie 
And I awoke in struggles, and cried aloud, ‘I will sleep no more!’ — 


‘In the same impassioned and melodious prose, De Quincey tall 3 
of dreams ‘moulding themselves eternally like the billowy sand 
‘ 


_ the.desert, as beheld by Biuce, into towering columns.’ ‘Lhey ‘soat 
_- upwards to a giddy altitude, then-stalk about for a minute all agto’ 


‘ites 
te. 


hie 


: 


. 


tl ea a te 


DE QUINCEY. ] ENGLISII LITERATURE. 195 


with fiery colour, and finally unmould and dislimn with a collapse as 


~ sudden as the motions of that eddying breeze under which their va- 
- -poury architecture had arisen.’ » De Quincey had a peculiar vein of 


humour or irony, often breaking out where least expected, and too 
long continued. This is exemplified in his paper on ‘ Murder as one 
of the Fine Arts,’ which fills above a hundred pages, and in other es- 


says and reviews; but the grand distinction of De Quincey is his sub- 
tle analytical faculty, and his marvellous power of language and 


description. 
has ; Joan of Are. 
What is to be thought of her? What is to be thought of the poor shepherd-girl 


from the hills and forests of Lorraine, that—like the Hebrew shepherd-boy from the 
hills and forests of Judea—rose suddenly ont of the guiet, ont of the safety, 


- out of the religious inspiration, rooted in deep pastoral solitudes, to a station 


¥ 


in the van of armies, and to the more perilous station at the right hand of 


kings? The Hebrew boy inaugurated his patriotic mission by an act, by a victori- 


ous act, such as no man could deny. But so did the girl of Lorraine, if we read her 


_ ‘story as it was read by those who saw her nearest. Adverse armies bore witness to 


the boy as no pretender: but.so did they to the gentle girl. Judged by the voices of 
all who saw them from a station of good-will, both were found true and loyal to any 
promises involved in their first acts. Enemies it was that made the difference be- 


_ tween their subsequent fortunes. The boy rose—to a splendour and a noonday pros- 


perity, both personal and public, that rang through the records of his people. and be- 
came a by-word amongst his posterity for a thousand years, until the sceptre was de- 


- parting from Judah. ‘The poor, forsaken girl, on the contrary, drank not herself 


-from that cup of rest which she had secured for Fravce. She never sang tovether 


- with them the songs that rose in her native Domrémy, as echoes to the departing 


“steps of invaders. She mingled not in the festal dances at Vaucouleurs which cele- 
brated in rapture the redemption of France. No! for hervoice was thensilent. No! 


__ for her feet were dust. Pure, innocent, noble-hearted girl! whom, from earliest 


aS 
“ 
L 
: 


~ youth, ever I believed in as full of truth and self-sacrifice, this was amongst the 


strongest pledges for thy side, that never once—no, not for a moment of weakness— 
didst thou revel in the vision of corocnets and honours from man. Coronets for thee! 
Ono! Honours, if they come when all is over, are for those that share thy blood. 
Daughter of Domrémy, when the gratitude of thy king shall awaken, thon wilt be 
sleeping the sleep of the dead. Call her, king of France, but she will not hear thee! 
Cite her by thy apparitors to come and receive a robe of honour, but she will be 
found en contwmace. When the thunders of universal France. as even yet may hap- 
pen, shall proclaim the grandeur of the poor shepherd-girl that gave up all for her 
country—thy ear, young shepherd-girl, will have been deaf for five centuries. ‘To 
suffer and to do, that was thy portion in this life ; to do—never for thyself, always for 
others; to sujfer—never in the persons of generous champions, always in thy own: 


- ‘that was thy destiny; and not for a moment was it hidden from thyself. ‘ Life,’ 
thou saidst, {is short, and .he sleep which is in the grave is long. Let me use that 


2 


_ 


aa) 


be 


mye 

oo ae * 
) 

Y 


life, so transitory, for the glory of those heavenly dreams destined to comfort the 
sleep which is so long.’ ‘his poor creature—pure from every suspicion of evena 
visionary self-interest. ever as she was pure in senses more obvious—never once did 
this holy child, as regarded herself, relax from her belief in the darkness that was 
trav:liing to meet her. She might not prefigure the very manner of her death: she 
‘saw not in vision, perhaps, the aérial altitude of the fiery scaffold, the spectators 
without end on every road pouring into Rouen as to a coronation the surging smoke, 
the volleying flames, the hostile faces all around, the pitying eye that lurked but 
here and there until nature and imperishable truth broke loose from artificial re- 
straints ; these might not be apparent through the mists of the hurrying future. But 
the voice that called her to death, that she heard for ever. 

Great was the throne of France even in those days, and great was he that sat upon 
it; but well Joanna knew that not the throne, nor he that sat upon it, was for her; 
but, on the contrary, that she was for tem ; not she by them, but they by her, should 


196 CYCLOPAEDIA OF fro 1876, - 

o. 
rise from the dust. Gorgeous were the lilies of France, and for centuries had the 
privilege to spread their beauty over land and sea, until, in another century, the ~ 
wrath of God and man combined to wither them: but weil Joanna knew, carly at” 
Domrémy she had read that bitter truth, that the lilies of France would decorate no-_ 
garland for her. Flower nor bud, bell nor blossom would ever bloom for her. a 


' 


On the Wednesday after Trinity Sunday in 1431, being then about nineteen yeara 
of age, the Maid of Arc-uinderwent her martyrdom. She was conducted before mid- — 
day. guarded by eight hundred spearmen, to a platform of prodigious height, con- 
structed of wooden biiets, supported by hollow spaces in every direction, for the 
creation of air-currents. ‘The pile struck terror,’ says M. Michelet, ‘ by its height.’ - 
: There would be a certainty of calumny rising against her—some people would 
impute to her a willingness to recant. No innocence could escape that. Now, had 
she really testified this willingness on the scaffold, it would have argued nothing at all. 
but the weakness of a genial nature shrinking from the instant approach of torment. 
And those will often pity that weakness most. who in their own persons would yield — 
to it least. Meautime there never was a calumny uttered that drew less support from 
the recorded circumstances. It rests upon no positive testimony, and it has a weight 
of contradicting testimony to stem. .. What else but her meek, saintly demeanour | 
won, from the enenties that till now had believed her a witch, tears of rapturous ad- — 
miration? ‘Ten thousand men,’ says M. Michelet himself, ‘ten thousand men wept; — 
and cf these ten thousand the majority were political enemies knitted together by — 
cords of. superstition. What else was it but her constancy, united with her angelic 
gentleness, that drove the fanatic English soldier—who had sworn to throw a fagot on 
her scaffold as Ais tribute of abhorrence, that did so, that fulfilled his vow—suddenly 
to turn away a penitent for life, saying everywhere that he had seen a dove rising upon 
wings to heaven from the ashes where she had stood? What else drove the execu-~— 
tioner to kneel at every shrine for pardon to his share in the tragedy? And if allthis ~ 
were insufficient, then I cite the closing act of her life as va'id-on her behalf. were all © 
other testimonies against her. The executioner had been directed to apply his torch — 
from below. Hediaso, ‘The fiery smoke rose up in billowy columns. A Dominican — 
monk was then standing almost at her side. Wrapped up in his sublime office, he ~ 
saw notthe danger, but still persisted in his prayers. Even then when thelastenemy — 
was racing up the fiery stairs to seize her, even at that moment did this noblest of — 
girls think only for him, the one friend that would not forsake her, and not for her- 
self; bidding bim with her last breath to care for his own preservation, but to leave 
her to God. ‘That girl, whose latest breath ascended in this sublime expression of 
self-oblivion. did not utter the word recant either with her lips or in her heart. No, — 
the did not, though one should rise from the dead to swear it. . : 


: 
7 
he 
‘ 
3 
3 
é 
5 


JOHN WILSON CROKE 


The last and most indefatigab'e of the original corps of the ‘Quar- 
terly Review’ was Mr. Joun Witson Croker (1780-1857). He ~ 
was a native of Galway, his father being surveyor-general of cus- —~ 
toms and excise in Ireland, and he was eduea'ed at Trinity Colon 
Dublin. His first literary attempts were satirical— Familiar Epistles 
on the Irish Stage,’ 1804;.and an ‘Intercepted Letter from Canton,’ | 
or a satire on certain politicians and magnates in the city of Dublin, 
1805. These local productions were followed by ‘Songs of Tratal- | 
gar,’ 1806, anda pamphlet, entitled ‘A Sketch of Ireland, Past and | 
~ Present,’ 1807. Sir Walter Scott, in his ‘ Life of Swift,’ has copied 
one p»ssage from this ‘Sketch,’ which appears to be an imitation of © 
the style of Grattan. . a 


Character of Swift. ° 


On this gloom one luminary rose, and Ireland worshipped it with Persian idola- 
try; her true patriot—her first—almost her last. Sagacious and intrepid, he saw—he 
‘dared; above suspicion, he was trusted; above envy, he was beloved; above 


‘ 


ROKER.) ENGLISH. LITERATURE. 197 


- he was obeyed. His wisdom was practical and prophetic—remedial for the present, 
~ warning for the future. He first taught Ireland that she might become a nation, and . 
_ England that she must cease to be a despot. But he was a churchmai ; hisgown im- 
~ peded his course, and entangled his efforts. Guiding a senate, or heading au army, 
he had been more than Cromwell, and Ireland not less than England. As it was. he 
__ saved her by his courage, improved her by his authority, adorned her by his talents, 
_ and exalted her by hisfame. His mission was but of ten years, and for ten yeary 
— only did his Pees power mitigate the government ; but though no longer feared 
~— by the gréat, he was not forgotten by the wise; his infiuence, like his writings, has 
__ Survived a century ; and the foundations of whatever prosperity we have since erected 
_ 4re laid in the disinterested and magnanimous patriotism of Swift. 
. Mr. Croker studied law at Lincoln’s Inn, but getting into parlia- 
_ ment for the borough of Down-patrick (1807)he struck into that 
4 path of public life which he was fitted to turn to.the best advantage. 
in 1809 he took a prominent part in defending the Duke of York 
_ during the parliamentary investigation into the conduct of His Royal 
_ Highness, and shortly afterwards he was made Secretary to the Ad- 
- miralty, an office which he held fcr nearly twenty-two years, until 
1830, when he retired with a pension of £1500 per annum. In 18038 
he published anonymously ‘ The Battles of Talavera,’ a poem in the 
style of Scott, and which Sir Walter reviewed in the second volume 
of the ‘Quarterly Review.’ In the same style Mr. Croker commem- 
-“orated the ‘ Battie of Al! uera,’ 1811. This seems to have been the 
_lagt of his poetical efferts. He was now busy with the ‘Quarterly 
_ Review.’ Criticism, properly so called, he never attempted. His 
articles were all personal or historical, confined to attacks on Whigs 
and Jacobins, or to the rectification of dates and facts regarding 
public characters and events. He was the reviewer of Keats’s ‘ En- 
- dymion’ in 1818, to which Byron playfully alluded: 
a Who killed John Keats? 
I, says the ‘ Quarterly,’ 
So savage and Tartarly, 
*T was one of my feats. 


But this deadly article is only a pfece of abuse of three pages, in 
which Keats is styled a copyist of Leigh Hunt, * more unintelligible, 
almost as rugged, twice as diffuse, and ten times more tiresome and 
absurd than his prototype.’ Lady Morgan’s ‘ Italy *is despatched in 
the same trenchant style. But one of Mr. Croker’s greatest ‘feats’ 
in this way Was mortifying the vanity of Fanny Burney or Madame 
_ D’Arblay, who wished to have it believed that she was only seventeen 
‘when her novel of ‘Evelina’ was published. She is said to have 
kept up the delusion without exactly giving the date; but the 
reviewer, knowing that she was born at Lynn, in Norfolk, had the 
_-parish-register examined, and found that the fair novelist was baptised 
in June 1752, and consequently was between twenty-five and twenty- 

’ six years of age when ‘ Evelina’ appeared, instead of being a prodigy 
-of seventeen. Mr. Croker’s success in this species of literary 
- statistics led him afterwards to apply it to the case of the Empress 
~ Josephine and Napoleon; he had the I'rench registers examined, 


¥ 


an — 2 Se a _a ~~ > aa mr ie ie ee ae Pe 


198 CYCLOPEDIA OF ——Ss[to 1876, 


and from them proved that both Josephine and Napoleon had — 
falsified their ages. This fact, with other disparagmg details, the 
reviewer brought out in a paper which appeared on the occasion of ~ 
the late emperor's visit to England—no doubt to mortify the new 
Napoleon dynasty. In the same spirit he assailed Soult when he — 
visited this country—recounting all his military errors and defeats, =| 
and reminding him that the Duke of Wellington had deprived him — 
of his dinner at Oporto in 1809 and at Waterloo in 1810. The duke — 
is said to have been seriously displeased with the reviewer on account — 5 
of this mistimed article. Two of the later contributions to the = 
‘Review’ by Mr. Croker made. considerable noise. We refer to 4q 
those on Macaulay’s History and Moore’s Memoirs. In the case of — 
the former, Mr. Rogers said Croker ‘attempted murder, but only a 
committed suicide.’ With Moore the reviewer had been on friendly 
terms. They were countrymen and college acquaintances; and ; 
when Lord John Russell published the poet’s journals for the benefit — 
of his widow, a generous man, who had known the deceased, would ~ 
have abstained from harsh comments. Croker applied the scalpel — 
without mercy; Lord John ventured a remark on the critic’s “safe 
malignity;’ and Croker retaliated by shewing that Moore had been — 
recording unfavourable notices of him in his journal at.the very time — 
that he was cultivating his acquaintance by letters, and soliciting 
favours at his hands. , Lord John’s faults as an editor were also — 
unsparingly exposed; and on the whole, in all but good feeling, ~ 
Croker was triumphant in this passage-at-arms, No man with any — 
heart would have acted as Croker did, br’ he was blinded by his — 
keen partisanship and pride. He was a political gladiator bound to — 
ao battle against all Whigs and innovators in literature. Mr. - 
Disraeli has satirised him under the name of ‘Rigby’ in his novel — 
of ‘Coningsby.’ Mr. Croker, however, did service to literature by ~ 
his annotated edition of Boswell’s ‘ Life of Johnson,’ and his publi- ~ 
cation of the Suffolk Papers, the Letters of Lady Hervey, and Lord © 
Hervey’s ‘ Memoirs of the Court of George IL.’ He wrote ‘ Stories — 
from the History of England for Children,’ which had the merit of 
serving as a model for Sir Walter Scott’s ‘Tales of a Grandfather,’ — 
and he collected some of his contributions to the ‘Review,’ and — 
published them under the title of ‘ Essays on the Early Period of the ~ 
rrench Revolution.’ At the time of- his death he was engaged in — 
preparing an edition of Pope’s works, which has since passed into ~ | 
the abler hands of the Rev. Whitworth Elwin. ot 
- HARRIET MARTINEAU. . 4 


The following notice of Miss MARTINEAU appeared in Horne’s ‘Spirit # 
of the Age:’ ‘ Harriet Martineau was born in the year 1802, one of the 
youngest among a family of eight children. Her father was a pro- 
prietor of one of the manufactories in Norwich, in which place his 


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“MISS MARTINEAU.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. . 199 


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family, originally of French origin, had resided since the Revocation 
i= Or the Edict of Nantes. She was indebted to an uncle, a surgeon in 
Norwich, for her education. She has herself ascribed her taste for 

literary pursuits to the extreme delicacy of her health in childhood; 
_to the infirmity (deafness) with which she has been afflicted ever 

since, which, without being so complete as to deprive her absolutely 
Be - Of all intercourse with the world, yet obliged her to seek occupations 
and pleasures within herself ; and to: the affection which subsisted 


_- between her and the brother nearest her owh age, the Rev. James 
_ Martineau, whose fine mind and talents are well known. The occu- 
_ pation of writing, first begun to gratify her own taste and inclination, 
_ _. became afterwards to her a source of honorable independence, when. 


by one of the disasters so common in trade, her family became in- 
volved in misfortunes. She was then enabled to reverse the common 
_ . lot of unmarried daughters in such circumstances, and cease to be in 
any respect a burden. She realised an income sufficient for her sim- 
> ple habits, but still so small as to enhance the integrity of the sacri- 
>, .11Ce which she made to principle in refusing the pension offered to 
her by government in 1840. Her motive for refusing it was, that she 
-— considered herself in the Eght of a political writer, and that the offer 
did not proceed from the peopie, but from the government, which 
~ did not represent the people.’ It is said in another account that 
_ when pressed on this subject by. Lord Melbourne, she declined to ac- 
~ cept a pension, the proceeds.of a system of taxation which she had 
condemned in her works. 
~The literary career of Miss Martineau displayed unwearied appli- 
cation, as well as great versatility of talent and variety of informa- 
tion. ‘It commenced in 1823, when she published ‘ Devotional Ex- 
-  ercises for Young Persons.’ From this time till 1881 she issued a 
number of tracts and short moral tales, and wrote some prize essays, 
which were published by the Unitarian Association. Two works on 
- social questions, ‘The Rioters’ and ‘The Turn Out,’ were among 
the first attempts to expound in a popular form the doctrines of polit- 
- ical economy. In 1882-34 she produced more valuable ‘ Illustra- 
- tions of Political Economy,’ ‘Taxation,’ and ‘Poor Laws.’ A visit ~ 
‘to America next led to ‘ Society in America,’ 1837 ;and ‘ Retrospect 
of Western Travel,’ 1838, both able and interesting works. In the 
- same year she published a ‘Letter to the Deaf,’ and two small 
‘Guides to Service,’’to which she afterwards added two more domes- 
~ tic manuals. To 1838 also belongs a small tract, ‘How to Observe.’ 
In 1889 appeared ‘ Deerbrook,’ a novel, containing striking and elo- 
quent passages, one of which we subjoin : 


Effects of Love and Happiness on the Mind. 


There. es no other proof that happiness i is the most wholesome moral atmos- 

_. phere, and that in which the immorta‘ity of man is destined ultimately to thrive, than 

_ the elevation of soul, the religious aspiration. which attends the first assurance, 
- __ the first sober certainty of true love. There is much of this religious aspiration 


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200 Bee CYCLOPAIDIA OF + 

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amidst all warmth of virtuous affections. There is a vivid love of God in the child 7 f 
thatlays its cheek against the cheek of its mother, and clasps its arms about her 4 
neck. God is thanked—perhaps unconsciousiy—for the brightness of his eurth, on —s 
summer evenings, when a brother and sister, who have long been parted, pour out mat 


sta*esman who, in the moment of success, feels that an entire class of social sins 

and .7oes is annihilated by his hand, is not conscious of so holy and so intimatea — 

thankfulness as they who are aware that their redemption is come in the presence — 
of anew and sovereign affection. And these are many—they are in all cornersof — 
every land. The stategman is the leader of a nation, the warrior is the grace of an ~ 
age, the philosopher is the birth of a thousand years; but the lover, whereis henot? 
Wherever parents look round upon their children, there he has been; wkerever 
children are at play together, there he will soon be; wherever there are roofs under — 
which men dwell, wherever there is an atmosphere vibrating with human voices 


= . 


there is the lover, and there is his lofty worship going On, unspeakable, but revealed — 
in the brightness of the eye, the majesty of the presence, and the high temper of 
the discourse. rae 
The democratic opinions of the authoress—for in all but her anti- — 
Malthusian doctrines Miss Martineau was a sort of female Godwin—_~ 
are strikingly brought forward, and the characters are well drawn, — 
‘Deerbrook’ is a story of English domestic life, The next effort of © 
Miss Martineau was ‘The Hour and the Man,’ 1840, a novel or ro- © 
mance founded on the history of the brave Toussaint L’Ouverture; 
snd with this man as hero, Miss Martineau exhibits as the hour — 
of action the period when the slaves of St. Domingo threw off the 
yoke of slavery. There is much passionate as well as graceful writing ~ 
in this tale; its greatest defect is, that there is too much disquisition, — 
and too little connected or regular fable. Among the other works of — 
Miss Martineau are several for children, as ‘The Peasant and the — 
Prince,’ ‘ The Settlers at Home,’ ‘ Feats on the Fiord,’ and ‘The Crof- 
ton Boys ’—all pleasing and instructive little tales. Her next work, — 
‘ Life in the Sick-Room, or Essays by an Invalid,’ 1844, presents many — 
interesting and pleasing sketches, full of acute and delicate thought — 
and elegant description = —— a> 


\ 3% 


« MISS MARTINEAU.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. . 201 
Sea View from the Window of the Sick-Room-.at Tynemouth. 


Think of the difference to us between seeing from our sofas the width of a street, 

- eyen if it be Sackville Street, Duolin, or Portilaud Place, in London, and thirty miles 
of sea view, with its long boundary of rocks, and the power of sweeping our ¢lance 
over ha'f a county, by means of a telescope! But ghe chief ground of prefer: ne ot 

the sea is less its space than its motion, and the perpetual shifting of objects caused 
byit. There can be nothing in inland scenery which can give the sense of life and 
motion and connection with the worldlike sea changes. ‘The motion of a water-fall 
. is too continuous—too little varied—as the breaking of tue waves would be, if that 
were all the sea.could afford. “he fi ful action of a windmill, the waving of trees, 

the ever-changing aspects of mountains are good and beautiful ; but there 1s some- 
thing more lifelike in the going forth and return of ships, in the passage of fleets, 
‘and in the never-ending variety of a fishery. But, then, there must not be too inuch 
va, The strongest eyes and nerves could not support the glare aud oppressive vast- 
ness of an unrelieved expanse of waters. I was aware of this in time. and fixed my- 

self where the view of the sea was inferior to what I should have preferred if T had 
~ cometo the coast for a suminer visit. Between my window and the sea is a green 
~ down, as green as any field in Ireiand; and on the nearer half cf this down. hay- 
making goes forward in its season. It slopes down to a hollow, where the Prior of 
old preserved his fish. there being sluices formerly at either end, the one opening 
upon the river, and the other upon the little haven below the Priory, whose ruins 
still crown the rock. From the Prior’s fishpond, the green down slopes upwards 
again to aridge; and onthe slope are cows grazing all summer, and half-way into 
the winter. Over the ridge, I survey the harbour and all its traflic, the view extend- 
ing f om thelight-houses far to the right, to a horizon of sea tothe left. Beyond 
the harbour lies another county, with, first, its sandy beach, where th¢re are frequent 
wrecks—too interesting to an invalid—and a fine stretch of rocky shore to the left; 
and above the rocks, a spreading heath, where I watch troops of boys flying their kites, 
lovers aud friends taking their breezy walk on Sund:Js ; the sportsman with his guu 
and dog; and the washerwomen converging from the farmhouses on Saturday evenings, 
to carry their loads, incompany, to the village on the yet further height. Isee them 
now talking in a cluster, as they walk each with a white burden on her head, and now 
in file, as they pass through the narrow lane; and, finally, they part off on the vil- 
lage-green, each to some neighbouring house of the gentry. Behind the village and 
the heath stretches the railway; and I watch the train triumphantly careering along 
the level road, and puffing forth its steam above hedges and groups of trees, and then 
labouring and panting up the ascent, till it is lost between two heights. which at last 
bound my view. But on these heights are more objects; a windmill, now in mo- 
tion, and now at rest; a lime-kiln, in a picturesque recky field; an ancient church 
tower, «barely visible in the morning, but conspicuous when the setting sun shines 
upon it; a colliery, with its lofty wagon-way and the se!f-moving wagons running 
‘hither and thither, as if in pure wilfalness; and three or four farms. at various de- 
grees of ascent, whose yards. paddocks, and dairies Iam better acquainted with than 
their inhabitants -won!d believe possible. I know every stack of the one on the 
heights. Against the sky I see the stacking of corn and hay in the season, and can 
detect the slicing away of the provender. with an accurate eye, at the distance of sev- 
eval miles. I can follow the sociable farmer in his summer evening ride, pricking on 

- jn the lane where he is alone, in order to have more time for the unconscionable gos- 
sip at the gate of the next farmhouse, and for the second talk over the paddock-fence 
of the next, or for the third or fourth before the porck. or over the wall, when the 
resident farmer comes out, pipe in mouth, and puffs away amidst his chat, till the 
wife appears. with a shaw] over her cap, to cee what can detain him so long; and the 
daughter follows, with her gown turned over ner head—for it is now chill eveuing— 
and at last the sociable horseman finds he must be going. looks at his watch, and with 
a gesture of surprise, turns his steed down a steep broken way to the beach, and can- 

: ters home over the sands, left hard and wet by the ebbing tide, the white horse mak- 
ing his progress visible to me through the dusk. Then, if the question arises, which 

- his most of the gossip spirit, he or I? there is no shame in the answer. Any such 
_ «mall ansusement is better than harmless—is salutary—which carries the sick pris- 


- 


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epee - CYCLOPASDLA OF “fro 1876. 


oner abroad into the open air, among country-people. When I shut down my win- - 
dow, 1 teei that my iund has had an airing. . 


For four years she was an inmate of this sick room. A ce-_ 
ries of tales, illustrative of the evils springing from the Game 
Laws (1845), are marked by Miss Martineau’s acuteness and fine . 
clear style, but are overcoloured in tone and sentiment. Another _ 
short tale, ‘ fhe Billow and the Rock,’ 1846, founded on the incidents 
of Lady Grange’s captivity, is interesting, without any attempt at — 
conveying a political lesson. In 1845 appeared ‘Kastern Life, — 
Past and Present,’ three volumes—a very interesting book of tra- ~ 
vels, but disfigured by wild speculative opinions on Scripture history 
and character, and on mesmerism and clairvoyance. A volume on ~~ 


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‘ Household Education’ appeared in- 1849, and the ‘History of Eng- — 
land’ from 1816 to 1846, in 1850. - This is an admirable account of 4 


the thirty years’ peace. In 1851 Miss Martineau published a collec- 
tion of letters between herself and Mr. H. G@. Atkinson, ‘On the 
Laws of Man’s Nature and Development’—a work which. met with 
universal condemnation. Miss Biartineau’s friend, Charlotte Bronté, 
grieved sadly over this declension on the part of one whom she ad- Z 
mired as combining the highest mental culture with the nicest-dis- 
charge of feminine-duties. The book, she said, was ‘the fir-t exposi- — 
tion of avowed atheism and materialism she had ever read—the first — 
unequivocal declaration of disbelief of God or a future life.’ Hun- 
dreds, she said, had deserted Miss Martineau on account of this book, 
but this the authoress has denied. ‘I am not aware,’ says Miss Mar- 

tineau, ‘of having lost any friends whatever by that-book, while I- 
have gained a new world of sympathy.’ In fact, most persons. re-— 
garded this singular lady as sw generis, and would never dream of — 
binding her by the ‘fixed and settled rules.’ Her next performance — 
was a translation and condensation of the ‘ Positive Philosophy’ of 
Augustus Comte, two volumes, 1853. M. Comte’s work is a com-_ 
plete account of science and scientific method, as developed at the — 
time he wrote, beginning with mathematics, and ending with social — 
physics or sociology; but it is also, says Mr.-Brimley, ‘a fierce pole-— 
mic against theology and metaphysics, with all the notions and ~ 
sentiments that have their root in them’—a ‘strict limitation ~ 
of the human faculties to phenomenal knowledge.’ Hence the 
system ‘not only fails to provide an aim for the action of man ~ 
and of society; but if an aim were conceded to it, has no moral force — 
to keep men steady, no counteracting power to the notorious selfish- _ 
ness and sensuality’against which we have ever to be on our guard.” 


~ 


ins ape oe 


In 1854 Miss Martineau published a ‘Complete Guide to the Lakes.’ 
Many years since she fixed her residence in the beautiful Lake coun-— } 
try at Ambleside, where she managed her little farm of two acres — 
with the skill of a practical agriculturalist, and was esteemed an affec- — 
tionate friend and good neighbor. She was a regular contributor of ~ 


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_ Miss MARTINEAU.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 203 


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2 political and social articles to the ‘Dailv News’ and other journals, 


Jn 1869 she reproduced in one volume ail the short memoirs, royal, 
political, professional, scientific, social and literary, which she had 
written for the * Daily News’ from her first connecticn with the pa- 


-_ per in 1852. These form a very interesting and instructive work— 


high-toned in principle, and felicitous in expression. She is occa- 
sionally unjust, as in.the case of Macaulay, and iaccurate in others, 
but she is never dull.- Miss Martineau also contributed articles to ~ 


~ _*Once a Week’ and other periodicals. It was impossible for her to 


- 


be idle so long as a shred of health remained. She died on the even- 
ing of the 27th of June 1876, having entered on her 75th year. Imme- 
diately after her death the “Daily News’ printed an autobiography 
sent to that journal by Miss Martineau when she believed she was near 
death in 1855. It is a remarkably frank, unaffected production. As 
a writer of fiction, she says of herself: “None ot her novels or tales 


have, or ever had, in the eyes of good judges or in her own, any 


+ 


character of permanence. ‘fhe artistic aim and qualifications were 
absent; she had no power of dramatic construction; nor the poetic 
‘inspiration on the one hand, nor critical cultivation on the other, 
without which no work of the imagination can be worthy to live. 


- Two or three of her Political Economy Tales are perhaps her best 


achievement in fiction—her doctrine furnishing the plot which she 

was unable to create, and the brevity of space duly restricting the 

indulgence in detail which injured her longer narratives, and at last 

warned her to leave off writing them. It was fortunate for her that 

her own condemnation anticipated that of the public. To theend of 

her life she was subject. to solicitations to write more novels and 
more tales; but she for the most part remained steady in her refusal.’ 
Of her book on ‘ Society in America,’ while claiming credit for it 

as a trustworthy account of the political structure and relations of 


~~ the Federal and State Governments, she says: ‘On the whole, the 
- book: is not a favourable specimen of Harriet Martineau’s writings, 


either in regard to moral or ar istic taste. It is full of affectations 
and preachments.’ As to religion, she deseribes herself as being, in 
early life, an earnest Unitarian. But she says that her ‘Eastern Life, 
Past and Present,’—which she ranks as the best of her writings— 
shewed that at that time (1849) ‘she was .no longer a Unitarian, or a 
believer in revelation at all.’ With regard to the‘ Letters on the 
Laws of Man’s Nature and Development,’ she: observes: ‘This book 
‘brought upon its writers, as was inevitable, the imputation of athe- 
ism from the multitude who cannot distinguish between the popular 
and the philosophical sense of the word—between thé disbelief in the 
popular theology which has caused a long series of religious men to 
be called atheists, and the disbelief in a First Cause—a disbelicf 
which is expressly disclaimed in the book.’ 


~ Miss Martineau thus accounts for her choice of rural instead o* 


London life: ‘She felt that she could not be happy, or in the best 


204 OO 2 CYCLOPAIDIA> OF 2a 9 > ama teenpye. 


way useful, if the declining years of her life were spent in lodgings 
in the morning and drawing-rooms in the evening, A quiet home 


of her own, and some few dependent on her for the:r domestic wel-. 


fare, she believed to be essential to every true woman's peace of 
mind: and she chose her plan of life accordingly.’ 
The Napiers. 


Two generations of Englishmen have rejoiced in the felt and lively presence of a 


family wuo seemed born to perpetuate the associations of a heroic age, and to eles 


vate the national sentiment at least to the point reached in the best part of the mili- 
tary period of our civilisation, while our mere talkers were bemoaning the material 
-tendencies and the sordid temper of our people in our own century, The noble old 
type of the British knight, lofty in valour and in patriotism, was felt to exist in its 
full virtue while we had the Napiers in our frout, conspicuous in the eyes of an 


observing world. We have every reason to hope that the type will not be lost, what-. 
ever may be the destiny of Europe as to war or peace... . We have many gallant. 


men left, as we always have had, and always shall have ; but there never have been any, 
and there never can be any like the Napiers. They were a group raised froin among 
the medieval dead. and set in the midst of us, clothed in a temperament which ad 
mit‘ed a'l the ameliorating influences of our period of civilisation. They were a great 
and nevyer-to-ve-forgotien sight to our generation; and our posterity will see them 
in the mirror of tradition for ages to come. We are wont to say that tradition is old 
and has left off work; but it is not often now that tradition has such a theme as the 
Napiers. It will not willingly be let die till tradition itself is dead. 


The. Royal Marriage Law (1857.) 


There was a strong hope that when our young Queen Victoria, who was at fall 
liberty as sovereign to please herself in narrisge, had made her choice, this wretched 
and demoralising Marriage Act. always reprobated by the wisest and best men of the 
time, would be repealed. There were then none left of the last generation who could 
be pointed at, or 1n any way affected by such a repeal; ond it was thought that it 
would be wise to do the thing befure there was a new generation to introduce diffi- 
culty info the case. The opportunity has almost been allowed toslip from us. ‘he 
royal children have ceased to be children. at least the elder ones. Meantime there is, 
as we ali know, a strong snd growing popular distrust in our own country aud in 
others of the close dynastic connections which are multiplying by means of the per- 
petual intermarriages of a very few families. The political difficulties recently, and in- 
deed constantly experienced from the complication of family interests mvolving 
almost every throne in Europe, are a matter of universal feeling and conversation. 
There is no chance for the physical and intellectual welfare of coming generations 
when-imarriages take place among blood relations 3 and there is no chance for moral- 
ity and happiness when. under legal or state compulsion, young people love in one 
direction and marry in another. No evils that could possibly arise from marriages 
out of the royal pale can for 2 moment compare with the inevitable results of a mar- 
riage law like ours, perpetuated through other generations, than the unhappy one 

“that is gone. Royalty wiil have quite difficulties enough to coniend with, allt hrough 


Kaurope, in coming times, without the perils consequent on this law. Its operation” 
will expose all the intermarried royal families in Europe to criticism and ultirgate re- — 


jection by peoples who will not be governed by a coterie of persons diseased in body 
through narrow intermarriage, enfeebled in mind—strong only in their prejudices, 
-and large only in their self-esteem and in requirements. There is yet time to save 
‘the thrones of Europe—or at least the royal palaces of England—from the conse- 
gzences of a collision between the great natural laws ordained by Providence, and 


the narrow and mischievous artificial law ordained by a wilful king of England. That — 


king is in bis grave, and the last of his children is now gone to join him there. Let 
the time be !aid hold of to bury his evil work in the tomb which is now to be sealed 


over him and his for ever; and the act will be gratefully acknowledged by a long line _ 


of future princes and princesses, who will be spared the bitter suffering of those who 
have gone before, It can never be, as was said by wise men eighty years ago, that 


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MISS MARTINEAU.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 205 


royal personages who are declared of age at eighteen will have no will of their own, 
jn such a matter as marriage, at five-and-twenty. Marriage is too solemn and sacre 
a matter to be treated as u piece of state politics ; and the ordinance which is holy in 
the freedoin of private life may be trusted with the domestic welfare of prince and 
peasant alike. 


Postal Reform-—Anecdote of Coleridge.—lrom ‘History of the Thirty 
. Years’ Peace’ (1816-1846), 


Coleridge, when a young man, was walking through the Lake district, when he one 
day saw the postman deliver aletter to a woman at a cottage door. The woman 
turned it over and examined it, and then returnedit, saying that she could not pay 

’ the postage, which was a shilling. Hearing that the letter was from her brother, 
Coleridge paid the postage, in spite of the manifest unwillingness of the woman. 
As soon as the postman was out of the house, she shewed Coleridge how his money 
had been wasted, as far as she was concerned. The sheet was blank, There was an 
agreement between her brother and herself, that as long as all went well with him, he 
should send a blank sheet in this way once a quarter, and she had thus tidings of 
him without expense of postage. 

Most people would have remembered this incident 4s a curious story to tell; but 
~ there was one mind which wakened up at once to a sense of the significance of the 
- fact. It struck Mr. Rowland Hill that there must be something wrong in a system 

which drove a brother and sister to cheating, in order to gratify their desire to hear 
of one another’s welfare. It was easy enough in those days to collect a mass of 
anecdotes of such cheating. Parents and chiidren, brothers and sisters, lovers and 
friends, must have tidings of each other, where there is any possibility of obtaining 
them; and those who had not shillings tospend in postage—who could no more 
spend shbillings- in postage than the class above them conld spend hundreds 
of pounds on pictures—would resort to any device of communication, without 
thinking ther: was any harm in such cheating. because no money was kept 
back from government which could have been paid. There was curious dot- 
ting in. newspapers, by which messages might be spelled out. Newspapers 
being franked by writing on the covers the names of members of parlia- 
mnent, a set of signals was arranged by which the names selected were made 
to serve as a bulletin... Men of business so wrote letters as that several might go on 
“one sheet, which was to be cut up and distributed. The smuggling of letters by car- 
riers was enormous. After all expenditure of time and ingenuity, there remained, 
however, a terrible blank of enforced silence. We look back now with a sort of 
amazed compassion to the old crusading times when warrior-husbands and their 
wives. gray-headed parents an’ their brave sons, parted with the knowledge that it 
must be months or years before they could hear even of one another’s existence. 
We wonder how they bore the depth of silence. And we feel the same now about 
the families of Polar voyagers. But. till a dozen years ago, it did not occur to many 
of us how like this was the fate of the largest classes in Gur own country. The fact 
is, there was no full and free epistolary intercourse in the country, except between 
those who had the command of franks. There were few families in the wide middle 
class who did not feel the cost of postage a heavy item in their expenditure; and if 

-the young people sent Jetters home only once a fortnight, the amount at the year’s 
end was rather a serious matter, But it was the vast multitude of the lower orders 
who suffered lilke the crusading families of old. and the geographical discoverers 
of all time. When once their families parted off from home, it was a separation 
almost like that of death. The hundreds of thousands of apprentices, of shopmen, 
of governesses, of domestic servants, were cut off from famfy relations as if seas or 
desevis lay between them and home. If the shilling for each letter could be saved 
by the economy of weeks or months at first, the rarity of the correspondence went to 
increase the rarity; new interests hastened the dying out of old ones; and the 
ancient domestic affections were but too apt to wither away, till the wish for inter- 
course was gone. The young girl could not ease her heart by pouring out her cares 
and difficulties to her mother before she slept. as she can now when the penny and 
the sheet of paper are the only condition of the correspondence. The young lad 


felt that a letter home was a somewhat serious and formal matter, when it must 


206 CYCLOP-EDIA OF 


cost his parents more than any indulgence they ever thought of for themselves : and 


the old fun and light-heartedness were dropped from such domestic Intercourse as” 


there was. ‘he effect upon morals of this kind of restraint is proved beyond a 
doubt by the evidence afforded in the army. It was a well-known fact. that in regi- 
ments where the commanding officer was kind and courteous about franking letters 
for the privates, and encouraged them to write as often as they pleased, the soldiers 
were nore sober and manly, more virtuous and domestic in their affections, than 
where difficulty was made by the indolence or stiffness of the franking officer. To 
some persons, this aspcct has ever appeared the most important of the various inter- 


esting aspects of the postage reform achieved by Mr. Rowland Hill. As for others, _ 


it is impossible to estimate the advantage of the change. In reading Cowper’s life, 
how strange now seems his expenditure of time, thought, and trouble about obtain- 
ing franks for the manuscripts and proof of his Homer $ now, when every mail car- 
ries packets between authors, printers, and publishers, for a few pence, without any 
teasing solicitation tor franks, or dependence upon anybody’s good offices! What 
amass of tradesmen’s patterns and samples, of trade circulars, of bills and small 
sums of money, of music and books, of seeds and flowers, of small merchandise and 
friendly gifts, of curious specimens passing between men of science, of bulletins of 
health to satisfy anxious hearts, is every day sent abroad over the land: and now 
spreading over wide oceans and across continents, through Rowland Hill’s discovery 


\ 


of a way to throw down the old barriers and break through the ancient silence! It 


was truly a beneficent legislation whicli made this change. 

It was not easy, however, to make the change. Long after the case was made 
clear—long after the old evils and the new possibility were made as evident as facts 
and figures can make any proposition—there was difficulty —vexatious, even exaspe- 
rating difficulty—in carrying the reform. One great obstacle at the outset was that 
the post-office has, through all time, declared itself perfect. As the Duke of Wel- 
lington declared of our representative system that it could not be improved, while 

_the grass and trees of Old Sarum were sending two members to parliament, so the 
post-office declared itself perfect when carts and saddle-horses carried its bags; and 
ugain, when Mr. Palmer’s mail-coaches—declared an impossible creation in 1797— 
brought the Bath letters to London in eighteen hours, and could take no notice of out- 
of-the-way towns and small villages; and again, when a letter from Uxbridge, posted 
on Friday night, could not reach Gravesend till Tnesday morning ; and, finally, when 
the sate of postal communication in Great Britain was what has been indicated 
above. No postalreforms of a comprehensive character have ever originated in the 
Vost-office itself. This is natural, because its officers are wholly occupied with its 
interior affairs, and cannot look abroad so as to compare its provisions with the 
growing needs of society. It required a pedestrian traveller in the Lake District, 
making his wayside observations, and following up the suggestion ; an investigator 
who could ascertain something of the extent of the smuggling of letters; a man of 
an open heart, who could enter into family sympathies ; a man of philosophical inge- 
nuity, who could devise a remedial scheme; and a man of business, who could for- 
tify such a scheme with an impregnable accuracy, to achieve such a reform, ‘The 
Iman was among us, and the thing was done. 

Mr. Hill ascertained that ‘the cost of mere transit incurred upon a letter sent 
from London to Edinburgh, a distance of four hundred miles, is not more than one 
thirty-sixth part of a penny.’ When this was once made clearly known to tke peo- 


ple of London and Edinburgh, it was not likely that they would be Cee al 16% 3 


pay a shilling or upwards. It was not likely that rich merchants would be content 5 
aud much less the multitude to whom a shilling was a probibitor¥ duty on corres- 
pondence. It would strike them all that if government received such a profit as this 
on the transmission of latters, the government must be getting much too rich at the 
expense of letter-writers, and to the injury of persons who would fain write letters if 
they could, If it appeared, however, that the revenue from the post-office was unac- 
countably small—that it was diminishing in actual amount instead of increasing with 
the spread of population—it was clear that the Post-office could not be so perfect as 
it thought itself ; that it was not answering its purpose; that whatever might be its 
mismanagement and consequent expensiveness, there must also be an enormous 
amount of smuggling letters. And the facts were so. Between the years 1815 and 
-1835, the Post-office annual revenue had declined ; while, on its own existing terms, 


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MISS MARTINEAU.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. — 207 


4 


_ it ought. from the increase of population. to-haye risen £507,700—from the mere in- 
erease of population it ought to have risen thus much, without. regard to the improve- 
ment of education, and the spread of commerce, which had taken place in these 
twenty years. 

The way to-deal with smuggling is now very well understood. To extineuish 

_ smuggling it is necessary to Jower duties to the point which makes smuggling not 
worth while. In some of the most populous districts of England it was believed that 
the number of letters illegally conveyed by carriers, aud delivered in an awkward 
and irregular sort of way at the cost of a penny each, far exceeded that of the letters 
sent through the Fost-office. The penny posts established in towns were found to 
enswer well. Putting together these and a hundred other facts with that of the ac- 
tual cost of transmis ion of an Edinburgh letter, Mr. Hill proposed to reduce the cost 
of all letters not exceeding half an onnce in weight to a penny. The shock to the 
Post-oftice of such an audacious proposal was extreme; and so was the amazement 
of the public at the opening of such a prospect. As the actual cost of transm/ssion 

to any part of the kingdom reached by-the mail was less than a farthing. the penny 
rate might be made uniform—to the saving of a world of time and trouble—and still 
the profit or-tax would be two hundred per cent. Mr, Hili’s calculation was, that if 
the postage could be paid in advance so as to save time and trouble‘in delivery, and 
other facilities of communication be established, which he pointed ont, and the post- 


_ age be reduced to a penny for half-ounce letters, the increase in the number of letters, 


by the stoppage of smuggling, and the new cheapness must soon be fourfold. When 


~ it became fourfold, the net revenue, after defraying the expense of conveying franks 


and newspapers, would amount to £1,278.000 per unnum—a sum only £280.000 less 
than the existing revenue. As no one supposed that the increase would ultimately 
be so little as fourfold, there was every prospect that the Post office revenue would, 
in a few years, recover its then present amount directly ; while it was certain that, 
under other heads, the revenue must be largely increased throngh the stimulus given 
to commerce by improved communication. 

When Mr. Hill proposed his plan, the revenue was in a flourishing state—in a state 
‘which would justify such an ex} eriment as this for suchtends. It was well that none 
foresaw the reverse which was at hand, and the long depression which must ensue; 
for none might have had courage to go into the enterprise. But that reverse served 
admirably as a test of the reform ; and through the long depression which ensued, 
Mr. Hill’s plan. though cruelly majmed, and allowed at first no fair chance. worked 
well while everything else was working ill. The reverne from ihe Post-officewent 
on steadily increasing, while every other branch of the nationalincome was declining 
or stationary... . : 

= And from our own country the blessing is reaching many more; and cheap postage 
is becoming establishea in one nation after another, extending the benefits of the in= 


' vention among myriads of men who have not yet heard the name of itsauthor. The 


poet’s shilling given in the Lake District was well laid out! = 


“WILLIAM AND MARY HOWITT. ‘3b 


A love of natural history and poetry, great industry, and a happy 
talent for description, distinguish these popular writers, originally 


members of the Society of Friends. Mary Botham was a native of | 


Uttoxeter, county of Stafford; William Howitt was born in 1795, at 
Heanor, in Derbyshire. They were married in 1828, and the same 
year they published, in conjunction, ‘The Forest Minstrel,’ a series 
of poems. In the preface is the following statement: ‘The history 
of our poetical bias is simply what we believe, in rea“ty, to be that 
of many others. Poetry has been our youthful amusement, and 
our increasing daily enjoyment in happy, and our solace in sorrowful 
hours. Amidst the vast and delicious treasures of our national 
literature, we have revelled with growing: and unsatiated delight; 
‘and at the same time, living chefly in the quietness of the country, 


208 - CYCLOPADIA OF "Fro 1876. 


we have watched the changing features of nature; we have felt the 
secret charm of those sweet but unostentatious images which she is- 
perpetually presenting, and given full scope to those workings of 
the imagination and of the heart, which natural beauty and solitude 
prompt and promote. The natural result was the transcription of 
those images and scenes.’ 

A poem in this volume serves to complete a happy picture of 
studies pursued by a married pair in concert: 


Away with the pleasure that is not partaken ? 
There is no enjoyment by one only ta’en: 
I love in my mirth to see gladness awaken 
On lips, and in eyes, that refleet it again. 
When we sit by the fire that so cheerity blazes 
.. On our cozy hearthstoue, with its inuocent glee, wi, 
Oh! how iny soul warms, while my eye fondly gazes, 
To see my delight is partaken by thee. 


And when, as how often, I eagerly listen 
To stories thou read’st of the dear olden day, 
How delightful to see our eyes mutually glisten, 
And feel that affection has sweetened the jay. 
Yes, and love—and when wandering even at morning, 
Through forest or wild, or by waves foaming white, 
I have fancied new beauties the landscape adorning, 
Because I have seen thou wast glad in the sight. 


AnJ how often in crowds, where a whisper offendeth, 
And we fain would express what there might not be said, | 
How dear is the glance that none else comprehendeth, 
And how sweet is the thought that is secretly read ! 
Then away with the pleasure that is not partaken | 
There is no enjoyment by one only ta’en: 
Tlove in my mirth to see vladness awaken 
On lips, and in eyes, that reflect it again. 


Mrs. Howitt has since published a great variety of works—‘ The 
Seven Temptations,’ a dramatic poem, 1834; ‘Wood Leighton,’ a 
novel; ‘The Heir of West Wayland;* and several volumes both in 
prose and verse for children, The attention of Mr. and Mrs. Howitt 
having been drawn to the Swedish language, they studied it with 
avidity, and Mrs. Howitt has translated the tales of Frederika Bremer 
and the ‘ Improvisatore’ of Hans Christian Andersen, all of which 
have been exceedingly popular, and now circulate extensively both . 
in England and America. Mr. Howitt has been a still more volumin- | 
ous writer. His happiest works are those devoted to rural descrip- 
tion. The ‘ Book of the Seasons,’ 1831, delineates the picturesque and 
poetical features cf the months, and all the cbjects and appearances 
which the year presents in the garden, the field,.and the waters. An 
enthusiastic lover of his subject, Mr. Howitt is remarkable for the 

fullness and variety of his pictorial sketches, the richness and purity 
of his fancy, and the occasional force and eloquence of his language. 


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THE HowiTTs.] _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 209 


Love of the Beautiful. 


__ If I could but arouse in other minds (he says) that ardent and ever-growing love 
of.the beautiful works of God 1m the creation, which I fecl in myself—if I could but 
make it in others what it has been to me— 
‘The nurse, 
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul 
Of all my moral being— 
if I conld open to any the mental eve which can never be again closed, but which 
finds more and more clearly revealed before it beauty, wisdom. and peace in the 
splendours of the heavens, in the majesty of seas and mountains, in the freshness of 
“ winds, the everchanging lights and shadows of fair landscapes. the solitude of 
heaths, the radiant face of bright lakes. and the solemn depths of woods, then, in- 
deed, should I rejoice. Oh that I could but touch a thousand bosoms with that mel- 
-ancholy which often visits mine, when I behold little children endeavouring to ex- 
tract amusement from the very dust, and siraws, and pebbles of squalid alleys. shut 
ont from the free and glorious countenance of nature, and think how differently the 
_children of the peasantry ave passing the golden hours of childhood. wandering with 
bare heads and unshod feet, perhaps, but singing a ‘childish, wordless melody’ 
through vernal lanes, or pry: ng into a thousand sylvan leafy nooks, by the Hauid 
music of running waters, amidst the fragrant heath, or on the flowery lap of the 
meadow, occupied with winged wonders without end. Oh that £ could burt baptise 
every heart with the sympathetic feeling of what the city-pent child is condemned to 
lose; how blank, and poor, and joyless must be the images which fill its infant 
bosom, to that of the country one, whose mind 


. Will be a mansion for all lovely forms, 
- His memory be a dwelling-place 
For all sweet sounds and harmonies! 


-I feel, however, an animating assurance that nature will exerta perpetually in- 
creasing influence, not cnly as a most fertile source of pure and substantial picasures 

~-—-pleasures which, unlike many others. produce, instead of satiety, desire. but also as 
a great moral agent: and what effects I anticipate from this growing taste may be 
readily inferred, when I avow it is one of the most fearless articles of my creed, that 
it is scarcely possible for a man in whom its power is once firmly established, to be- 
come utterly debased in sentiment or abandoned in principle. His soul may be said 
to be brought into habitual union with the Author of Nature— 


Haunted forever by the Eterna! Mind. 


In this spirit-Mr. Howitt has written ‘The Rural Life of England,’ 
two volumes, 18388; ‘The Boy’s Country Book; and ‘ Visits to Re- 
markable Places,’ two volumes; the latter work giving ap account of 
old English halls, battle-fields, and the scenes of striking passages in 
English history and poetry. Another work of the same kind, ‘The 
Homes and Haunts of the Poets,’ 1847, is greatly inferior, being dis- 
figured by inaccuracies and rash dogmatic assertions. Mr. Howitt 
was for some years in business in the town of Nottingham, and a 
work from his fertile pen, the nature of which is indicated by its 
name, the ‘ History of Priestcraft,’ 1834, so recommended him to the 
Dissenters and reformers of that town, that he was made one of their 
aldermen. Disliking the bustle of public life, Mr. Howitt retired 

~ from Noitingham, and resided for three years at Esher, in Surrey 
Mr. and Mrs. Howitt then removed to Germany, and after three 
years’ residence in that cou: try, the former published a work on the 

~ ‘Social and Rural Life of Germany,’ which the natives admitted to 


De og Te OD re [ro 1376: ~ 


be the best account of that country ever written by a foreigner. Our 
industrious author has also translated a work written expressly for 
him, ‘he Student Life of Germany.’ After his return, Mr. Howitt 
embarked in periodical literature as a proprietor, but neither ‘The 
People’s Journal’ nor ‘ Howitt’s Journal’ was a successful specula-~ - 
tion. He then sailed for Australia, and a.two years’ residence in that 
colony enabled him to publish an interesting and comprehensive 
work, in two volumes, entitled. ‘ Land, Labour, and Gold,. or ‘Two 
“Years in Victoria, with visits to Sydney and Van Diemen’s Land.’ 
He has also published ‘The Ruined Castles and Abbeys of Great 
Britain,’ 1861; ‘ History of the Supernatural ;’ 2 Letters on ‘Transpor- 
tation,’ 1863: ‘Discovery in Australia,’ &c., 1865; ‘The Mad War 
Planet, and other Poems,’ 1871. The last was a decided failure. 
But few writers have displayed greater intellectual activity than 
Mary and William Howitt, and to the young they have been special “ 
benefactors. 


Mountain Crildren.—By Mary Howitt. eal a 


Dwellers by lake and hill! 
Merry companions of the bird and bee! 
Go gladly forth and drink of joy your fill, 
With unconstrained step and spirits free ! . 


No crowd impedes your way, ~ 
No city wall impedes your further bounds; 

Where the wild flock can wander ye may stray 
The long day through, ’mid summer sights and sounds. 


The sunshine and the flowers, 
And the old trees that cast a solemn shade; 

‘The pleasant evening, the fresh dewy hours, 
And the green hills whereon your fathers played. 


The gray and ancient peaks 

Round which the silent clouds hang day and night 3 
And the low. voice of water as it makes, 

Like a glad creature, murmurings of delight. 


These are your joys! Go forth— 
Give your hea: ts up unto their mighty power; 
For in his spirit God has clothed the earth, 
And speaketh solemnly-from tree and flower. as 


The voice of. hidden rills 
Its quiet way into your spirits finds; 
And awfully the everlasting hills 
Address you in their many-toned winds. 


Ye sit upon the earth 
Twining its flowers, and shouting full of glee, 
And a pure mighty influence ’mid your mirth, 
Moulds your unconscious spirits silently. 


ds A 


Hence is it that the Jands : 
Of storm and mountain have te noblest sons3 a 
Whom the world reverences. ‘he patriot bands 
Wers of the hills like you, ye little ones ! i 


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THE-HowITTs.] | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 911 


or te eee ; ; ~ a . 2 


a ~. - Children of pleasant song 
Are taught within the mountain solituces ; 
For hoary legions to your wilds belong, 
And yours are haunts where inspiration broods. 


= Then go forth—ear‘h and sky 
To you are tributary ; joys are spread 
Profusely, like the summer fiowers that lie 
In the green path, beneath your gamesome tread ! 


Mountains.—From ‘ The Book of the Seasons.’ 


” Whereis « charm connected with mountains, so powerful that the merest mention 
of them, the tierest sketch of their maguificent feature, kindles the inagination, and 
carries the spirit at once into the bosom of their enchanted regions. How the mind 
is filled with cheir vast solitude! how the inward eye is fixed on their silent, their 
sublime, their everlasting peaks! How our heart bounds to the music of their solitary 
cries, to the tinkle of their gushing rills, to the sound of their cataracts! How in- 
spiriting are the odours that breathe from the upland turf, fromthe rock-hung flower, 
from the hoary and solemn pine! how beantifui are those lights and shadows thrown 
abroad, and that fine, transparent haze which is diffused over the valleys and lower 
slopes, as over a vast, inimitable picture! 

~ At this season of the year [autumn] the ascents of our own mountains are most 
practicable. The heat of summer has dried up the moisture with which winter rains 
-saturate the spongy turf of the hollows; and the atmosphere, clear and settled, 
admits of the most extensive prospects. Whoever has not ascended our mountains 


~ knows little of the beauties of this beautiful isiand. Whoever has not climbed their 


long and heathy ascents, and seen the trembling mountain-flowers, the glowing moss, 
the richly tinted lichens at his feet; and scented the fresh aroma of the uneulti- 
vated sod, and of the spicy shrubs; and heard the bleat of the flock across 
their solitary expanses, and the wild cry of the mountain plover. the raven, or the 


- eagle; and seen the rich and russet hues of distant slopes and eminences, the livid ~ 


*gashes of ravines and precipices. the white glittering line of falling waters, and the 
“cloud tumultuously whirling round the lofty summit; and then stood panting on that 
summit, and beheld the clouds aiternately gather and break over a thousand giant 
peaks and ridges of every varied hue, but all silent as images of eternity; and cast 
his gaze over Jukes and forests. and smoking towns, and wide lands to the very ocean, 


_* jn all their gleaming and reposing beanty—knows nothing of the treasures of picto- 


rial wealth which his own country possesses. 

- But when we let loose the imagination from even these splendid scenes, and give it 
free charter to range through the far more glorious ridges of continental mountains, 
through Alps, Apennines, or Andes. how is it possessed and absorbed by all the awful 
Sree of their scenery and character! The skyward and inaccessible pinnacles, 
the 

Palaces where Natur: thrones 
Sublimity in icy halis! 
the dark Alpine forests, the savage rocks and precipices, the fearful and unfathom- 
able chasms filled with the sound of ever-precipitating waters; the cloud, the silence, 
the avalanche, the cavernous gloom, the terrible visitation of Heaven’s concentrated 
lightning, darkness, and thunder ; or the sweeter features of living, rushin g streams, 
spicy odours of flower and shrub. fresh spirit-elating breezes sounding throngh the 
dark pine-grove ; the ever-varying lights and shadows, and aérial hues, the wide pros- 
pects, and. above all. the simple inhabitants. ; : : ; 
We delight to think of the people of mountainons regions; w please our Im- 
aginations with their picturesque and quiet abodes 3 with their peaceful and secluded 
lives, striking and unvarying costumes, and primitive manners. We involuntarily 
ive tothe mountaineer heroic and elevated qualities. Heo lives amongst noble ob- 
jects, and must imbibe some of their nobility he lives amongst the elements of 
poetry. and must be poetical; he lives where his fellow-beings are far, far separated 
from their kind, and surrounded by the sternness and the perils of savage nature ; 


his social affections must therefore be proportionably concentrated, his home-ties 


: = . 
. 2 ow 


218 | CYCLOPAEDIA OF ~— OY Spf POTO IOs. ae 
lively and strong ;. but, more than all, he lives within the barriers, the strongholds, —~ 
the very last refuge which Nature herself has reared to preserve alive liberty in the 
earth, to preserve to man his highest hopes, his noble-t emotions, his dearest treas~ 
ures, his fuith, his freedom, his hearth, and his home. How glorious-do those 
mountain-ridges appear when we look upon thein as the unconquerable abodes of | 
free hearts ; as the stern, heaven-built walls from which the few, tue feeble, the per- 
secuted, tlhe despised, the helpless child, the delicate woman, have from age to age, 
in their last periis, in all their weaknesses and emergencies, when power and cruelty 
were ready to swallow them up, looked down and beheld the million waves of des- 
potism break at their feet; have seen the rage of murderous armies, and tyrants, — 
the blasting spirit of ambition, fanaticism and crushing domination recoil from their 
bases in.despair. ‘‘Lhanks be to God for mountains!’ is often the exclamation of 
my heart as I trace the history of the world. From age to age they have been the 
last friends of man. Ina thousand extremities they have saved him. What great ~ 
hearts have throbbed in their defiles from the days of Leonidas to those of Andreas 
Hofer! What lofty souls, what tender hearts, what poor and persecuted creatures 
haye they sheltered in ther stony bosoms from the weapons and tortures of their 


fellow-men ! 


Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones 
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold! a 


was the burning exclamation of Milton’s agonised and indignant spirit, as he beheld _ 
those sacred bulwarks of freedom for onee violated by the disturbing demons of the 7 
earth ; and the sound of his fiery and lamenting appeal to Heaven will be echoed in’ — 
every generous soul to the end of time. 

Thanks be to God for mountains! ‘The variety which they impart to the glorious 
bosom of our planet were no small advantage ; the beauty which they spread out to 3 
our vision in their woods and waters, their crags and slopes, their clouds and etmos-— — 
pheric hues, were a splendid gift; the sublimity which they pour into our deepest 
souls from their majestic aspects; the poetry. which breathes from their streams, and 
dells, and airy heights, from tne sweet abodes, the garbs and manners of their 
inhabitants, the songs and legends which have awoke in them. were a proud heritage 
to imaginative minds ; but what are all these when the thought comes, that without 
mountains the spirit of man must have bowed to the brutal and the base, and prob- 
ably have sunk to the monotonous level of the unvaried plain. : 

When I turn my eyes upon the map of the world, and behold how wonderfally the 
countries where our faith was nurtured, where our |.berties were generated, where- 
our philosophy and literature, the fonntains of our intellectual grace and beauty, 
sprang up, were as distinctly walled out by God’s hand with mountain ramparts from 
the eruptions and interruptions cf barbarism, as if ut the especial prayer of the early 
fathers of man’s destinies, Iam lost in an exulting admiration. Look at the bold- 
barriers of Palestine! see how the infant liberties of Greece were shelter d from the 
vast tribes of the uncivilised North by the heights of Heemnus and Rhodope ! behold 
how the Alps describe their magnificent crescent, inclining their opposite extremities 
to the Adriatic and Tyrrhene Seas, locking up Italy froin the Gallic and ‘Teutonic 
hordes till the power and spirit of Rome had reached their maturity. and she had 
opened the wide forest of Europe to the light, spread far her laws and lenguage, and 
planted the seeds of many mighty nations! 2 

Thanks to God for mountains! Their colossal firmness seems almost to break 
the current of time itself; the geologist in them searches for traces of the earlier 
world: and it is there, too, that man, resisting the revolutions of lower reeions. re-= | 
tains throngh innumerable years his habits and his rights. While a multitude of i. 

- changes has remoulded the people of Europe, while languages, and Jaws, and dynas— 
ties, and creeds, have passed over it like shadows over the landscape, the children of é 
the Celt and the Got», who fled to the mountains a thonsand years ago, are fond 
there now. and shew us in face and figure, in language and garb; what their fathers 
were: shew us a fine contrast at the modern tribes ¢weliing below and around 
them ; and shew us, moreover, how adverse is the spirit of fhe mountain to mutabil- 
ity, and that there the ficry heart of freedom is found fur ever. AD ae 


. 


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“THE HowITTs.) * ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ O18 


~ 


| F Country Rambles—The South of England—From ‘The Rural Life of 


Hngland.’ 


-- Cross only the south of England, and how delightful were the route to him who 
-_has the love of nature and of Ins country in his heart; and no imperious cares to dis- 
pute it with them. Walk up, as I have said, from Salisbury to Stonehenge. Sit 
down amid that solemn circle, on one of iis fallen stones: contemplate the gigantic 
erection, reflect on its antiquity, and what England has passed through and become 
while those stones have stood there. Walk forth over that beautiful and immense 
Jain—see the green circles, and lines, and mounds, which ancient superstition or 
perhies has everywhere traced upon it, and which nature has beautified with a carpet 
of turf as fine and soft as velvet. Join those simple shepherds, and talk with them. 
Reflect, poetical as our poets have inade the shepherd and his life—what must be the 
monotony of that life in lowland counties—day after day, and month after month, 
‘and year after year—never varying, except from the geniality of summer to winter; 
.and what it must be then, how dreary its long reign of cold, and wet, and snow! 
When you leave them, plunge into the New Forest in Hampshire. There is a re- 
- gion where a summer mcnih might be whiled away asin a fairy-land. There, in the 
very heart of that old forest, you find the spot where Rufus fell by the bolt of Tyrell, 
looking very much as it might look then. Ail around you lie forest and moorland for 
many a mile.. The fallow and red deer in thousands herd there as of old. The squir- 
rels gambol in the oaks aboveyou; the swine rove in the thick fern and the deep 
glades of the forest as in a state of nature. ‘The dull tinkle of the cattle-bell comes 
through the wood; and eyer and anon, as you wander forward, you catch the blue 
smoke of some hidden abode, curli: g over the tree tops; and come tosylvan bowers, 
and little bough-overshadowed cottages, as primitive as any tht the reign of the 


- Conqueror himself could have shewn. What haunts are in these glades for poets 5 


what streams flow through their bosky banks, to soothe at once the ear and eye en- 
amoured of peace and beauty! What endless groupings and colourings for the 
~ painter! At Boldre you may find a spot worth weeing, for it is the parsonage once 
inhabited by the venerable William Gilpin—the descendant of Barnard Gilpin. the 
upostle of the north—the author of ‘ Forest Scenery ;’ and near it is the school, which 
he built and-endowed for the poor from the sale of his drawings. Not very distant 
_ from this stands the rural dwelling of one of England's truest-hearted women, Caro- 
line Bowles—and not far off you have the woods of Netley Abbey, theIsle of Wight, 
the Solent, and the open sea. 
~ But sti!] move on through the fair fields of Dorset and Somerset, to the enchanted 
-land of Devon. If you want stern grandeur, follow its north-western coast; if 
_ peaceful beauty, look down into some one of its rich vales, green as an emerald, 
and pastured by its herds of red cattle; if-all the summer lovelinc:s of woods and 
rivers, you may ascend the Tainar or the avy, or many another stream ; or you 
may stroll on through valleys that for gloricus solitudes, or fair English homes 
ainid their woods and hil's, shall Jeave you nothing to desire. If you want sternness 
‘and Joneliness, you may pass into Dartmoor. ‘There are wastes and wilds, crags of 
granite, views into far-off districts, and the sounds of watcrs hurrying away over 
their rocky beds, enough to satisfy the largest hungering and thirsting after poetical 
delight. I shall never forget the feelings of dciicious entrancement with which 
I approached the outskirts of Dartmoor. I found myself amongst the woods near 
Haytor Crags. It was an antumn evening. The sun, near its setting, threw its 


» yellow beanis amongst the trees, and Ji¢ up the ruddy tors on the opposite side of 


the valley into a beautiful glow. Below, the deep dark river went sounding on its 
way with a melancholy music, and as I wound up the sicep road all beneath the 
enarled oaks, I ever and anon caught glimpses of the winding valley to the left, all 
‘peautiful with wild thickets and Lalf shrouded faces of rock, and siiilon high these 
glowing ruddy tors standing in the blue air in their sublime silence. My road 
wound up, and up, the heather and the bilberry on either hand shewing me that cul- 
_ tivation had never disturbed the soil they grew in; and one sole wood!ark from the 
 far-ascending forest to the right, filled the wide solitude with his wild autumnal 
~ note. Atthat moment Ireached an eminence, and at once saw the dark crags of 
Dartmoor high aloft before me, and one large solitary house in the valley beneath 
the woods. So fair, so silent—save for the woodlark’s note and the moaning river— 
go unearthly did the whole scene seem, that my imagination delighted to look upon 


- ‘ 


: 
7 
~ 
’ 
oi 


OR 


214 CYCLOPADIA OF (2) ie ig 167008 
-— " ~ 
it as an enchanted land, and to persuade itself that that house stood as it would ~ 
stand for ages, under the spell of silence, but beyond the reach of death and change, — 
But even there you need not rest—there lies-a land of gray antiquity, of desolate _ 
beauty still before you—Cornwall., -It is aland almost without a tree. ‘Lhat is, all 
its high and wild plains are destitute of them, and the bulk of its surface is of this 
charucter. Some sweet and sheltered valesit has, filled with noble wocd, as that of © 
‘Tresillian near Truro; but over a great portion of it extend gray heaths. Itisa — 
land where the wild furze seems never to have been rooted ap, and where the huge ~ 
masses of stone that lie about its hills and valleys are clad with the lichen of — 
centurics. And yet how does this bare and barren land fasten on your imagination | _ 
It is a country that seems to have retained its ancient attachments longer than any — 
other. ‘Lhe British tongue here lingered till lately—as ihe ruins of King Arthur’s 
palace still crown the stormy steep of 'iintagel; and the saints that succeeded the 
heroic race, seem to have leit their names on almost every town and village. 
It were well worth a journey there merely to see the vast mines which perforate 

the earth, and pass under the very sea; and the swarming population that they em- — 

loy. It were a beautiful sight to see the bands of young maidens, that sit beneath — 
ong sheds, crushing the ore, and siuging in chorus. But far more were it worth 
the trip to stand at the Land’s-End, on that lofty, savage, and shattered coast, with 
the Atlantic roaring all around you. The Hebrides themselves, wild and desolate, — 
and subject to obscuring mists as they are, never made me feel more shipped intoa — 
dreain-land than that scenery. At one moment.the sun shining over the calm sea, ~ 
in whose transparent depths the tawny rocks were seen far down. Right and left — 
extend the dun cliffs and cavernous precipices, and at their feet the white billows — 
playing gracefully to and fro over the nearly sunken rocks, as through the manes of — 
huge sea-lions. At the next moment all-wrapt inthe thickest obscurity of mist; — 
the sea only cognisable by its sound; the dun crags looming through the fog vast ~ 
and awfully, and all round you on the land nothing visible, as you trace back your 3 
way, but huge gray stones that strew the whole carth. Jn the midst of such @ ~ 
scene I came to a little deserted hut, standing close by a solitary mere amongst the i 
rockz, and the dreamy effect became most perfect. What a quick and beautiful con- 
trast was it to this, as the very same night 1 pursued my way along the shore, the — } 
elear moon hanging on the distant horizon, the waves of the ocesn on one hand com= 
ing np all luminous and breaking on the strand in billows of fire, and om the other _ 
se the sloping turf sown with glow-worms for some niles, thick as the stars Over- 

ead. 
I speak of the delight which a solitary man may gather up for ever from such ex= — 
cursions 5 that will come before him again and again in all their beauty from his past — 
existence, intO many a crowd cnd many a solitary room; but how much more may 
be reaped by a congenial baud of affectionate spirits insuch a course. To them, a — 
thousand different Incidents or odd adventures, flashes of wit and moments of enjoy- — 
ment combine to quicken both their pleasures and friendship. ‘The very flight from_ 
a shower, or the dining on a turnip-pie, no very nncommon dish in the rural inns of — 
Corawall, may furnish merriment for the future. And if this one route would be a — 
delicious summer’s ramble, with all its coasting and its seaports into the bargain, - 3 
how many such stretch themselves in every direction through England. The fair 
orchard-scenes of Hereford and Worcester, in spring all one region of bloom and 
fragrance—the hills of Malvern and the Wrekin. The fairy dales of Derbyshire; the _ 
swect forest and pastoral scenes of Staffordshire; the wild dales, the sears and tarns” ; 
of Yorkshire; the cqually beautiful valleys aud hills of Lancashire, with all those — 
quaint old halls that sre scattered through it, memorials of past times, and all con-"— 
nected with some incident or other of English history. And then there is Northum-—__ 
berland—the classic ground of the ancient ballad—the country of the Percy—of 
Chevy Chice—~of the Hermit of Warkworth—of Otterburn and Humbledown—of 
Plodden, and many another stirring scene, And besides all these are the mountain" 
regicas of Cumberland, of Wales. of Scotland, and Ireland, that by the power of 
steam, are being brought every day more within the reach of thousands. What an” — 
inexhaustible wealth of beauty lies in those regions! ‘These, if eyeryother portion _ 
of the kingdom were reduced by ploughing and manufacturing and steaming to the — 
veriest commonplace, these, in the immortal strength of their nature, bid defiance to ~ ; 


the efforts of any antagonist or reducing spirit. These will still remain wild and 
- fair, the refuge and haunt of the painter and the poet—of all lovers of beauty, and 


= 


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are ga oe 


 GILFILLAN.}] = = ENGLISH LITERATURE. 215 


__ breathers after quiet and freshness. Nothing can pull down their lofty and scathed 
- heads; nothing can dry up those everlasting waters, that leap down their cliffs and 
_ run along their vales in gladness; nothing can certainly exterminate those 
~ dark heaths, and-drain off those mountain lakes, where health and liberty seem to 
- dwell together; nothing can efface the loveliness of those regions, save the hand of 
Him who placed them there. I rejoice to think. that while this great nation re- 
mains, whatever may be the magnitude of the designs for the good of the world in 
which Providence purposes to employ it—however populous it may be necessary for 
it to become—whatever the machinery and manufactories that may be needfully at 
work in it; that while Cumberland, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland continue, there 
will continue regions of indestructible beauty—of free and unpruned nature, so fair 
that those who are not satisfied therewith, would not be satisfied with the whole uni- 
verse. More sublimity other countries may boast, more beauty has fallen to the lot 
_of none on Gcd’s globe. 


EN, ey 


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REV.. GEORGE GILFILLAN. 


_ This gentleman (born at Comrie, in Perthshire, in 1813) is author 

<*of a number of*aworks, gritical and biographical. The best known 
of these is his ‘Gallery of Literary Portraits,’ the first portion pub- 
lished in 1845, a second in 1849, and a third in 1855. In the interval 

between the successive appearance of these volumes, Mr. Gilfillan 

published ‘The Bards: of the Bible,’ 1850; ‘The Book of British 
oesy, 1851; ‘The Martyrs, Heroes, and Bards of the Scottish Cove- 

~ nant,’ 1852; &c. In 1856 he published ‘The History of a Man’—a 
- singular melange of fancy sketches and biographical facts; and in the 
~ following year, ‘Christianity and our Era;’ in 1864, ‘Martyrs and 
- Heroes of the Scottish Covenant;’ in 1867, ‘Night’ (a poem in blank 
_ verse, by nomeans a happy effort of the author); and the same year 
~ a volume of biographies, entitled ‘Remoter Stars in the Church Sky;’ 
in 1869, ‘Modern Christian Heroes;’ in 1871; ‘Life of Sir Walter 
Scott.” Mr. Gilfillan has also been a large contributor to periodical 
“works, and has edited a series of the British Poets. At the same 


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; 

_ time he discharges the duties of a pastor of the United Presbyterian 
- Church in Dundee; and has published several volumes of sermons 
and discourses. The industry of Mr. Gilfillan is a remarkable and 
_ honourable feature in his character; and his writings, though too 
_ often disfigured by rash judgmentsand a gaudy rhetorical style, have 
an honest warmth and glow of expression which attest the writer's 
_ sincerity, while they occasionally present striking and happy illustra- 
-tions, From his very unequal pages, many felicitous images and 
- actaphors might be selected. 


Lochnagar and Byron. 
We remember a pilerimage we msde some ycars ago to Lochnagar. As we as- 
~ cendcd, a mist came down over the hill, like a veil dropped by some jealous beawly 
- Over-her own fair face. At length the summit was reached, though the prospect was 
_ denied us. It wasa proud and thrilling moment. What though darkness was all 
‘ around? Itwus the very utmosphere that suited the scene. . It was ‘dark Lochnagar.’ 
_ And only think how fine it was to climb up and clasp its cairn—to lift a stone from 
it, to bein after-time a memorial of our journey—to sing the song which made it 
_ terrible and dear, in its own proud drawing-room. with those great fog-curtains 
. floating around—to pass along the brink of its precipices—to snatch a fearful joy, as 
A 


we leaned over and hung down, and saw far beneath the gleam of eternal snow shin- 


bea 
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216 - CYCLOPZDIA OF 


ine no from its hollows, and columns, or rather perpendicular seas of mist, streaming 
up upon the wiud— 


Like foam from the roused ocean of deep hell, 
Where every wave breaks on a living shore— 

tinged, too, here and there, on their tops, by gleams of sunshine, the farewell beams 
of the ‘dying day. It was the grandest ‘moment in our lives. | We had stood upon. 
inany hills—in sunshine and in shade, in mist and in thunder—bat never had before, 
nor hope to have again, such a feeling of the grandeur of this lower universe— 
such a sense of horrible sublimity. Nay, we question if there be a mountain in the 
empire, which, though secn in similar circumstances, could awaken the same emo- 
tions in our ininds. “Tt is not its loftiness, though that be great—nor its bold ontline, * 
nor its savage loneliness, nor its mist-loving precipices, but the associations which 
crown its crags with a ‘peculiar diadem ;’ its identification with the image of a 
poet; who, amid all his fearful errors, had perhaps more than any of the age’3 
bards the power of investing all his career—yea, to every corner which his fierce foot 
ever touched, or which his genius ever sung—with profound and melancholy interest. 
We saw the name Byron written in the cloud-char: icters above us. We saw his gen- 
ius sadly smiling in those gleams of stray sunshine which gilded the darkness they _ 
could not dispel. We found an emblem of his poetry in that flying rack, and of his g 
character in those lowering precipices. Weseemed to hear the wail of his restless ~ 
spirit in the wild sob of the wind, fainting and struggling up under its burden of — 
darkness. Nay, we could fancy that this hill was designed as an eternal monument — 
to his name, and to image all those peculiarities which make that name for ever illus- 
trious. Not the loftiest of his country’s poets, he is the most sharply and terribly de- — 
fined. .In magnitude and round cotininienene: he yields to many—in jagged, abrupt, - 
and passionate projection of his own shadow over the world of literature, to none. | 
The genius of convulsion, a dire attraction, dwells aronnd him, which leads many to 
hang. oyer, and some to leap down his precipices. Volcanic as he is, the coldness of 
wintry selfishness too often collects in the hollows of his verse, He loves, too, the — 
cloud and the thick darkness, and comes ‘ veiling all the Jightnings of his song in ; 
sorrow.’ So, like Byron beside Scott and W ordswor th, does Lochnaguar stand in 1 the 
presence of his neighbour giants, Ben-mac-Dhui, and Ben-y-boord, less lofty; but — 
more fiercely eloquent in its jagzed outline, reminding us of the via of the forked — 
lightning, which it seems dumbly to mimic, projecting its cliffs like quenched batters — 
ies against earth and heaven, with the cold of snow in its heart, and with a coronet A 


of mist round its gloomy brow. : 
. 


No poet since Homer and Ida has thus, everlastingly, shot his genius into the 
heart of one great mountain, identifying himself and his song with it. Not Horace 
with Soracte—not_ Wordsworth with Heivelly n—not Coleridge with Mont Blanc—not 
Wilson with the Black Monnt—not even Scott with the Eiidons—all these are still 
common property, but Lochnagar is Byron’s own—no poet will ever venture to sing — 
it again. In its dread circle none derst walk but he. His allusions to it are not nu- e 
merous, but its peaks stood often before his eye: a recollection of its grandeur 
served more to colour his line than the glaciers of the Alps, the cliffs of Jura, or the a 
thunder hills of fear, which he heard in Chimari; > even from the OSes of Grecia 4 


he was carried back to Morven, and re 7 
Lochnagar, with Ida, looked o’er Troy. ei | 

From a graphic sketch of a once popular divine by Mr. Gilfillan wo - 
make an extract: . ® 


The Rev, Ldward Irving. 


Y 
We come, in fine, to the greatest of them all, Edward Irving. And first, let us ~ fe 
glance at the person of the man. In reference to other literary ‘nen you think, or at 
least, speak of their appearance last. ‘but so it was of this remarkable man, that hy 
most people put his face and figure in the foreground,- and spoke of ‘his mental ana 
moral faculties as belonging to tnem, rather than of them as belonging to the man. In 
this respect, he bore a strong resemblance to the two heroes of the French Reyolu- 
tion, Mirabeau and Danton. “Irving was 2 Danton spiritualised. Had he been born in 


ej 


eae ects eee Pa x ne atm co ge tr ated ee 
GILFILLAN.} = ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 217 


3 : 
France, and subjected to its desecrating infinences, and hurled head foremost into the 
_ vortex of its revolution, he would, in all probability. have cut some such tremendous 
fizure as the Mirabeau of the Sans-culottes; he would have laid about him as wildly 
at the massacres of September, and carried his huge black head as high in the dvath- 
_¢art, and under the guillotine. Had he been boru in England, in certain circles, he 
had perhaps emerged from obscurity in the shape of an actor, the most powerful that 
- ever trod the stage, combining the statuesque figure and sonorous voice of the Kemble 
- family, with the energy, the starts, and bursts and inspired fury of Kean, added to 
- some qnalities pecgliarly hisown. Had he turned his thought to tne tuaeful art, he 
had written rugged and fervent verse, containing much of Milton’s grandeur, and 
much of Wordsworth’s oracular simplicity. Had he snatched the pencil, he would 
_ have wielded it with the savage force of Salvator Rosa, and his conceptions would 
 haye partaken now of Blake’s fantastic quaintness, and now of Martin’s gigantic mo- 
- notony. Had he lived inthe age of chivalry. he would have stood side by side in glo- 
rious and well-foughten field with Coeur de Lion hiinself, and died in the stee! harness 
- full gallantly. Had he lived in an age of persecution, he had been either whardy martyr, 
~ leaping into the flames as into his wedding suit, or else a fierce inquisitor, aggravating 
~ by his portentous frown, and more portentous squint, the agonies of his victim. 
_ Had he been born in Calabria, he had been as picturesque a bandit as ever stood on 
‘the point of a rock between a belated pairter and the red evening sky, at once an ob- 
- ject of irresistible terror and irresistible admiration, leaving the poor artist in doubt 
_ whether to take to his pencil or to his heels: But, in whatever part or age of the 
- world he had lived, he must have been an extraordinary man. . . ‘te. 
No mere size, however stupendous, or expression of face, however singular, could 
- have uplifted a common man to the giddy height on which Irving stood for a while, 
calm and collected as the statue upon its pedestal. It was the correspondence, the 
- refieétion of his powers and passions upon his person ; independence stalking in his 
~ stride, intellect enthroned on his brow, imagination dreaming on his lips, physical 
energy stringing his frame, and athwart the whole across ray, as from Bedlam, 
shooting in his eye! It was this which excited such curiosity, wonder. awe, rap-+ 
_ ture, and tears, and made_ his very enemies, even while abusing, confess his power, 
~ and tremble in his presence. It was this which made ladies flock and faint. which 
divided attention with the theatres, eclipsed the oratory of parliament, drew demi- 
reps to hear themselyes abused, made Canning’s fine countenance flush with pleas- 
~ ure, ‘as if his veins ran lightning,’ accelerated in an alarming manner the twitch in 
_ Brougham’s dusky visage, and elicited from his eye those singular glances, half of 
~ envy and half of admiration, which are the truest tokens of applause, and made 
4 such men as Hazlitt protest, on returning half squeezed to death from one of his ~ 
- displays, that a monologue from Coleridge, a recitation of one of his own poems 
_ from Wordsworth, a burst of puns from Lamb, and burst of passion from Kean, 
- were not to be compared to a sermon from Edward Irving. 
 — His manner also contributed to the charm. His aspect, wild, yet grave, as of 
g one labouring with some mighty burden; his voice, deep, clear, and with crashes 
4 of power alternating with cadences of softest melody; his action, now graceful as 
- the wave of the rose-bush in the breeze, and now fierce and urgent as the motion of 
_ the oak in the hurricane. Then there was the style, curiously uniting the beauties 
" and faults of a sermon of the seventeenth century with the beauties and faults of a 
parliamentary harangue or magazine article of the nineteenth—quaint as Browne, 
“florid as Taylor, with the bleak wastes which intersect the scattered green spots of 
_ Howe ‘mixed here with sentences involved, clumsy, and cacophonous as the worst 
_ of Jeremy Bentham’s, and interspersed there with threads from the magic loom of 
Coleridge. It was a strange amorphous Babylonish dialect, imitative, yet original, 
rank with a prodigious growth of intertangled bexuties and blemishes, inclosing 
amid wide tracts of jungle little bits of clearest and purest loveliness, and throwing 
~ out sudden volcanic bursts of real fire, amid jets of mere smoke and hot water. It 
_ had great passages, but not one finished sermon or sentence. It was a thing of 
shreds, and yet a.web of witchery. It was perpetually stumbling the least fastidious 
hearer or reader, and yet drawing both impetuously on. And then, to make the 
~ medley ‘thick and slab,’ there was the matter. a grotesque compound, including 
- here a panegyric on Burns, and there a fling at Byron: here a plan of future pnnish- 
ment, laid out. with as much minuteness as if he had been projecting a bridewell, 
— E,L.V.8—8 


an 
= 


lh i tae, | ote 


218 CYCLOPAIDIA OF « 
be 275 
and there a ferocious attack upon the ‘Edinburgh Review ;’ here a glimpse of the — 
gates of the Celestial City, as if taken from the top of Mount-Clear, and there a — 
description of the scenery and of the poet of the Lakes; here a pensive retrospect — 
to the days of the Covenant, and there a.dig at the heart of Jeremy Bentham ; here ~ 
aray of prophecy, and there a bit of politics; here a quotation from the Psalms, — 
and there from the ‘Rime of the Anciente Mariner.’ Sueh was thé strange, yet — 
overwhelmixvg exhibition which our hero made before the gaping, staring, wonder-— 
ing, laughing, listening, weeping, and thrilling multitudes of fashionable, political, — 
and literary London. : ‘ \ - 3 
He was, in fact, as De Quincey one called him to us, a ‘demon of power.? We 
must not omit, in merest justice, his extraordinary gift of prayer. Some few of his — 
contemporaries might equal him in preaching. but none approached to the very hem ~ 
of his garment while wrapt up into the heaven of devotion. It struck you as the 
rayer of a great being conversing with God. Your thoughts were transported to — 
inai,-and you heard Moses speaking with the Majesty on high, under the canopy of — 
darkness, antid the quaking of the solid mountain and the glimmerings of celestial — 
fire; or you thought of Elijah praying in the cave in the intervals of the earthquake, ~ 
and the fire and the still small voice. The solemnity of the tones convinced you 
that he was conscious of an unearthly presence, and speaking to it, not to you. — 
The diction and imagery shewed that his faculties were wrought up to their highest 
pitch, and tasked to their noblest endeavour. in that ‘ celestial colloquy sublime? — 
And yet the elaborate intricacies and s:\ elling pomp of his preaching were exchanged — 
for deep simplicity. A profusion of Scripture was used; and never did inspired — 
language better become lips than those of Irving. ‘His public prayers told to those ~ 
who could interpret their language of many a secret conference with Heaven—they © 
pointed to wrestlings all unseen, and groanings all unheard—they drew aside, invol-— 
untarily, the veil of his secret retirements, and let in a light into the sanctuary of ~ 
the closet itself. Prayers more elegant, and beautiful. and melting, have often been — 
heard ; prayers more urgent in their fervid importunity have been uttered once and “s 
> again (such as those which were sometimes heard with deep awe to proceed from the 
chamber where the perturbed spirit of Hall was conversing aloud with its Maker till — 
the dawning of the day); but prayers more organ-like and Miltonic, never. The — 
fastidious Canning, when told by Sir James Mackintosh, of Irving praying for a — 
family of orphans as ‘ cast upon the fatherhood of God,’ was compelled to start, and 
own the beauty of the expression. : ane 


F 
BAYARD TAYLOR. : . 7. 
$ 


An American travelley and miscellaneous writer, BAYARD TAYLOR, © 
a native of Pennsylvania, born in 1825, was apprenticed to a printer, ~ 
and afterwards devoted himself to literature and foreign travel.- His ; 
publications are numerous, including ‘ Ximena, and other Poems,” 
18i4; ‘Views Afoot, or Europe seen with Knapsack and Staff,’ 1846; — 
‘A Voyage to California,’ &c., 1850 ; ‘The Lands of the Saracen,” j 
1854; ‘A Visit to India, China, and Japan,’ 1855; ‘Travels in ~ 
Greece and Russia,’ 1859 ; ‘At Home and Abroad,’ (sketches of Life ~ 
and scenery), two volumes, 1859-1862 ; ‘The Poet’s Journal,’ a poet- ~ 
ical domestic autoblography, 1862; ‘Hannah Thurston,’ a story of — 
American life, 1863 ; ‘John Godfrey’s Fortunes, ’ a novel, 1864 ; ‘The ~ 
Story of Kennet,’a tale of American life, 1866 ; ‘Colorado,’ 1867; ~ 
‘By-ways of Europe,’ 1°69 ; &c. A collective edition of the poems 
of Bayard Taylor was published at Boston in 1864, and a collective — 
edition of his travels in ten volumes, by Putnam of New York, in” 
1°69. This enterprising traveller in 1862 was appointed secretary to — 
the American legation at the Court of St. Petersburg. _ ae 


- 
- a 1 


“gAYLOR.] -ENGLISH LITERATURE. 219 
5. Student Life in Germany.—From ‘Views Afoot.’ 


; Receiving a letter from my cousin one bright December morning, the idea of visit- 
ing him struck me, and so, within an hour, B and I were on our way to 
Heidelberg. It was delightful weather ; the air was mild as the early days of spring, 
_ the pine forests around wore a softer green, and though the sun was but a hand’s- 
breadth high, even at noon, it was quite warm on the open road. Wesitopped for 
- the night at Bensheim ; and the next morning was as dark as a cloudy day in the 
north can be, wearing a heavy gloom I never saw elsewhere. The wind blew the 
_ snow down from the summits upon us, but, being warm from walking, we did not 
heed it. The mountains looked higher than in summer, and the old castles more 
~ grim and frowring. From the hard roads and. freezing wind, my feet became very 
sore, and after limping along in excruciating pain for a league or two, I poured some 
brandy into my boots, which deadened the wounds sd much, that Iwas enabled to 
_ go on in a kind of trot, which I kept up, only stopping ten minutes to dinner, until 
- we reached Heidelberg. But I have not yet recovered from the lameness which fol- 
lowed this performance. aig’ 

_ ‘~The same evening there was to be a general commers, or meeting of the societies 
among the students, and I determined not to omit witnessing one of the most inter- 
esting and characteristic features of student life. So, borrowing a cap and coat, I 
- jooked the student well enough to pass for one of them, although the former article 
- was somewhat of the Philister form. Baader, a young poet of some note, and 
_ president of the ‘ Palatia’ Society, having promised to take us to the commers, we 
- mét at eight o’clock at an inn frequented by the students, and went to the rendez- 
yous, near the Markt Platz. 

A confused sound of voices came from the inn, as we drew near, and groups of 
_ students were standing around the door. In the entrance-hall we saw the Red Fish- 
- erman, one of the most conspicuous characters about the University. He is a small, 
_ stout man, with bare neck and breasts, red hair—whence his name—and a strange 

-mixture.of roughness and benevolence in his countenance.. He has saved many per- 
~ sons, at the risk of his own life, from drowning in the Neckar, and on that account 
_ is lenjently dealt. with by the faculty whenever he is arrested for assisting the stu- 
_ dents in any cf their unlawful proceedings. Entering the room I could scarcely see 
_ at first, on account of the smoke that ascended from a hundred pipes. _ All was noise 
—_ and confusion. Near the door sat some half-dozen musicians, who were getting 
their instruments ready for action, and the long room was filled with tables, all of 
_ which seemed to be full, yet the students were still pressifg in;, The tables were cov- 
ered with great stone jugs aud long beer-glasses; the stu@@fits‘were talking and shout- 
"ing and drinking. One who appeared to have the arrangement of the meeting, found 
_ seats for us together, and having made a slight acquaintance with those sitting next 
us, we felt more at liberty to witness their proceedings. They were all talking in a 
~ sociable, friendly way, and I saw no one who appeared to bé intoxicated. The beer 
~ was a weak mixture, which I should think would make one fall over from its weight, 
y rather than its intoxicating properties. Those sitting near me drank but little, and 
_ that principally to make or return compliments. One or two at the other end of the 
_ table were more boisterous, and more than one glass. was overturned upon their legs. 
LS Leaves containing the songs for the evening lay at each seat, and at the head, 
_ where the president sat, were two swords crossed, with which he occasionally struck 
_ upon the table to preserve order.. Our president was a fine, romantic-looking young 
_ man, dressed in the old German costunie—black beaver and plume, and velvet doub- 
~ Jet with slashed sleeves.. I never saw in any company of young men so many hand- 
_ s0me, manly countenances. If their faces were any index of their characters, there 
' were many noble, free souls among them. Nearly opposite to me sata young poet, 
_ whose dark eyes flashed with feeling as he spoke to those near him. After some 
time passed in talking and drinking together, varied by an occasional air from the 
_ musicians, the president beat order with the sword, and the whole company joined 
z. in one of their glorious songs, to a melody atthe same time joyous and solemn. 
’ Swelled by so many manly voices it arose like a hymn of triumph—all other sounds 
_ were stiilled. Three times during the singing all rose to their feet. clashed_their 


eee together around the tables and drank to their fatherland, a health and bless- 
__ ing to the patriot, and honour to those who struggle in the cause of freedom. 


aN 


a90: = CYCLOPADIA OF [ro 1876, » 

After this song, the same order was continued as before, except that students — 
from the different societies made short speeches, accompanied by some toast or senti- 
ment. One spoke of Germany—predictiug that all her disseusions would be overcome, 
and she would arise at last, ike a pheenix, among the nations of Europe; and atthe 
close, gave ‘strong, united, regenerated Germany!’ Instantly all sprang to their feet, - 
and clashing the glasses together, gave a thundering ‘hoch!’ This enthusiasm for ~~ 
their country is one of the strongest characteristics .of the German students ; they ~ 
have ever been first in the field for her freedom, and on them mainly depends her 
future redemption. d ; =i ; 

Cloths were passed around, the tables wiped off, and preparations made to sing — 
the ‘ Landsfather,’ or consecration song. This is one of the mostimportantandsolemn _ 
of their ceremonies, since by performing it the new students are made burschen, and — 
the bands of brotherhood continually kept fresh and sacred. All became still a — 
moment, then commenced the lofty song: : 


Silent bending, each one lending = a : 

T'o the solemn tones his ear, F . oe 

Hark, the song of songs is sounding— Fe 

, Back from joyful choir resounding, . gs 

Hear it, German brothers, hear ! a 

German, proudly rise it, loudly ee 

Singing of your fatherland. . 4 = 

Fatherland ! thou land of story, ; ° “F 

To the altars of thy glory Rit 

Consecrate us, sword in hand! i - 
Take the beaker, pleasure seeker, 

With. thy country’s drink brimmed o’er! <2 

In thy left the sword is blinking, ae 

Pierce it through the cap, while drinking a 

To thy Fatherland once more! a 

With the first line of the last stanza, the presidents sitting at the hea? of ihe table ~ 


oe 


take their glasses in their right hands, and at the third line the sword in their left, at 
the end striking their glasses together-and drinking. 24 
Tn left hand gleaming, thou art beaming, 

Sword from all dishonour free! 
Thus I pierce the cap, while swearing, 
It in honour ever wearing, 

1a valiant Bursch will be! 


4 


eat alana iaks 


a= 


Thev clash their swords together till the third line is sung, whe® each takes his — 
cap. and piercing the point of the sword through the crown, draws it down to the> | 
guard. Leaving their caps on the swords, the presidents stand hehi.d the two next — 
students, who go through the same. ceremony, receiving the swords ft the appropri-. 
ate time. and giving them back loaded with their caps also, This cercmony is going 4 
on at every table at the same time. These two stanzas are repeated for every pair” 
of students, till all have performed it and the presidents have arrived » the bottom 
of the table. with their swords strung full of caps. Here they excl wige swords, — 


while all sing: 


‘ud 


x 


“ 


eS 


Come. thou bright sword, now made,holy, ; 
Of free men the. weapon free ; ; x 
Bring it, solemnly and slowly, ae | 
Heavy with pierced caps to met 37 . 
From its burden now divest it; 
Brothers, be ye covered all, ap 
And till our next festival, ak 
Hallowed and unspotted rest it ! 
~ 


7 eS te a es ~<¢\"S> = a] _ all ~ 
hg a = - - —- ae 2 
; - 2 : 5 7 \ 


, 


_ ENGLISH LITERATURE, 221 


= —_~ 


Up, ye feast companions! ever 
eg ae: : Honour ye our holy band! 
Bist . And with heart and sou! endeavour 
a H’er as high-souled men to stand! 
SS Up to feast. ye men united! 

. Wortby be your fathers’ fame, 
And the sword may no one claim, _ 

Who to hononr is not plighted! 


_ _ Then cach president, taking 2 cap off his sword, reaches it to the student oppo- 
gite, and they Cross their swords, the ends resting on the two students’ heads, while 
_ they sing the next stanza: 


So take it back; thy head I now will cover, 
_ And stretch the bright sword over, 
- : Live also then this bursche, hoch! 
: . Wherever we may meet him, 
3 Will we, as Brother. greet him— i 
BE. ; Live also this, our Brother, hoch! ; 
_~ . This ceremony was repeated till all the caps were given back, and they then con- 
cluded with the followiug: 
ms ; Rest, the Burschen-feast is over, 
Hallowed sword, and thou art free! 
Each one strive a valiant lover 
ei his fatherland to be! 
= Hail to him, who glory-haunted, 
! Follows stills his fathers i old; 
And the sword may no one hold 
: « ~ But the noble and undaunted! 


The Landsfather being over, the students were less orderly; the smoking and 


_ drinking began again, and we left, as it was already eleven o’clock, glad to breathe 
the pure cold air. 


HERMAN MELVILLE. 


_*-A native of New York, born in 1819, HERMAN MELVILLE was 
early struck with a passion for the sca, and in his eivhteenth year 
_. made a voyage as a common sailor from New York to Liverpool. A 
_ short experience of this kind usually satisfies youths who dream of 
~ the perils and pleasures of sea life; but Herman Melville liked his 
rough nautical novitiate, and after his return home sailed in a whal- 
ing vessel for the Pacific. This was in 1841. In the following year 
_~ the vessel arrived at Nukuheva, one of the Marques: Islands, 

~~ ‘Those who for the first time visit the South Seas, generally are 
_ surprised at the appearance of the islandS when beheld from the sea. 
- From the vague accounts we sometimes have of their beauty, many 
- people are apt to picture to themselves enamelled and softly swelling 
* plains, shaded over with delicious groves, and watered by purling 
brooks, and the.entire country but little elevated above the surround- 
ing oecan. The reality is very different; bold rock-bound coasts, 
with the surf beating high against the lofty cliffs, and broken here 
and thereinto deep inlets, which open to the view thickly-wooded 
valleys, separated by the spurs of mountains clothed with tufted 
- grass, and sweeping down-towards the sea from an elevated atd fur- 
rowed interior, form the principal features of these islands.’ 


a q “ - £ “hy : ee >" a 


, . > ~ 


~ x 6 nies. 


oe CYCLOPEDIA OF + __ [ro 1876, 


Melville and a brother sailor, Toby, disgusted with the caprice and 
tyranny of the captain, clandestinely left the ship, and faliing into 
the hands of a warlike cannibal-race who inhabit the Typee Valley, 
were detained for four months. Melville was rescued by the crew of 
a Sidney whaler, and after sometime spent in the Society and Sand- 
wich Islands, he arrived at Boston, in October 1844, having been 
nearly three years absent from home. ‘The adventurer now settled 
down in Massachusetts, married, and commenced author. In 1846 
appeared ‘ Typee: a Peep at Polynesian Life, or Four Months’ resi- 
dence in a Valley of the Marquesas.’ The narrative was novel and 


, 


7 


striking. It was the first account of the natives of those islands by 


one who had lived familiarly amongst them, and. the style of the 
writer was lively and graphic. Some remarks unfavourable to the 
missionaries gave offence, but Melville maintained they were based 
on facts, and protested that he had no feeling of animosity in the 
matter. The success of ‘Typee’ soon led to another volume of sim- 
ilar sketches. In 1847 was published ‘Omoo, a Narrative of Adven- 
tures in the South Seas.’ This also enjoyed great popularity.” The 
subsequent works of the author were not s@ successful; though 
fresh and vigorous in style, they wanted novelty and continuous in- 
terest. These are—‘ Mardi, and a Voyage Thither,’1849 ;‘ Redburn, 
his first Voyage,’ 1849; ‘ White Jacket,’ 1850; ‘Moby Dick,’ 1851; 
‘Pierre,’ 1852; ‘Israel Potter,’ 1855; ‘Piazza Tales,’ 1856; ‘The 
Confidence Man in Masquerade,’ 1857. ‘The Refugee,’-1865; and a 
volume of poems, entitled ‘ Battle Pieces and Aspects of War,’ 1866. 
About 1860, Melville left his farm in Massachusetts and made a voy- 
age round the world in a whaling vessel. ‘The rambling propensity 
was too strong to be resistad. 2 . ; 


; Scenery of the Marquesas— Valley of Tior. 


The littlespace in which some of these clans pass away their days would seem 
almost incredible. The glen of Tior will furnish a curious illustration of this. The 
inhabited part isnot more than four miles in length. and varies in breadth from half a 
mnile to less than a quarter. The rocky vine-clad cliffs on one side tower almost per- 
pendicularly from their base to the height of at least fifteen hundred feet ; while across 
the vale—in striking contrast to-the scenery opposite—grass-grown elevations rise 
one above another in blooming terraces. Hemmed in by these stupendous barriers, 
the valley would be altogether shut out from the rest of the world, were it not that it 
is accessible from the sea at one end, and by a narrow defile at the other. 

The impression produced upon my mind, when I first visited this beautiful glen, 
will never be obhterated. , 

Thad come from Nukuheva by water in the ship’s boat, and when we entered the 
bay of Tior it was high noon. ‘The heat had been intense, as we had been floating 
upon the long smooth swell of the ocean, for there was but little wind. The sun’s 
rays had expended all their fury upon us; and toadd to our discomfort, we had omit- 
ted to supply ourselves with water previous to starting. What with heat and thirst 


together, | became so impatient. to get ashore, that when at last we glided towards ~ 


it, 1 stood up in the bow of the boat ready for a sprizsg. As she shot two-thirds of 
her Jength high upon the beach, propelled by three or four strong strokes of the oars, 
T leaped among a parcel of juvenile savages, who stood prepared to give us a kind re- 


ception; and with them at my heels, yelling like s0 many imps, I rushed forward 


if 


© 


aoe Nye 


ron! nr eee 


Eat a 


~ 


7 


i 


_~ MELVILLE, | -- ENGLISH, LITERATURE. 228 


X 


across the open gronnd in the vicinity of the sea, and plunged, diver fashion, into the 
recesses of the-first grove that offered. es 

What a delightful sensation did I experience! I felt as if floating in some new 
element, while all sort of gurgling, trickling liquid sounds fell upon my ear. People 


‘may say what they will about the refreshing influences of a cold-water bath, but 


commend me when in a-perspiration to the shade baths of Tior, beneath the cocoa- 
nut trees, and amidst the cool delightful atmosphere which surrounds them. 

How shall I describe the scenery that met my eye, as I looked out from this 
verdant recess! The narrow valley, with its steep and close adjoining sides draperied 


_ with vines, and arched overhead with a fretwork of interlacing boughs, nearly hidden 
‘from view by masses of leafy verdure, seemed from where I stood like an immense 


arbour disclosing its vista to the eye, whilst as I advanced it insensibly widened into 


- he Joveliest vale eye ever beheld. 


It so happened that the very day I was in Tior the French admiral, attended by 
allthe boats of hissquadron, came down in state from Nukuheva to take formal 
possession of the place. He remained in the valley about two hours, during which 


- time he had a ceremonious interview with thé king. 


‘The patriarch-sovereign of Tior was a man very fara lvanced in years ; but though 
age had bowed his form and rendered him almost decrepid, his gigantic frame re- 


. tained all its original magnitude and grandeur of appearance. He advanced slowly 


and with evident pain, assisting his tottering steps with the heavy war-spear he held 
in his hand, and attended by a group of gray-bearded chiefs, on one of whom he oc- 
casionally leaned for support. ‘The admiral came forward with head: uncovered and 


extended hand, while the old king saluted him by a stately flourish of his weapon. 


The next moment they stood side by side, these two extremes of the social scale— 


-the polished, splendid Frenchman, and the poor tattooed savage. They were both 


tall and noble-looking men ; but in other respects how strikingly contrasted! Du 


_ Petit Thouars exhibited upon his person all the paraphernalia of his naval rank, He 


_while making the aforesaid philosophical reflections. 


wore a richly-decorated_admiral’s frock-coat, a laced chapeau bras, and upon his 
breast were a variety of ribbons and orders; while the simple islander, with the ex- 
ception of a slight cincture about his loins. appeared in all the nakedness of nature. 
At what an immeasurable distance, thought I, are these two beings removed from - 
each ofber. In the one is shewn the result of long centuries of progressive civilisa- 
tion and refinement, which have gradually converted the mere creature into the sen- 
blance Pall that is elevated and grand; while the other, after the lapse of the same 
period, has not advanced one step in the career of improvement. ‘Yet, after all,’ 
quoth I to myself, ‘insensible as he is to a thousand wants, and removedfrom haras- 
sing cares, may not the savage be the happier of the two?’ Such were the thoughts 
that arose in my mind as I gazed upon the novel spectacle before me. In truth it 
Was an impressive one, and little likely to be effaced. I can recall even now with 
vivid distinctness every feature of the scene. The umbrageous shades where the in- 
terview took place—the glorious tropical vegetation around—the picturesque group- 
ing of the mingled throng of soldiery and natives—and even the golden-hued bunch 
of bananas that I held in my hand at the time, and of which I occasionally partook 


Fitst Interview with the Natives. 


It was now evening, and by the dim lightwe conld just discern the savage coun- 
tenances around-us, gleaming with wild curiosity and wonder; the naked forms and 
tattooed limbs of brawny warriors, with here and there the slighter figures of young 
girls, all engaged in a perfect storm of conversation, of which we were of course the 
one only theme; whilst our recent guides were fully occupied in answering the in- 
numerable questions which every one put to them. Nothing can exceed the fierce 

asticulation of these people when animated in conversation, and on this occasion 
they gave loose to ail their natural vivacity, shouting and dancing about in a manner 
that well-nigh intimidated us. 

Close to where we lay, squatting upon their haunches, were some eight or ten 


_ noble-looking chiefs—for such they subsequently proved to be—who, more reserved 
than the rest, regarded us with a fixed and stern attention, which not a little dis- 


composed our equanimity. One of them in particular, who appeared to be the high- 


ree ae CYCLOPADIA OF | oda 1876. a 


est in rank, placed himself directly facing me; looking at me with a Lana of as- | “J 
pes under ‘which I absolutely quailed. He never once opened his lips. out main- ~~ 
tained his severe expression of countenance, without turning his face aside for a sin- 
gie moment. Never before had I been subjected to so strange and steady a glance}; 
it revealed nothing of the mind of the savage, but appeared to. be reading 7 my Own. oa 
After undergoing this scrutiny till I grew abso lutely nervous, with a view of di- ._ 
verting it if possible, and conciliating the good opinion of the warrior, took some — ~ 
tobacco from the bosom of my frock and offered itto him. He quietly rejected the 
proffered gift, and, without speaking. motioned me to reftrn it to its place. 
In my previous intercourse with the natives of Nukuheva and ior. I had totinaes Fr 
that the present of a small piece of tobacco would have renderedany of them devoted 
to my service. Was this act of the chief a token of his enmity? ‘Typee or Happar? . 
I asked within myself, I started, for at the same moment this ideutical question = 
was asked by the strange being before me. -I turned to Toby ; the flickering light of 
a native taper shewed me his “countenance pale with trepidation at this fatal < ques- 
tion. I paused for a second, and I know not by what impulse it was that I answered. — 
*Typee.? The piece oi dusky statuary 1:odded in approval, and then murmured ~~ 
*Mortarkee !’ ‘ Mortarkee,’ said I, without further hevitation—‘ Typee Mortarkee.’? 
What a transition! The dark figures around us leaped to their feet, clapped their % 


hands in transport, and shouted again and again the talismanic sylables, the utters ; 
ance of which appeared to have settled everything. 

When this commotion had a little subsided. the principal chief aquatic once —aa 
more before me, and throwing himself into a sudden rage, poured forth a string of 
philippics, which I was at no Toss to understand, from the frequent recurrence of “the x 
word Happar, as being directed against the natives of the adjoining valley. In all> _ 
these denunciations my companion and I acquiesced, while we extolled the ‘character 
of the warlike Typees. ‘To be sure our panegyrics were somewhat laconic, consist- 
ing in the repetition of that name, united with the potent adjective ‘ mortarkee.’ ; 
But this was sufficient, and served to conciliate the good-will of the natives, with te 


whom our congeniality of sentiment on this point did more towards aS, a 
friendly feeling | than :mything else that could have happened. $ 
At last the wrath of the chief evaporated, and in a few moments he was as acid 
as ever. Laying his hand upon his breast, he now gave me to understand that his — 
name was * Mehevi,’ and that, in return, he ‘wished me to communicate my. »pellation. — F: 
Thesitated for an instant, thinking that it might be difficult for him: rouounce | 
my !eai name, and then with the most praisew orthy intentions fiagietea that I was 2 
known as‘ ‘Tom.’ But I could 1:ot have made a worse selection ; the chief could not 
master it: ‘Tommo.? ‘Toma,’ ‘'Tommee,’ everything but plain’ ‘Tom.’ As he pers 
sisted in garnishing the word with an additional syllable, I compromised the matter 
with him at the word ‘ Tommo;’ and by that name I went during the entire period — 
of my stay in the valley. The same proceeding was gone through ‘with Toby, whose — 
mellifluous appellation was more easily caught. i 
An exchanve of names is equivalent to a ratification of good-will and amity _ ry 
among th:se simple people; and as we were aware of this fact, we were delighted E: 
that it had taken place on the present occasion, “i 
Reclining upon our mats, we now held a kind of levee, giving audience to succes- 
sive troops of the natives, who introduced themselves to us by pronouncing their re- . | 
spective names. and retired in high good humonr on receiving ours in return, During Be 
this ceremony the greatest merriment prevailed, nearly every announcement on the» 
per of the islanders being followed by a fresh sally of gaiety, which induced me to 2 
elieve that some of them at least were innocently diverting the company at our ex- 
pense, by bestowing upon themselves a string of absurd titles, of the humour of ~~ 
which we were of course entirely ignorant. _ 
All this occupied about an hour, when the throng having a little diminished, if ¢! 
‘turned to Mehevi and gave him to understand that we were in need of.food and 
sleep. Immediately the attentive c':ief acdresged a few words to one of the crowd, ; 
who disappeared, and returned in a few moments with a calabash of ‘ poee-poee,’ and a 
two or three young cocoa-nuts stripped of their hasks, and with their shells partly 
broken. We both of ns forthwith placed one of these natural goblets to our lips, _ 
and drained it in a moment of the refreshing draught it contained. ‘The ee b 
_ was then placed before us, and even famished as I was, I paused to consider in what — 
manuer to convey it to my mouth. 


7 A y 
i dail ie. 


Fe o 


 MELVILE.} = ENGLISH LITERATURE. 225 


| 


_ This staple article of food among the Marquese islanders is manufactured from 
“the produce of the bread-fruit tree. It somewhat resembles in its plastic nature our 
bookbinderg’ paste. is of a yellow colour, und somewhat tart to the taste. 

Such was the dish, the merits of which I was now eager to discuss. I eyed it 
wistfully for a moment, and then unable any longer to stand on ceremony, plunged 
my hand into the yielding ‘inass, and to the boisterous mirth of the natives drew it 
forth laden with the poee-poee, which adhered in lengthy strings to every finger. Seo 
stubborn was its consistency, that in conveying my heavily-freighted haud to my 

~ mouth, the connecting links almost raised the calabash from the mats on which it 
had been placed. ‘This display of awkwardness—in which, by-the-bye, ‘Toby kept me 
compauy—convuised the by-standers with uncontrollable laughter. 

As soon as their merriment had somewhut subsided, Mehevi, motioning us to be 
attentive, dipped the forefinger of his right hand in the dish, and giving it a rapid 
and scientific twirl, drew it out coated smoothly-with the preparation. With a 
second peculiar flourish he prevented the poee-poee from dropping to the ground 

ashe raised if to his mouth, into which the finger was inserted and drawn forth 
perfectly free from any adhesive matter. ‘This performance was evidently intended 
for our instruction; so I again essayed the feat on the principles inculcated, but with 
very ill-success. 

A starving man, however, little heeds conventional proprieties, especially on a 
South-Sea Island, and accordingly oby and I partook of the dish atter our own 
clumsy fashion, beplastering our faces all over with the glutinous compound, and 

-- daubing our hands nearly to the wrist. his kind of food is by no means disagree- 
» able to the palate of a European, though at first the mode of eating it may be. For 
- my own part; after the lap=c of a few days I became accustomed to its singular fla- 
vour, and grew remarkably fond of it. 

So. much for the first course ; several other dishes followed it. some of which were 
positively delicious. We concluded our banquet by tossing off the contents of two 
more young cocoa-nuts, after which we regaled ourselves with the soothing fumes of 
tobacco, inhaled from a quaintly carved pipe which passed round the circle. 

_ During the repast, the natives eyed_us with intense curiosity, observing our minu- 
test motions, and appearing to discover abundant matter for comment inthe most 
trifling occurrence, Their surprise mounted the highest, when we began to remove 
Our uncomfortable garments, which were saturated with rain. They scanned the 
whiteuess of our limbs, and seemed utterly unable to account-for the contrast they 
presented to the swarthy hue of our faces, embrowned from a six months’ exposure 
to the scorching sun of the Line. They felt our skin, much in the same way that a 
silk-mercer would handle-a remarkably fine piece of satin; and some of them went 
so far in their investigation as to apply the olfactory organ. 


WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. 


In almost every department of literature this author has distin- 
guished himself, but is comparatively little known out of his own 
country. Dr. Stns is a native of Charleston, South Carolina, born 
in 1806, and admitted to the bar of that state in 1827. The same 
year he published two volumes of ‘ Lyrical Poems and Early Lays,’ 
which were followed by ‘The Vision. of Cortes, and other Poems,’ 
1829: “The Tri-Colour,’ 1830; ‘ Atalantis, a Drama of the Sea,’ 1852; 
‘Passages and Pictures,’ 1839; and several other small volumes of 
poems, descriptive, dramatic and legendary. Dr. Simms has written 
‘several volumes of novelettes, colonial romances, revolutionary ro- 
‘mances, and border romances, illustrative of North American history 
and manners. A uniform edition of the ‘Revolutionary’ and ‘ Bor- 
der Romances’ (completed in 1859) is published in eighteen volumes, 
-and the collected poems of Dr. Simms in two volumes. A ‘History 


50 a td an es ie ke a 


y 


os 


926 | CYCLOPADIA-OF ~ — * Tro 1876. 


of South Carolina,’ ‘ Lives of Francis Marion,’ ‘Captain Smith (foun- 
der of Virginia),’ ‘Chevalier Bayard,’ and ‘ Nathaniel Greene,’ vari- 
ous critical disquisitions, and political pamphlets, have also been pub- 
lished by this versatile author. 


RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 


The most original and popular of American philosophers and essay- - 


ists is Ranpu Wanpo Emerson, born at Boston in the year 1803. His 
father was a Unitarian minister, and after the usual course of educa- 
tion at. Harvard College, young Emerson was ordained minister of the 
second Unitarian church in Boston. He held this charge for about 
three years (1829-1882), and resigning it ‘in consequence of -some 


change in his religious views, he devoted himself to a life of study, 


living chiefly at Concord, New Hampshire. His prose works consist 
of orations, lectures and essays. Those published previous to 1870 
were collected and printed in two volumes at Boston. ~He has also 
produced two volumes of ‘ F’oems.’ His principal works are six ora- 


a? 


tions—‘ Man Thinking,’ 1837; ‘ Address to the Senior Class in Di- . 


vinity College, Cambridge, U. S.,’ 1888; ‘ Literary Ethies,’ 1888; 
‘The Method of Nature,’ 1841; ‘Man the Reformer,’ 1841; and ‘The 
Young American,’ 1844, Mr. Emerson has also published four 
* series cf essays—small volumes, issued in the years 1841, 1844, 
1870 and 1871: In 1848 he delivered a course of lectures in 
Exeter Hall, London. ‘The logicians have an incessant. tri- 
umph over him,’ said Harriet Martineau, ‘but their tri 
umph is of no avail; he conquers minds as well as hearts.’ In 
1849 he delivered another course of lectures on ‘ Representative Men’ 
—namely, Plato, Swedenborg, Montaigne, Shakspeare, Napoleon, 
and Goethe. This selection of ‘representative men,’ was probably 
suggested by Mr. Carlyle’s lectures on hero worship delivered in 
1840, and Mr. Emerson has been termed ‘the American Carlyle,’ 
though he is by no means a slavish imitator of his English friend. 
For four years (1840-1844) Mr. Emerson was associated with Marga- 
ret Fuller, Countess d’Ossoli, in conducting a literary journal, enti- 
tled ‘The Dial;’ and on the death of the countess he joined with 
Mr. W. H. Channing in writing a memoir of that learned and re- 
markable woman, which was published in 1852. The other works 
of Mr. Emerson are—‘ English Traits,’ 1856; ‘The Conduct of Life,’ 
1860; an ‘ Oration on the Death of President Lincoln,’ 1865 ; ‘ Society 
and. Solitude,’ twelve chapters or essays, 1870; ‘Parnassus,’ Se- 
lected Poems;? a volume of ‘Essays,’ 1875; &c, In 1866 the uni- 
versity of Harvard conferred upon Mr. Emerson the honorary de: 
gree of LL.D. 


Civilisation. — From ‘Society and Solitude.’ 


Poverty and industry with a healthy mind read very easily the laws of humanity, 
and love ‘them; place the sexes in right relations of mutual respect, and a severg 


= 


BE: an) 


" EMERSON. J “ENGLISH LITERATURE. 227 


EN. 


7 


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Pen! 


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morality gives that essential charm to woman which educates all that is delicate, po- 
etic, and self-sacrificing, breeds courtesy and learning, conversation and wit in her 
rough mate; so that I have thought asufiicient measure of civilisation is the influ- 
ence of good women. 

Another measure of culture is the diffusion of knowledge, overturning all the old 
barriers of caste, and, by the cheap press, bringing the university to every poor man’s 


~ door in the newsboy’s basket. Scraps of science, of thought, of poetry, are in the 


coarsest sheet, so that in every house we hesitate to burn a newspaper until we have 
Jooked it through. , 
. The ship. in its latest complete equipment, is an abridgement and compound of a 
nation’s arts: the ship steered by compass and chart—longitude reckoned by lunar 
observation and by chronometer—driven by steam ; and in wildest sea-mountains, at 
vast distances from home— 


The pulses of her iron heart 
. Go beating through the storm. 


No use can lessen the wonder of this control, by so weak a creature, of forces so 
prodigious. Iremember I watched, in crossing the sea, the beautiful skill whereby 
the engine in its constant working was nade to produce two hundred gailons of 
fresh-water out of salt-water every hour—thereby supplying all the ship’s wants. 

The skill that pervades complex details; the man that maintains himself; the 
chimney taught to burn its own smoke; the farm made to produce all that is con- 


- sumed on it; the very prison compelled to maintain itself and yield a revenue, and, 


better still, made a reform school and a manufactory of honest men out of rogues, 
as the steamer made fresh-water out of salt—all these are examples of that tendency 
‘to combine antagonisins. and utilise evil, which is the index of high civilisation. 

Civilisation is the result of highly complex organisation. In the snake, all the 
organs are-sheathed; no hands. no feet, no fins, no wings. In bird and beast, the 
organs are released, and begin to play. In man, they are all unbound, and full of 
joyful action, With this unswaddling he receives the absolute illumination we call 
reason, and thereby true liberty. 


Beauty.—From ‘The Conduct of Life.’ 

“™ The poets are quite right in decking their mistresses with the spoils of the land- 
scape, flower-gardens, gems, rainbows, flushes of morning, and stars of night, since 
all beauty points at identity, and whatsoever thing does not express to me the sea 
and sky, day and night. is somewhat forbidden and wrong. Into every beautiful 
object there enters somewhat immeasurable and divine, and just as much bounded 
by outlines. like mountains on the horizon, as into tones of music or depths of . 
space. Polarised light shewed. the secret architecture of bodies; and when the 
second-sight of the mind is opened, now one colour, or form, or gesture, and now 
another, has a pungency, as if a more interior ray had been emitted, disclosing its 
deep ho'dings in the frame of things. 

The laws of this translation we do not know, or why one feature or gesture 
‘enchants, why one word or syllable iutoxicates, but the fact is familiar that the fine 
touch of the eye, or a grace of manners, or a phrase of poetry, plants wings at our 
shoulders; as if the Divinity, in his approaches, lifts away mountains of obstruction, 
and designs to draw a truer line, which the mind knows and owns. ‘This is that 
haughty force of beauty, vis superba Forme, which the poets _praise—under calm 
azd precise outline, the immeasureable and divine—beauty hiding all wisdom and 


-” ~ power in its calm sky. 


All high beauty has a moral element in it, and I find the antique sculpture as ethi- 

eal as Marcus Antoninus, and the beauty ever in proportion to the depth of thought. 

- Gross and impure natures, however decorated, seem Impure shambles ; but character 
gives splendour to youth, and awe to wrinkled skin and gray hairs. An adorer of 
truth we cannot choose but obey, and the woman who has shared with us the mot al 
sentimept—her locks must appear,to us sublime. Thus, there is a climbing scale of 
culture, from the first agreeable Sensation which a sparkling gem or a scarlet stain 
affords the eye, up through fair outlines and details of the landscape, features of the 
human face and form, signs and tokens of thought and character in manners, up to 
-the ineffable mysteries of the human intellect. Wherever we begin, thither our steps 


‘ 


: : forks 
228 » CYCLOPADIA OF : [To 1876. 
tend: an ascent from the joy of a horse in his trappings up to the perception of 


Newton. that-the globe on which we ride is only a larger apple falling from a larger 
tree; up to the perception of Plato, that globe and universe are rude and early ex- 


pressions of an all-dissolving unity—the first stair on the scale to the temple of the 


mind. - 
Old Age.—From ‘Society and Solitude.’ 


When life has been well spent; age is a loss of what it can well spare—muscular 
strength, organic instincts, gross bulk, and works that belong to these. But the 
central wisdom, which was old in infancy, is young in fourscore years, and, droppin 
off obstructions, leaves in happy subjects the mind purified and wise. I have hear 
that whoever loves isin no condition old.. IE have heard that, whenever the name of 

man is spoken. the doctrine of immortality is announced; it cleaves to his constitu- 
tion. ‘lhe mode of it baffles our wit, and no whisper comes to us fromthe other side. 
But the inference from the working of intellect, hiving knowledge, hiving skill—at 
the end of life just ready to be born—affirms the inspirations of affection aud of the 
moral sentiment. 


MR. RUSKIN. ie , 
JOHN Ruskin, author of several works on art, was born in Lon- 


don in 1819, the only son of a wealthy wine-merchant. . He was en- 
tered at Christ Church College, Oxford, where he graduated, and in 


1839 took the Newdegate prize for English poetry. _Impressed with . 


the idea that art was his vocation in life, he studied painting under 
Copley Fielding and J. D. Harding; but the pencil has long since. 
become merely the auxiliary of the pen. In 1843 appeared the first 


portion of his ‘Modern Painters, by an Oxford Graduate,’ which, 


though published when the author was only. twenty four years of 
age, bears the impress of deep thought, and is written with rare elo- 
quence and in choice English. The second part was published in 
1846, and the third and fourth volumes ten years later, 1856 Many 
other works appeared in the interval. Indeed, Mr. Ruskin is now 
one of the most voluminous writers of the day; bu‘ it may be ques- 
tioned if he has ever risen to the level of the first two volumes of the 
‘Modern Painters.’ Latterly his works have been little more than 
hurriedly written pamphlets, reviews, and revisals of popular lec- 
tures, which, though often rising into passages of*vivid description 
and eloquence, and possessing the merit of great clearness, are gen- 
erally loose and colloquial in style. The *Seven Lamps of Archi- 
tecture,’ 1849; and the ‘Stones of Venice,’ three volumes,’ 1851-53, 
are the principal of Mr. Ruskin’s works, besides the ‘ Modern 
Painters;’ but we may-also mention the following: ‘Letters in De- 
fence of the Pre-Raphaelites,’ published at various times since 1851; 
“The Construction of Sheepfolds’ (the discipline of the church), 
1851; ‘The Opening of the Crystal- Palace,’ 1854; ‘Notes on the 
Academy Exhibitions,’ published in the month of May for the last 
few years; ‘The Elements of Drawing’ 1857; ‘The Political Econ- 
omy of Art,’ 1858; ‘The Two Paths,’ 1859; besides contributions to 
the ‘ Quarterly Review,’ the ‘ Art Journal,’ the ‘Scotsman,’ &c. In 
1861 a selection from the works of Mr. Ruskin was published in one 


volume—a treasure to all young literary students and lovers of art. 


Be. 


\ 


—_ 


7 > a = 5 ¢ es = = 
_ RUSKIN.]. - _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 229 
- His subsequent works have been numerous: ‘ Lectures on Civilisa- 
tion,’ 1866; ‘The Queen of the Air, being a Study of the Greek 
Myths of Cloud and Storm,’ 1869; ‘Lectures on Art,’ delivered be- 
_ fore the university of Oxford in 1870, &c.. Mr. Ruskin made a 
munificent offer of £5000 tor the endowment of a master of drawiny 
in Oxford, which was accepted by the university authorities in 
~ November 1871. 
Mr. Ruskin’s influence upon art and art literature has been remark. 
able. The subject has received a degree of consideration among 
general, readers that it had not previously enjoyed_in our day, or 
perhaps in any period of our history; and to Mr. Ruskin’s venera- 
_ tion for every work of creation, inculcated in ail his writings, may 
be ascribed the origin cf the society of young artists known as the 
Pre-Raphaelites. Protesting against what they conceived to be lax 
conventionalism in the style of most modern painters, the innovators 
went back, as they said, to Nature, preferring her in all her moods 
and phases, to ideal visions of what she occ sionally might, or ought 
to appear. Mr. Ruskin seems often to contradict himself; but on 
_this pomt his own mind iseasy. ‘I never met with a question yet,’ 
he says in the inaugural address to the Cambridge School of Art, 
- ‘which did not need, for the right solution of it, at least one positive 
and one negative answer, like an equation of the second degree. 
- Mostly, matters of any consequence are three-sided, or four-sided, 
-or polygonal; and the trotting round a polygon is severe work for 
people any way stiff in their opinions. For myself, | am never 
satisfied that I have handled a subject properly till | have contra- 
dicted myself at least three times.’ With this clever apology we 
“may pass over apparent incongruities in the details of his system, and 
rest satisfied with the great principles which he so eloquently incul- 
cates. These are singularly pure and lofty. The aim and object of 
his teaching, he says, is to declare that * whatever is great in human 
art is the expression of man’s delight in God’s work,’ and he insists 
- upon a pure heart and earnest mind as essential to success, — 


The Sky. 

Tt is a strange thing how little. in general, people know abont the sky. Itis the 
part of creation in which Nature has done more for the sake of pleasing man. more 
for the sole and evident purpose of talking to him and teaching him, than in any 
other of her works; and it is just the pars in which we least attend to her. ‘There 
are not many of her other works in which some more material or essential purpose 
than the mere pleasing of man is not answered by every part of their organisation ; 
but every essential purpose of the sky might. so far as we know, be answered if, 
once in three days or thereabouts, a great, ugly, black rain-clond were brought up 
over the blue, and everything well watered, and so all left blue again till next time, 
with. perhaps, a film of morning and evening mist for dew. And, instead of this, 
there is not a moment of any day of our lives when Nature is not producing, scene 
after scene, picture after picture, glory after glory, and working still upon such exquis- 
ite and constant principles of the most perfect beanty, that it is quite certain that 

- it is all done for us. and intended for our perpetual pleasure, and every man, 
- wherever placed, however far from other sources of interest or of beauty, has 


- 


. 


230 Bee CYCLUPEDIA OF | 


this doing for him constantly. The noblest scenes of the earth. can ue seen and 

known but by few; it is not intended that man shonld live always in the midst 
of them: he injures them by his presence ; he ceases to feel them if, he be always 
with them. But the sky is for all; bright as it is, it isnot *too bright nor good — 
for human nature’s daily food 3’ it is “fitted, in all its functions, for the per- 
petual comfort and exalting of the heart; for the soothing it, and purifyingit ~ 
from its dross and dust. Sometimes gentle, sometimes capricious, sometimes a 


* awful; never the same for two moments together; almost human in its passions, “ 


almost spiritual in its tenderness, almost Divine in its infinity, its appeal to what is © +z 
immortal in us is as distinet as its ministry of chastisement or of blessing to whatis- — 
wiortal is essential. And yet we_never attend to it; we never make it asubject of 
chought, but as it has to do with our animal sensations ; we look upon all by which _ 
it s peaks to us more clearly than to brutes, upon all which bears witness to the in- _ 
Pah ton of the Supreme, that we are to receive z.ore from the covering Vault than 
the light and the dew which we share with the weed and the worm, only as a suc- — 
cession of meaningless and monotonous accidents, too common and too vain to be ~~ 
worthy of a moment of watchfulness or a glance of admiration. If, nour moments a; 
oi utter idleness and insipidity, we turn to the sky as a Jast resource, which of its 
phenomena do we speak of? One says it has been wet. and another it has been . 
windy, and another it has been warm. "Who, among the who'e chattering crowd, can 3 
tell me of the forms and precipices of the chain of tall white. mountains that gilded 
the horizon at noon yesterday? Who saw the narrow sunbeam that came out of the — a 
south, and smote upon their summits, until they melted and mouldered away ina ‘S 
dust of blue rain? Who saw the dance of the dead clouds, when the sunlight vi ‘ 
them last night, and the west wind blew them before it, like witherec \eaves? $ 
has passed. unregretted or unseen ; or. if the apathy be ever shaken off, even tok a an 
instant, it is only by what is gross or what is extraordinary; and yet it is not in the — 
broad and fierce manifestations of the elemental energies, not in the clash of the hail, 
nor the drift.of the whirlwind, that the highest characters. of the sublime are des 
veloped. God is not in the ear thquake nor in the fire, but in the still small voice. 
They are but the blunt and the low faculties of our nature, which can only. be ad= — 
dressed through lampblack and lightning. Itisin quiet and subdued passages of a 
unobtrusive majesty ; the deep, and the calm, and the perpetual: that which must be a 
sought ereit is seen. and loved ere it is understood ; things which the angels work | : 


out ‘for us daily, and yet very eternally, which are never wanting, and never repeated ; 
which are to be found always, yet each found bnt once. It is through these that the 
lesson of devotion is chiefly taught and the blessing of beauty given. 


~ The Two Paths. 


Ask yourselves what is the leading motive which actuates you while you are at ‘ 
work. I do notask what your leading motive is for w orking—thatis a different thing; 
you may have families to support—parents to help—hrides to win; you may have all — 
these, or other such sacred and pre-eminent motives, to press the inorning’s labour | 
and prompt the twilight thought. But when you are fairly af the work, what is the 
motive which tells upon every touch of it? If it is the love of that which your work 
represents—if, being a landscape painter, it is love of hills and trees that moves you — 
—if, being a figure painter, it is love of human beauty and human soul thatmoves — 
you—if, being a flower or animal painter, it is love, and wonder, and delight in petal : 
and in limb that move you. then the spirit is upon yon. and the earth is yours, and ~ 
the fullness thereof. But if, on the other hand, it is petty self-complacency in your < 
own skill, trust in precepts and laws, hope for academical or popular approbation, or 


~ 


a mi 


os 


avarice of wealth—it is quite. possible that by steady industry, or even by fortunate ' 
chance, you may win the applause, the position, the fortune that you desire: but = 
One touch of true art you will never lay on canvas or on stone as long as iste live. 4 


Nes following eloquent passage is from ‘Modern Painters? © 
The Dangers of National Security. ~ ;: 


That is to everything created pre-eminently useful which enables it rightly ait ¢ 
fully to perform the functions appointed to it by its Creator. Therefore, that we 2 
may determine tylat is chicfly useful to man, it is uecessury first to. determine Gea 


4 


~ my 
ae. 


= bat 2 . . _— “ . ‘ . 
_ RUSKIN. ]- ENGLISH LITERATURE. 201 
q use of man himself. Man’s use and function (and let him who will not grant me 
~ this, follow meno further; for this 1 purpose always to assume) is to be the 
_ witness of the glory of God, and to advance that glory by his reasonable obedience 
--and resultant happiness. 
_ Whatever enables us to fulfil this function is in the pure and first sense of the 
word useful to us. Pre-eminently, therefore, whatever sets the glory of God more 
_ brightly before us. But things that only help us to exist are in a secondary and mean 
_ sense useful ; or rather, if they be looked for alone they are useless and worse; for 
4 it would be better that we should not exist than that we should guiltily disappoint 
the purposes of existence. And yet people speak in this working-age, when they 
speak from their hearts, as if houses and lands, and food and raiinent, were alone 
useful. and as if sight, thought, and admiration were all profitless; so that men 
~ insolently call themselves utifitarians, who would turn, if they had their way, them- 
selves and their race into vegetables. Men who think, as far as snch can be said to 
think, that the meat is more than the life and the raiment than the body, who look 
_ to this earth as a stable and to its fruit as fodder; vine-dressers and husbandmen 
-_who love the corn they grind, and the grapes they crush, better than the gardens of 
* the angels upon the slopes of Eden; hewers of wood and drawers of water, who 
_ think that the wood they hew, and the water they draw, are better than the pine 
forests that cover the mountain like the shadow of God, and than the great rivers 
_ that move like His eternity. And so comes upon us that woe of the Preacher, that 
_ though God ‘hath made everything beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world 
in their heart, so that no man_can find out the work that God maketh from 
the beginning to, the end.’ This Nebuchednezzar curse, that sends us to 
' grass like oxen, seems to follow but too closely on the excess or continuance 
of national power and peace. in the perplexities of nations in their 
‘struggles for existence, in their infancy, their impotence, or even their dis-~ 
organisation, they have higher hopes and nobler passions. Out of the suffering 
comes the serions mind; out of the salvation, the grateful heart; out of endurance, 
fortitude; out of deliverance, faith. But when they have learned to live under pro- 
vidence of Jaws, and with decency and justice of regard for each other ; and when 
they have done away with violent and external sources of suffering, worse evils seem ° 
arising out of their rest—evils that vex less and mortify more, that suck the blood, 
_ though they do not shed it, and ossify the heart, though they do not torture it. And 
deep though the causes of thankfulness must be to every people at peace with others, 
and at unity in itself, there are causes of fear also—a fear greater than that of sword 
aud sedition—that dependence on God may be forgotten because the bread is given 
- and the water is sure, that gratitude to Him may cease because His constancy of pro- 
tection has taken the semblance of a natural law, that heavenly hope may grow taint 
- amidst the full fruition of the world, that selfishness may take place of undemanded 
dévotion ; compassion be lost in vainglory, and lovein dissimulation ; that enervation 
_ may succ?zed to strength, apathy to patience, and the noise of jesting words azd foul- 
- ness of dark thoughts to the earnest purity of the girded loins and the burning lamp. 
About the river of human life there is a wintry wind, though a heavenly sunshine ; 
the iris colours its agitation, the frost fixes upon its repose. Let us beware that our 
rest become not the rest of stones, which so long as they are torrent-t6ssed and 
- thunder-stricken maintain their majesty ; but when the stream is silent and the storm 
passed, suffer the grass to cover them, and the lichen to feed upon them, and are 
- ploughed down into dust. 
. _And though I believe we ba¥e salt enough of ardent and holy mind amongst us to 
_ keep us in some measure from this moral decay, ‘yet the signs of it must be watched 
with anxiety in all matters however trivial, in all directions however distant. And 
- at this time .... there is need, bitter need, to bring back, if we muy, into men’s 
minds, that to live is nothing unless to live be to know Him by whom we live, and 
. that He is not to be known by marring His fair works, and blotting out the evidence 
of His influences upon His creatures, not amidst the hurry of crowds and crash of 
- innovation, but in solitary places, and out of the glowing intelligences which He gave 
- to men of old. He did not teach them how to build for glory and for beauty; He 
did not give them the fearless, faithful, inherited energies that worked on and down 
from death to death, generation after generation, that we, foul and sensual as we 
_ are, might give the carved work of their poured-out spirit to the axe and the ham- 
mer; He has not cloven the’ earth with rivers, that their white wild waves might 


di ~ — 


$ & 
TP ices ©: 


: _ 


232 - . CYCLOPAEDIA OF 
> ce ~* > a hy < 
turn wheels and push paddles, nor turned it up under, as it were fire, thet it might 
hext wells and cure diseases; He brings not up His quails by the cast wind only to =~ 


let them fall in flesh about the camp of men; He has not heaped the rocks of the Pe 
mountain only for the quarry, nor clothed the grass of the field only forthe oven. 
We give another extract from the same work: > toa ee 
Ae Wiat ts Truly Praciteal. . aes 


practical and theoretic science is the step between the miner and the geologist, the 4 
¥ 


4 
F 


our reward, for knowledge is its own reward, herbs have their healing, stones their 
preciousness, and stars their times. 3 

lt would appear, therefore, that, those pursuits. which are altogether theoretic, 
whose results are desirable or admirable in themselves, and for their own sake, and = 
in which no further end to which their productions or discoveries are referred, can 
interrupt the contemplation of things as they are, by the endeavour to discover of — 
what selfish uses they are capable (and of this order are painting and sculpture), 
ought to take rank above all pursuits which have any taint in them of subserviency ~~ 
to life, in so far as all such tendency is the sign of less eternal andlessholy — 


function. 
The Beautiful alone not Good for Man. , 


T believe that it is not good for man to live amongst what is most beautiful; that 
he is a creature incapable of satisfaction by anything upon earth; and that to allow 
him habitually to possess, in any kind whatsoever, the utmost that earth can giye,is 
the surest way to cast_him into lassitnde or discontent. A a) 

Tf the most exquisite orchestral music could be continued without a pause fora 
series of years, and children were brought up and educated in the room in whichit 
was pe'petually resounding, I believe their enjoyment of music, or understanding of 
it, would be very small. Andan accurately parallel effect seems to be produced apon 

_the powers of contemplation by the redundant and ceaseless loveliness of the high 
mountain districts. The faculties are paralysed by the abundance, and cease, as we 
- before noticed of the imagination. to be capable of excitement, except by other sub- 
jects of interest than those which present themselves tothe eye. Sothatitis,in 
reality, better for mankind than the forms of their common landscape should offer” 
no violent stimulus to the emotions—that the gentle upland, browned by.the bending —— 
furrows of the plongh. and the fresh sweep of the chalk down, and the narrow wind- 
ing of the cops:-clad dingle, should be more frequent scenes of human life than the~ — 
Arcadias of clond-capped mountain or luxuriant vale; and that, while humbler 
(though always infinite) sources of interest sre given to each of us around the homes ~ 
to which we-are restrained for the greater part of our lives, these mightier and~ 
stranger glories should become the objects of adventure—at once the cynosuresof — 
the fancies of- childhood, and themes of the happy memory and the winter’s tale of __ 


age. 
_. Nor is it always that the inferiority is felt. For, so natural is ‘t to the human 


Y =. - af " 
Zz F Fo 


RUSKIN. | Se ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 298 


heart to fix itself in hope rather than in present possession, and so subtic is the 
~ charm which the invagination casts over what is distant or denied. that there is often 
amore touching power in the scenes which contain far-away promise of something 


greater than themselves, than in those which cxhaust the treasures and powers of 


x 


Nature in-an unconquerable and excellent glory, leaving nothing more to be by the 
fancy pictured or pursucd. : 
. Prectpices of the Alps. 

_ Dark in colour, robed with everlasting mourning, for ever tottcring like a great 
fortress shaken by war, fearful as much in their weakness as in thei: strength, and 
yet gathered after every full into darker frowns and unhuwiliating threatening; for 
ever incapable of comfort or healing from herb or flower, nourishing 10 root it their 
crevices, touched by no hue of life on buttress or ledge, but to the utmost desolate ; 
knowing no shaking of leaves in the wind, zor of grass beside the stream—no other 
motion but their own mortal shivering, the dreadful crumbling of atom from stom 
in their corrupting stones ; knowing no sound of living voice or living tread. cheered 
neither by the kid’s bleat nor the marmot’s cry: haunted only by uninterrupted 
echoes from afar off, wandering hither and-thither among their walls unable to cs- 
cupe, and by the hiss of angry torrents, and sometimes the shriek of a bird that flits 
near the face ot them, and sweeps frightened back from under their shadow into the 
gulf of air; and sometimes, when the echo has fainted, and the wind has carried the 
sound of the torrent away,_and the bird has vanished, aud the mouldering stones are 
still for a little time—a brown moth, opening and shutting its wings upon a grain of 
dust, may be the only thing that moves or feels in all the waste of weary precipice 
durkening five thousand feet of the biue depth of heaven. 


The-Fall of the Leaf. 


If ever, in autumn. a pensiveness falls upon us as the leaves drift by in their fad- 
ing, may we not wisely look up in hope to their mighty monuments? Behold how 
fair. huw far prolonged in arch and aisle, the avenues of the valleys. the fringes of 


* the hills! So stately—so eternal; the joy of man, the comfort of all living creatures, 


the glory of the earth—they ere but the. monuments of those poor leaves that flit 
faintly past us to die. Let them not pass without our understanding their last counsel 
and example; that we also, careless of monument by the grave, may build it in the 
werld—monument by which men may be taught to remember, not where we died, 
but where we lived. i : 

: JOHN STERLING. 


‘Joun STERLING (1806-1844) was born at Kaimes Castle, Isle of Bute. 
His father, Captain Sterling, became editor of the ‘'Times’ daily 
journal, and his son John, after being educated at Trinity College, 
Cambridge, was early familiar with literary society. Frederick Man- 
rice, Coleridge, Carlyle, and other distinguished men of that period, 
were among his friends. He contributed essays, tales, and poems to 
the periodicals, all marked by fine taste and culture. Having taken 
holy orders in the church, he officiated for eight months as curate at. 
Hurstmonceaux, in Sussex, where Mr. Hare was rector. Delicate 
health, and some change in his religious opinions, induced him to re- 
sign this charge, and he continued afterwards to reside chiefly abroad 
or in the south of England, occupying himself with occasional con- 
tributions in prose and verse to ‘ Blackwood’s Magazine’ and the 
“Westminster Review.’ He published also a volume of ‘ Poems,’ 


_ 4839; ‘ The Election,’ a poem, 1841; and ‘Stafford,’ a tragedy, 1843. 


He charmed every society into which he entered by his c. nversation 
and the amiable qualities of his mind and heart. His prose works 
have been collected and edited in two volumes, 1848, with a memoir 


=, 
Pa 


a 


a 1 ’ 


O34 - CYCLOPEDIA OF 


of his life by his friend, Archdeacon Hare. That-memoir, with the _ 
letters it contains, and the subsequent memoir by Mr. Carlyle, have 


given an interest and fame to John Sterling, which his writings alone 
would have failed to produce. 


The Miseries of Old Age and the Misfortunes of Early Death. 


There are two frequent lamentations which might well teach us to doubt the wis-— 
dom of popular opinions: men bewail in themselves the miseries of old age, and in 
others the misfortune of anearly death. They do not reflect that life is made up of. 
“emotions and thoughts, some cares and doubts and hopes and scattered handfuls of 
sorrow and pleasure, elements incapable of being measured by rule or dated by an 
almanac. It is not from the calendar or the parish-register that we can justly learn 
for what to grieve, and wherefore to rejoice; and it is rather an affected refinement 
han asage instinct, to pour out tears in proportion as our wasting days, or those of 
our friends, are marked by clepsydra, And even as old age, if it be the fruit of natz- 
ral and regular existence, is full, not of aches and melancholy, but of lightness antl 
joy ; so there are men who perform their course in a small circle of years, whose ma- 
-turity is to be reckoned, not by the number of their springs and summers, but of 
their inward seasons of greenness and glory, and who by a native kindliness have 
_ enjoyed, during a brief and northern period, more sunshine of the soul than ever 
came to the clouded breast of a basking Ethiop. ) 


Yet the many men of exalted genius who have died in early life, have all been — 


lamented, as if they had perished by some strange and unnatural chance, and as if 
He, without whose will no-sparrow falls to the ground, only suspended His provi- 


dence with regard to the eagle ministers of truth and beauty. Happy indeed, thrice _ 


happy. are such beings as Sophocles and Titian, in whom the golden chain runs out” 
to the last link, and whose hearts are fed by a bright calm current until they fall 

asleep in a fresh and blooming antiquity. But bappy also were Raphael, Sidney, and 

Schiller, who accomplished in. the half of. man’s permitted term, the fulfilment of 

their aim, and gained sight of the rising stars, when others were still labouring in~ 
the heats of noon. Happy we may even call the more disturbed and incomplete 

career of Byron and Shelley and Burns, who were so much clogged by earthly im- 

pediments, and vexed with mental disease, nourished by the disease of the material 

frame, that death would rather seem, if we may humbly speak what perhaps we but 

ignorantly and wildly fancy, a setting free to further improvement, than a final cut- 

ting off in the midst of imperfection. 


The Worth of Knowledge. 


Read the oldest records of our race, and you will find the writers holding up to 
admiration, or relating with heart-felt emotion, the facts that we ourselves most de- 
light in. The fidelity of Joseph to his master, the love of Hector for his wife and 
child, come home to our hearts as suddenly as to those of the ancient Hebrew among 
the Syrian mountains, or the pagan Greek in the islands of the Algean Sea. In the 


Indian code of Menu, said to be at least three thousand years old—as old as Homer ~ 
—we find that the husband and all the male relations are strictly enjoined to honour . 


the women: ‘where women are dishonoured, all religious acts become fruitless. 
Where a husband is contented with his wife and she with her husband, in that house 
+ will fortune assuredly be permanent.’ A hundred generations of mankind have not 
changed this. 

_ The first Chaldean who observed-that the planets seem to journey among the 
other stars, and not merely to rise and set with them, that Jupiter and Sirius follow 
different laws, knew a truth which is now the foundation of astronomy in London 
and Paris no less than of old in Babylon. The first Egyptian who, meditating on 
curved figures, discerned that there is one in which all the lines from one point to the 
circumference are equal, gained the idea of a circle, such as it has presented itself to 
every jater mind of man from Thales and Euclid down to Laplace and Herschel. 
Nay, in truth, those who most exalt the acquirements of our age compared with the 
past—and they can hardiy be too much exalted—must admit that all progress iipliea 


a A 


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_ STERLING. | ~~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 235 


. isha Spmecmae we can take a step forward only by having firm footing for the step 
ehind it. . 
~~ According to a well-known story, some Sidonian mariners, probably at least a thou- 
é, sand years before our era, were carrying « cargo of natron or native carbonate of soda, 
extensively used for its cleansing properties, as wood-ashes are now. They were 
sailing along the coast of Syria, and Janded to cook their food at the mouth of a 
stream flowing down from the Mount Carmel of Scripture. ‘Chey took some lumps 
~~ of the natron from their boat, and used them as stones to set their cauldron on. The 
.- fire which they kindled beneath melted the soda and the flint sand of the shore, and 
tothe astonishment of these Sidonians, formed ashinivg liquid, which cooled and 
hardened, and was found to be transparent. ‘his was tue first invention of glass, 
It was scon manufactured by the Egyptians, andis found abundantly in their tombs. 
There is astory in the history of England, told, I think, originally by Bede, so 
justly cailed the Venerable, which is as striking and affecting in its way as any of 
those deeds of heroic patriotism that enrich the annak0f Greece and Rome. 

More than twelve hundred years ago, when the north-eastern part of England was 
occupied by the pagan Angles, or people of Jutland and Holstein, who bad conquered 
-_ it from the oid Celtic population, a Christian missionary from Rome endeavoured to 

~ introduce his better faith among these rude and bloody men. The council of the 
chiefs was assembled round their king. Paulinus spoke; and at last one of the 
warriors said; *'The soul of man is like a sparrow, which in a winter night, when the 
- king with his men is sitting by the warm fire, enters for a moment from the storm 
and darkness, flits through the lighted hall, and-then passes again into the black 
= nicht. Thus,’ he said, ‘ our life shoots across the world; but whence it comes and 
whither it goes we cannot tell. If, then, the new doctrine can give us any certainty, 
- O king, let us receive it with joy.’ In this simple and earnest fashion does the unap- 
peasable longing of man for knowledge speak itself out of the ¢im_barbarian soul. 


~ 


% EDWARD WILLIAM LANE, ETC. 


This able oriental scholar (1801-1875) was a native of Hereford, 
son of a prebendary in the cathedral there. He made three visits to 
_ Egypt, one result of which was his.work, ‘The Manners and Cus- 

toms of the Modern Egyptians,’ 1836, which was highly successful. 
He next gave the public a translation, ‘drawn chiefly from the most 
copious Eastern sources,’ of ‘The Arabian. Nights’ Entertainments.’ 
But his greatest work was the construction of a complete ‘ Arabic- 
_ English Lexicon,’ one volume of which was published in 1868, and 
- four others at intervals of three or four years. Though incomplete 
at the time of his death, Mr. Lane had left materials for three more 
~ volumes, which will complete this great work, which all scholars at 
_home and abroad consider as an honour to England. 

~~ FRANK TREVELYAN BouckLAND (born in. 1826), son of Dr. Buck- 
land the eminent geologist, studied at Christ Church, Oxford. Mr. 
Buckland is an Inspector of Salmon Fisheries for England and Wales. 
He has written ‘ Curiosities of Natural History,’ and other works, and 
“edited White’s ‘Selbourne,’ enriching it with copious additions. As 
a naturalist and pleasing writer, Mr. Buckland has done much to en- 
courage the study of nature and increase our knowledge of the habits 

of animals. 
3 CHARLES Knicnt (1790-1872), a native of Windsor, both as pub- 
~ -lisher and author, did good service tothe cause of cheap popular liter- 
ature. His ‘ Etonian,’ and ‘ Knight’s Quarterly Magazine,’ drew forth 
many accomplished young scholars as contributors—including Ma 


= 


ie 2 , 
cam oe : 


236 _. .CYCLOPAIDIA OF 


caulay—and his Pictorial England, the Pictorial Bible, shilling vol-. 


[To 1876, — 


umes, and other serial works, supplied a fund of excellent reading ~ 


and information. <As editor of Shakspeare, Mr. Knight took higher 
ground, and acquitted himself with distinction, though resting the 
text too exclusively on the folio of 1623. A collection of essays was 
published by Mr. icnight under the title of ‘Once upon a Time,’ 1833, 
aud another is named * ‘the Old Printer and the Modern Press.’ His 
‘Passages of a Working Life during Half a Century,’ 1863-65, is an 
_ interesting autobiography, illustrating the literary life of the period. 
His playful epitaph by Douglas Jerrold, ‘ Good Knigh*,’ describes his 
character. @:* ; 

The ‘ Biographical: and Critical Essays’ of Mr. AprRAnAM Hay- 
WARD, Queen’s Counsel, published in 1858-1865, are lively, interest-. 
ing papers, originally communicated to the ‘Edinburgh Review.’ 
Mr. Hayward has also translated Goethe’s ‘Faust,’ and is author of a 
number of proiessional treatises. 

ALBANY FONBLANQUE (1793-1872), a distinguished journalist, for 


many years editor of the ‘Examiner,’ published in 1:87. three vol- — 


umes of political papers under the title of ‘England under Seven 
Administrations.’ He was a witty sparkling writer, careful and 
fastidious. In his early days he frequently wrote an article ten times 
over before he had it to his mind. In 1873, a further selection from 
his editorial writings, with a sketch of his life, was published by his 
nephew, E. B. Fonblanque. 1 a. 


DR. DORAN. 


In the department of light parlour-books or Ana, the works of Dr. 
JOHN Doran have been successful. His ‘Table Traits, and Some- 
thing on Them,’ 1854, is chiefly on the art of dining, and evinces a 
great extent of curious reading and observation. His next work, 


~* Habits and Men, with Remnants of Record touching the Makers of — 


Both’ (also 1854), is full of anecdotes, illustrative of eminent per 
sons, customs, manners, dress, &c. Next year the author produced 
‘Lives of the Queens of England of the House of Hanover,’ two 
volumes. This work is also chiefly anecdotical, and presents interior 
pictures of the courts of the three Georges—the last happily forming a 
strong contrast to the coarseness ‘and licentiousness of George |. and 
George II. ‘Knights and their Days,’ 1856, is a chronicle of knight- ~ 
hood from Falstaff downwards, with anecdotes, quaint stories, whim- 
sical comments, and episodes of all kinds. ‘Monarchs Retired from 
Business,’ two volumes, 1857, is a wo1k of the same complexion, re- 
lating to kings and rulers who voluntarily or involuntarily—Louis. 
Philippe being among the latter—abandoned the cares and state of 
government. The ‘ History of Court Fools,’ 1858, embraces a good 


‘ 


’ 
- 


deal of historical anecdote and illustration; and a few months after ~~ 


wards the indefatigable doctor was ready with ‘New Pictures and 


=m 


4 
: 


4 


-_ ~ 


—porax.J. «ENGLISH LITERATURE. 237 


~ = 


~ 


Old Panels,’ another collection of Ana, relating to authors, actors, - 
- actresses, preachers, and vanities of all sorts. Dr. Doran's next ap- 
- pearance was as an editor: ‘Journal of the Reign of King George 
Ait. , from the Year 1771 to 1783, by Horace Walpole; being a Sup- 
_ plement to his Memoirs, now first published from the Original Manu- 
* scripts; edited with Notes; two volumes, 1859. As an historian, 
_ Horace .Walpole was not to be trusted; he was rather a brilliant gos- 
sip with strong prejudices; but he could not have had‘a better editor 
> than Dr. Doran, who could trace him into all his recesses and books, 
~ and was familiar with the characters and events of which he treated. 


> 


_ he had applied himself assiduously to his task. In 1860, Dr. Voran 


produced ‘Lives of the Princes of Wales; in 1861, ‘ The Bentley 
- Ballads; in 1863, a ‘History of the English Stage; and in 1868, 
‘ Saints and Sinners.’ 


The Style Royal and Critical—the Plural ‘We.’ 


_~_ With respect to the style and title of kings, it may be here stated that the royal 
_ £We?’ represents. or was supposed originaliy to represent, the source of the national 
~ power. glory, and intellect in the august person of a sovereign. ‘ Le Roi Je veut’— 
~ the King wiil have it so—sounded as arrogantly as it was meant to sound in the royal 
_ Norman mouth. It is a mere form, now that royalty in England has been relieved of 
_ responsibility. In haughtiness of expression it was matched by the old French for- 
~ mula at the end of a decree: ‘ For such is our good pleasure.’ The royal subscrip- 
4 tion in Spain, ‘Yo, el Re ’*—I. the King—has a thundering sort of echo about it too. 
- The only gallant expression to be found in royal addresses was made by the kings of 
- -France—that is, by the married kings. Thus, when the French monarch summoned 
— acouncil to meet upon affairs of importance, and desired to have around him the 
_ princes of the blood and the wiser nobility of the realm, his majesty invariably com- 
menced his address with the words. ‘ Having previously consulted on this matter 
' withthe qneen,’&c Itisvery probable, almost certain, that the King had done noth- 
* ing of the sort; but the assurance that he had, seemed to give a certain sort of dig- 
- nity to the consort in the eyes of the grandees and the people at large. Old Michel 
_, de Marolles was proud of this display of gallant. y on the part of the kings of France, 
_ ‘According to my thinking,’ says the garrulons old aybé of Villeloin. * this is a mat- 
_— ter highly worthy of notice. although few persons have condescended to rake re- 
- marks thereon down to this present time.’ It may here be added, with respect to 
- English kings, that the first ‘ king’s speech’ ever delivered was by Henry I, in 1107, 
Ewuetly a century later, King John first assumed the royal ‘ We?’ it had never before 
~ been employed in England. The same monarch has the credit-of having been the 
first English king who claimed for England the sovereignty of the seas. ‘ Grace,’ and 
_ ‘My Liege,’ were the ordinary titles by which our Henry IV. was addressed. * Excel- 
lent Grace’ was given to Henry VI.. who was not the one. nor yet had the other; 
Edward IV. was ‘ Most High and Mighty Prince ;’ Henry VII. was the first English 
_ ‘Highness ;’ Henry VIII. was the first complimented by the title of ‘Majesty ;’ and 
- James I. prefixed to the last title ‘Sacred and Most Excellent.’ 
ae 


eS. Visit of George ITT. and Queen Charlotte to the City of London. 


_ The Queen was introduced to the citizens of London on Lord-Mayor’s Day ; or 

_ which occasion they may be said emphatically to have ‘ made a dav of it.’ They left 
_ St. James’s Palace at noon, and in great state. accompanied by all the royal family, 
- escorted by guards, and cheered by the people, whose particular holiaay was. thus 
- shared in common. There was the usual ceremony at Temple Bar of opening the 
__ gates to royalty, and pine. it welcome; and there was the once usual address made 


“ee OS Fp RX Fini a | 


_ at the east end of St. Paul’s Churchyard, by the senior scholar of Christ’s Hospita, 


S x a ot: % ; - Ss =f 
239° Set CY CEOPAEDIA SOE Fro 1876. 


school. Having survived the cumbrous formalities of the first, and smiled at the 
flowery figures of the second, the royal party proceeded on their way, not to Guiid- 


= 
. 
be 


hall, but to the house of Mr. Barclay, the patent-medicine vendor, an honest Quaker — 


whom the king respected, and ancestor to the head of the firm: whose name is not 
unmusical to Volscian ears—Barclay, Perkins, & Co. Robert Barclay. the only sur- 
viving son of the author of the same name, who wrote the celebrated ‘ Apology for 
the Quak 1s.’ and who was now the king’s entertainer, was an octogenarian, who 


had entertained in the same house two Georges before he had given welcome to the — 


third George and his Queen Charlotte. The hearty_old man, without abandoning 
Quaker simplicity, went.a little beyond it, in order to do honour to the young queen ; 
aud he hung his balcony and rooms with a brilliant crimson damask, that must have 
scattered blushes on all who stood near—particularly on the cheeks of the crowds of 
‘ Friends’ who had assembled within the house to do honour to their sovereigns. . . . 

Queen Charlotte and George III. were the last of our sovereigns who thus hon- 
oured a Lord-Mayor’s show. And as it was the last o’ casion, and that the young 
Queen Charlotts was the heroine of the day, the opportunity may be profited by to 
shew how that royal lady looked and bore herself in the estimation of one of the Miss 
Barclays, whose letter, descriptive of the scene, appeared forty-seven years subse-- 
sequently, in 1808. The following extracts are very much to our purpose: ‘ About 


cne o’clock papa and mamma, with sister Western to attend them, took their stand — 


at the streét-door, where my two brothers had long been to receive the nobility, more 
than a hundred of whom were then waiting in the warehouse. As the royal family 
came, they were conducted into one of the counting-houses, which was transformed 
into a very pretty parlour. At half-past two their majesties came, which was two 


hours later than they intended. On the second pair of stairs was placed our own 


company, about forty in number, the chief of whom were of the Puritan order, and 
allin their orthodox habits. Next to the drawing-room doors were -placed our own 
selves, I mean papa’s children, none else, to the great mortification of visitors, being 
allowed to enter: for as kissing the king’s hand without kneeling was an unexam- 
pled honour, the king confined that privilege to our own family, as a return for the 
trouble we had been at.. After the royal pair had shewn themselves at the balcony, 


we were all introduced, and you may believe, at that juncture, we felt no small pal- - 


pitations. The king met us at the door—a condescension I did not expect—at which 
place he saluted us with great politeness. Advancing to the upper end of the room, 


we kissed the queen’s hand, at the sight of whom we were all in raptures, not only — 


from the brilliancy.of her appearance, which was pleasing beyond description, but 
being throughout her whole person possessed of that inexpressible something that is 
beyond a set of features, and equally claims our attention. To be sure, she has 
not a fine face, but a most agreeable countenance, and is vastly genteel, 
with an air, notwithstanding her being a little woman, truly majestic; and 
I really think, by her manner is expressed that complacency of disposition - 
which is truly amiable: and though I could never perceive that she deviated from 
that dignity which belongs to a crowned head, yet on the inost trifling occasions she 
displayed all that easy behaviour that negligence can bestow. Her hair, which-is of 
a light colour, hung in what is called coronation-ringlets, encircled in a band of dia- 
nionds, so beautiful in themselves, and so prettily disposed, as will admit of no de- 
scription. Her clothes, which were 4s rich as gold, silver, and silk could make them, 
was a suit from which fell a train supported by a little page in scarlet and silver. 
The lustre of her stomacher was inconceivable. The king IJ think a very personable 
man. Ali the princes followed the kiug’s example in complimenting each of us with 
a kiss. The queen was up-stairs three times, and my little darling, with Patty Bar- 
flay, and Priscilla Ball, were introduced to her. I was present, an@not alittle anx=_ 
jous on account of my girl, who «kissed the queen’s hand with so much grace that 
[ thought the princess-dowager would have smothered her with kisses. Such a re- 
port was made of her to the king, that Miss was sent for, and afforded him great 
amusement. by saying, ‘that she loved the king, though she must not love fine 
things, and her grandpapa would not allow her to make a courtesy.’ Her sweet 
face made such an impression on the Duke of York, that I rejoiced she was only 
five instead of fifteen. When he first met her, he tried to persuade Miss to let him 


i 


- 
wom se 


introduce her to the queen: but she would by no means consent till I informed her he ~ 


‘was a prince, upon which her little female heart relented, and she gaye him her “a 


“ 
:. 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 2 239 


~ hand—a true copy of the sex. The king never sat down, nor did he taste anything 
during the whole time. Her majesty drank tea, which was brought her on a sil- 
_ ver waiter by brother John, who delivered it to the lady-in-waitin g, aud she presented 
_ it_knéeling.. The leave they took of us was such as we might expect from our 
- equals ; full of apologies for-our trouble for their entertainment—which they were 
_ 80 anxious to have expiaiued, that the queen came up to us, as we stood on one side 
_ of the door, and had every word interpreted. My brothers had the honour of assist- 
* ing the queen into her coach. Some of us sat up to see them return, and the king 
~ and queen took especial notice of us.as they passed. ‘The king ordered twenty-four 
¥ of his guard to be placed opposite our door all night,Jest. any of the canopy should 
_ be pulled down by the mob. in which [the canopy, it is to be presumed] there were 
_ one hundred yards of silk damask.’ 


>In Allibone’s ‘Dictionary of British and American Authors,’ 1859, 
_we find the following biographical particulars relative to the above 
author: ‘John Doran, Lb.D., born 1807 in London family origi- 
~nally of Drogheda, in Ireland. He was educated chiefly by his 
father. His literary bent was manifested at the age of fifteen, when 
he produced the melodrama of the ‘ Wandering Jew,’ which was first 
played at the Surrey Theatre in 1822 for Tom Blanchard’s benefit. 
His early years were spent in France. He was successively tutor in 
four of the noblest families in Great Britain.’ Dr. Doran has con- 
tributed largely to the literary journals. 


bats WILLIAM JOHN THOMS. 


' In 1849 was commenced a weekly journal, ‘ Notes and Queries,’ a 
medium of inter-communication for literary men, artists, antiquaries, 
-fenealogists, &c.. The projector and editor of this excellent little 
periodical was Mr. Wiuiiam Joun Tuoms, born in Westminster in 
1803, and librarian in the House of Lords. Mr. Thoms has published 
_a ‘Collection of Early Prose Romances,’ 1828; ‘Lays and Legends of 
- Various Nations,’ 1834; ‘ Notelets on Shakspeare,’ and several histori- 
' Cal treatises. Having retired from the editorship of ‘ Notes and Queries,’ 
>, complimentary dinner was given to Mr. Thoms on the tst Novem- 
ber, 1872, Earl Stanhope Chairman, at which about one hundred and 
twenty friends and admirers of the retiring editor were present. Mr. 
Thoms has been succeeded in the editorial chair by Dr. Doran. 


: SIR ARTHUR HELPS. 


~ Several works of a thoughtful and earnest character, written in 
-what Mr. Ruskin has termed ‘beautiful and quiet English,’ have 
_been published (most of them anonymously) by ArtTHur HELps, 
afterwards Sir Arthur, this popular author having been honoured in 
1872 by the title of K.C.B. Sir Arthur was born-in 1814, educated 
at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he graduated B.A. in 1888, and 
_having been successively private secretary to the Chancellor of the 
Exchequer (Lord Monteagle) and _to the Chi-f Secretary for Ireland 
(Lord Morpeth), he was appointed Clerk of the Privy Council in the 
year 1859. His works are—‘ Thoughts in the Cloister and the Crowd, 
1835; ‘Essays written in the Intervals of Business,’ 1841; ‘King 


_- | 
= MN ee 

see 
“fate 

© 


240 CYCLOPEDIA OF °  —_—_—_ [ro 1876. 
Henry II.,’ a historical drama, and ‘Catherine Douglas,’ a tragedy, 
1843; ‘The Claims of Labour,’ 1844; ‘Friends in Council, a Series 
of Readings and Discourses,’ 1847; ‘Companions of my Solitude,’ 


1851: ‘Conquerors of the New World, and their Bondsmen,’ two — 


volumes, 1848-52; ‘History of the Spanish Conquest of America,’ 


1855; a second series of ‘Friends in Uouncil,’ 1859; ‘The Life of 


Pizarro,’ 169; ‘Casimir Maremma,’ and ‘ Breyia, or Short Essays,” 
in 1870; ‘Conversations on War and General Culture,’ * The Life of 
Hernando Cortes and the Conquest of Mexico,’ and ‘Thoughts upon | 
Government,’ in 1871; in 1872, the. ‘ Life of Mr. Brassey the Engi- 
veer.’ The essays and dialogues of this author evincea fine moral 
feeling and discriminating taste. "They have all gone through nu- 


3 


e! 


r 
4 
x 
, 


: 
; 
A 


oo 


merous editions, and their purity of expression, as well as justness 
of thought, must have had-a beneficial effect on many minds, Sir — 


Arthur died March 7, 1875. ; 


Advantages of Foreign Travel. S 


This, then, is one of the advantages of travel, that we come upon new ground, 
which we tread lightly, which is free from associations that claim too deep and con-_ 
stant an interest from us; and not resting long in any one place, but travelling 


onwards, we maintain that desirable lightness of mind; we are spectators, having — 


for the time no duties, no ties, no associations, no responsibilities; nothing to do 
but to look on, and look fairly. Another of the great advantages of travel lies in 
what you learn from your companions; not merely from those you set out with, or_ 
50 much from them as from these whom you are thrown together with on th2 
journey. I reckon this advantage to be so great, that I should be inclined to> sy, 
that you often get more from your companions in travel than from all you come to 
see. Peopleimagine they are not known,-and that they shall never meet again with 
the same company—which is very likely so—they are free for the time from the 
trainmels of their business, profession, or calling; the marks of the harness begin — 
to wear ont; axd altogether they taik more like men than § aves with their several 
functions hanging like collars round their necks. An ordinary man on travel will 
soinetimes talk like a great imaginative man at home, for such are never utterly - 
enslived by their functions. ‘Then the diversities of character you meet with 
instruct and delight you. ‘The variety in langnage, dress, behaviour, religious cere- 
monies, mode of life, amusements, arts, Climate, governments, lays hold of your 
attention and takes you out of the wheel-tracks of your everyday cares, He must, 
indeed, be either an angel of constancy and perseverance, or a wonderfully obtuse 
Caliban of a man, who, amidst all this change, can maintain his private griefs 
or vexations exactly in the same piace they held in his heart while he was packing | 
for his journey. "! he change of language is alone a great delight. _ You pass along, ~ 
living only.with gentlemen and scholars. for you rarely detect what is vulgar or inept — 
in the talkk around you. Children’s talk in another language is not childish to you, 
- and indeed everything is literature, from the announcement at a railway-station to 
the advertisements in a newspaper. Read the Bible in another tongue, and you — 


ae Le OP Wht ee 


ee ee ee ee Ore As ee ee 


will perhaps find.a beauty in it you have not thoroughly appreciated for years — 
before. é 
The Course of History. sl 
T’e course of history is like that of a great river wandering through various — 
countries; now, in the infancy of its current. collecting its waters from obscure small 
springs in splashy meadows, and from unconsidered rivulets which the neighboudng 
rustics do not know the name of; now. in its boisterous youth, forcing its way — 
straight through mountains; now, in middle life, going with equable current busily 


by great towns, its waters sullied yet enriched with commerce ; and now, inits bur- — 
dened old age, making its slow and difficult way with great broad surface, over which _ 


~ 


‘metrs] = ENGLISH LITERATURE.  _ 241 


- %, % ; ‘ . ; 

p- the declining sun looms grandly‘to the sea. The uninstructed or careless travelier 

+, generally finds but one form of beayty or.of meaning in the river: tne romantic 

. gorge or wild cascade is, perhaps, the only kind of scenery which delights him. And 

80 it has often been in our estimate of tistory. Well-fought battics. or the doings 

- of gay courts, or bloody revolutions, have been the chief sources of attraction ; while 
ae dressed events, but not of less real interest or import, have often escaped all 

notice. 


Discovery of the Pacifie Ocean by Vasco Nufiex. 


Early in September 1513 he set ont on his renowned expedition for finding ‘ the 
other sea,’ accompanied by a hundred and ninety men well armed, and by dogs, 
_- which were of more avail than men, and by Indian slaves to carry the burdens. He 
~ went by sea to the territory of his father-in-law, King Careta, by whom he was well 
A received, and, accompanied by whose Indians, he moved on into Poncha’s territory. 
_ The cacique took flight. as he had done before, secking refuge amongst his mour- 
* tains; but Vasco Nufiez, whose first thought in his present undertaking was dis- 
~ covery and not conquest, sent messengers to Poncha, promising not to hurt him. 
The Indian chief listened to these overtures, and came to Vasco Nufiez with gold in 
- his hands. It was the policy of the Spanish commander on this occasion to keep 

his. word: we have seen how treacherous he could be when it was not his policy 3 

but he now did no harm to Poncha, and, on the contrary, he secured his friend- 
_ ship by presenting him with looking-glasses, hatchets. and hawk-bells, in return for 
~ which he obtained guides and porters from’ among this cacique’s people, which 
_ enabled him to prosecute his journey. Following Poucha’s guides, Vasco Nunez 
_ and his men commenced the ascent of the mountains, until he entered the country 
~ ofan Indian chief calied Quarequa, whom they found fully prepared to resist tbem. 
~ he brave Indian advanced at the head of his troops, meaning to make 


~ 


Vee RP Ae 


- avigorous attack; but. they cou!d not withstand the discharge of the firearms; in- 
~ deed they believed the Spaniards to have thunder end lightning in their hands—not 
~ an unreasonable fancy—and, flying in the utmost terrror from the place of battle, a 
- total-rout ensued. The rout was a bloody one, andis described by an author. who 
- gained his information from those who were present at it, as a scene to remind one 
of the shambles. The king and his principal men were slain, to the number of six 

~- hundred. In speaking of these people. Peter Martyr makes mention of the sweetness 
of their languave, and how all the words might be written in Latin letters, as was also 
_ toberemark d in that of the inhabitants of Hispaniola. This writer also mentions, 
and there is reason for thinking that he was rightly informed, that there was a 
region not two days’ journey from Quarequa’s territory, in which Vasco Nunez found 
_-a race of black men, who were conjectured to have come from Africa, and to have 
_ been shipwrecked on this coast. Leaving several of his men, who were ill. or over- 
weary, in Quarequa’s chief town, and taking with him guides from this country, the 
_ Spanish commander pursued bis way up the most lofty sierras there, until, on the 
~ 25th of Scptember 1513, he came neato the top of a mountain from whence the 
South Sea was visible. The distance from Poncha’s chief town to this point was forty 
leagues, reckoned then six days’ journey, but Vasco Nufiez and his men took twenty- 
five days to do it in, suffering much from the roughness of the ways and from 
the want of provisions. A little before Vasco Nufiez reached the height. Quare- 
~-qua’s Indians informed him of his near approach to it. It was a sight which 
any man would wish to be’ alone to see. Vasco Nufiez~ bade his men sit 
down while he alone escended and looked down vupon the yast Pacific, the 
first man of the Old World, so far as we kuow, who had done so. Falling on his 

__ knees, he gave thanks to God for the favour shewn to him ‘n his being the first 
- man to discover and behold this sea : then with his hand he beckoned to his men to 
come up. When they had come, both he and they knelt down and poured forth their 
thanks to God: He then addressed them in these words: ‘ You see here. gentlemen 
and children mine, how our desires are being accomplished, and the end of our Ia- 
- pbours. Of that we ought to be certain. for as it has turned out true what King Com- 
~ ocre’s son told of this sea to us, who never thought to see it, so IT hold for certain 
~ that what he told us there being incomparable treasures in it will be fulfilled. God 
and his blessed mother who have assisted us, so that we should arrive here and be- 
_ hold this sea, will favour us that we may enjoy all that there is in it.” Every great 


. 


- 
“y 


* 


- 


, tl aS C4 eS ae rete ~ 


- = othe Se 


as a. 


gy 


249 “< “CYCLOPAIDIA OF. = [ro 1876, - 


‘ and.original action has a prospective greatness, not alone from the thoughts of the 
man who achieves it, but from the various aspects and high thoughts which the same ~ 
action will continue to present and call up in the minds of others to the end, it may 
be, of all time. And soa remarkable event maygo on acquiring more and more sig- — 
nificance. In this case, our knowledge that the Pacific,-which Vasco Nufiez then — 
beheld, occupies more than one-half of the earth’s surface, is an element of thought— 
which in our minds lightens up and gives an awe to this first gaze of his upon those 
mighty waters, ‘lo him the scene might not at that moment have Suggested much— 


more than it would have done to a_ mere conqueror; indeed, Peter Martyr likens — 


Vasco Nufiez to Hannibal shewing Italy to his seldiers, 4 * 
+ ye 

- 

Great Questions of the Present Age.—rom ‘Companions of my Solitude.’ 


‘What patient labour and what intellectual power-is often bestowed in coming to _ 
a decision on any cause which involves much worldly property. Might there not be — 
some great hearing of any of the intellectual and spiritual difficulties which beset — 
the paths of all thoughtful men in the present age? Church questions, for example, — 
seem to require avast investigation. Asit is, a book or pamphlet is put forward on ~ 
one side, and somehow the opposing facts and arguments seldom come into each 
other’s presence. And thus truth sustains great, loss. ; a 
My own opinion is, if I cau venture to say that I have an opinion, that what we ' 
ought to seek for is a church of the utmost width of doctrine, and with the most — 
beautiful expression that can be devised for that doctrine—the most beantiful ex- 
lo I mean, in words, in deeds, in sculpture, and in sacred song; which should 
lave a Simple easy grandeur in its proceedings that should please the elevated and — 
poetical mind, charm the poor, and yet not lie open to just cavilling on the part of — 
those somewhat hard, intellectual worshippers who must have a reason for every-— 
thing; which should have vitality and growth in it; and which should attract and 
not repel those who-love truth better than any creature. She ae 
Pondering these things in the silence of the downs, I at last neared home; and 
found that the result of all my thoughts was that any would-be teacher must be con-— 
tented and humble, or to try to be so, in his efforts of any kind; and that if the great 
questions can hardly be determined by man (divided, too, as he is from his brother 
in all ways), he must still try and do what he can on lower levels, See. ever for. 
more insight, and looking forward to the knowledge which may be gained by death. 


Advice to Men in Small Authority. 


It isa great privilege to have an opportunity many times in a day, in the course 
of your, business, to do a real kindness which is notto be paid for. Graciousness of 
demeanour is a large part of the duty of any official person whe comes in contact 
with the world. Where a man’s business is, there is the ground for his religion 
to manifest itself. OT FR i 


SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS (‘MARK TWAIN’). 


This humorous writer and lecturer is a native of Florida, Monroe 
county, Missouri, where he was born in 183). He has been suc- 
cessively a printer, a steamboat pilot, a miner, and a newspaper edi- 
tor—the.last in San Francisco, In 1867 he published a story of the 
Californian gold mines, entitled ‘The Jumping Frog,’ which in-~ 
stantly became popular. In the same year he went on a pleasure - 
trip to Spain, Italy, Greece, Egypt. &c., and the result was two vol- 
umes of amusing incidents and description—the first, entitled ‘ Inno- 
cents Abroad,’ giving the details of the journey from New York-to 
Naples; and the second, under the title of the “New Pilgrim’ 
Progress,’ describing the Holy Land and the Grecian and Syrian 
shores. Mr, Clemens is author of various other works—‘ Burlesque 


“g ST Ee a EN on SR : ' Ss i 
Se gaye NA ws GA aoe eat i : ee : : 
i eo aie ys Sf <7% ‘ » an x 
eo - 4 > =F . ; 


> CLEMENS.} ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 248 
in i ae , < - mie 

_ Autobiography,’ ‘Eye-openers,’ ‘Good Things,’ ‘Screamers,’ ‘A 
_ Gathering of Scraps,’ ‘ Roughing It,’ &c. 


The Noblest Delight. 


-_ ~ What is it that confers the noblest delight? What is that which swells a mfn’s 
breast with pride above that which any other experience can bring to him? Dis- 
_ covery! To know that you are walking where none others have walked ; that you 
are beholding what human eye has not seen before; that you are breathing a virgin 
atmosphere. ‘fo give birth to an idea—to discover a great thought—an intellectual 
__nugget, right under the dust of a field that many a brain-plough had gone over be- 
_ fore. To find a new planet, to invent a new hinge, to find a way to make the light- 
_ nings’carry your messages. To be the first—that is the idea. ‘To do something, say 
- something, see something, before anybody else—these are the things that coufer a 
pleasure compared with which other pleasures are tame and commonplace, other ecs- 
facies cheap and trivial. Morse; with his first message, brought by his servant, the 
lightning; Fulton, in that long-drawn century of suspense, when he placed his hand 
- upon the throttle-valve, and lo, the steamboat moved ; Jenner, when his patient with 
-.the cow’s virus in his blood walked through the small-pox hospitals unscathed ; 
_ Howe, when the idea shot through his brain that for a hundred and twenty genera- 
* tions the eye had been bored through the wrong end of the needle; the nameless 
’ lord of art who laid down his chisel in some old age that is forgotten now, and 
~ gloated upon the finished Laocoon; Daguerre, when he commanded the sun, riding 
- in the zenith, to print the landscape upon his insignificant silvered plate, and he 
obeyed; Columbus, in the Pinta’s shrouds, when he swung his hat above a fabled 
> sea and gazed abroad upon an unknown world! These are the men who have really 
~ lived—who have actually comprehended what pleasure is—who have crowded long 
lifetimes of ecstacy into a single moment. & 


+ 


~ 


- 


¥ Puzzling an Italian Guide. 


The guides in Genoa are delighted to secure an American party, becatise Ameri- 

_ ¢ans so much wonder, ‘and deal so much in sentiment and emotion before any relic 
_of Columbus. Our guide there fidgeted about as if he had swallowed a spring mat- 
_ tress. He was full of animation—full of impatience. He said: ‘Come wis me. gen- 
- teelmen! come! I show you ze letter writing by Christopher Colombo. Write it 
_ himself !—write it wis his own hand !—come!? 

_ He took us to the municipal palace... After much impressive fumbling of keys 

‘and opening of locks, the stained and aged document was spread before us. The 
 guide’s eyes sparkled. He danced about us and tapped the parchment with his 
- finger. 
_ *What I tell you, genteelmen! Is it notso? See! handwriting Christopher 
_ Colombo !—write it himself!’ 
_ _*« We looked indifferent—unconcerned. The doctor examined the document very 
' deliberately, during a painful pause. Then he ssid, without any show of interest: 
: tiie? Ferguson, what—what did you say was the name of the party who wrote 
ee this? ° 
: ‘Christopher Colombo! ze great Christopher Colombo !’ 

Another deliberate examination. ‘ Ah—did he write it himself. or—or how 2?’ 
ae aay write it himself !—Christopher Colombo! he’s own handwriting, write by 
himself! 

_. ‘Then the doctor laid the document down, and said: ‘Why, I have seen boys in 
~-America only fourteen years old that could write better than that.’ 

2 ‘But zis is ze great Christo’ : 

; ‘I don’t care who it is! It’s the worst writing I ever saw. Now you mustn’t 
_ think you can impose on us because we are strangers. We are not fools, by a good 
deal. If you have got any specimens of penmanship of real merit, trot them out! 
_-and if you haven’t, drive on!’: 

" , We drove on. The guide was considerably shaken up, but he made one more 
_ venture. He had something which he thought would overcome us. He said: ‘ Ah, 
_ genteelmen, you come wis me! I shew you beautiful, oh, magnificent bust Christo- 
- pher Colombo !—splendid, grand, magnificeut !’ 


a a. eee 


ty Sa. AS es amis a AT “el SSP. Sos a SS ge Se ane 
: 7 goe - ag Sat pare se Te 


pda * ; -CYCLOPADIA OF le 2 [to 1876. 


He brought us before the beautiful bust—for it was besutiful—and sprang back 


and struck an attitude, : 


. 


‘Ah, look, genteelmen !—beautiful, grand—bust Christopher Colombo !—beautiful ~ 
bust, beautiful pedestal? - x eee ae 
The doctor put up his eye-glass—procured for such occasions. *Ah—what did — ‘ 
you say this gentleman’s name was?’ , a 


- Christopher Colombo—ze great Christopher Colombo!’ ~ : . 
‘Christopher Colombo—the great Christopher Colombo. Well, what did he do ?’ 
‘Discover America !—discover America. Oh, ze devil? ; 
‘Discover. America. No—that statement will hardly wash. We are just from 
America ourselves. We heard nothing about it. Christopher Colombo—pieasant — 
name—is—is he dead ?’ 
‘Oh, corpo di Baccho !—three hundred year!’ 
“What did he die of 2?’ . <i 
*I do not know !—I cannot tell.’ ; 
‘Small-pox, think ?’ 
‘I go not know, genteelmen !—I do not know what he die of !’ 
‘ Measles, likely ?’ ; 
‘Maybe—may be—I do not j:now—I think he die of somethings.’ 
‘Parents living ?’ 
‘Im-posseeble !’ : 
‘ Ah—which is the bust and which is the pedestal ?” z 
-‘ Santa Maria !—zis ze bust !—zis ze pedestal? $ ; 
“Ah, Isce. 1 see—happy combination—very happy combination, indeed. Is—is — 
this the first time this gentleman was ever ona bust’ 5: 
That joke was lost on the foreiguer—guides Cannot master the subtleties of the ~ 
American joke. : 3 
We have made it in‘eresting to this Roman euide. Yesterday wespent three or — 
four hours in the Vatican. aguii—that wonderful world of ‘curiosities. We came 4 
4 
s 


eT ee eee eee, tm NY pe yee ame 


very neur expressing interest, sometimes—even admiration—it was very hard to keep 
from it. We succeeded thongh. Nobody else ever did it in the Vatican museums. ~ 
The guide was bewildered—nonplussed. He walked his legs off, nearly, hunting up — 
extraordinary things. and exhausted all his ingenuity on us, but it was a failure; we 
never shewed any interest in anything. He had reserved what he considered to be ~ 
his greatest wonder till the last—a royal Egyptian muimmy, the best preserved in the ~ 
word perhaps. HWetookusthere. He felt so sure this time, that some of his-old — 
euthusiusin came back to him: 
‘See, genteelmen !—Mummy! > Mummy!? ~ ' 
The eye-glass came up as calinly. as deliberately as ever. : 
‘ Ah—Ferguson—what did I understand you to say the gentleman’s name was?’ | © 
‘Name ?—he got no name ?—Mummy !—’Gyptian muminy !” : F 
‘Yes, yes. Born here?’ + Sa 
‘Nol ’Gyptian mummy!’ ~ 
“Ah, just so. Frenchman, I presnme?’ — . 
‘No !—not Frenchman. not Roman !—born in Egypta!? — ~ q la 
“Born in Evypta. Never heard of Egypta before. ~ Foreign locality. likely, S 
Mummy—mummy. How calm he is—how self-possessed. Is, ah—is he dead?’ 4 
‘Oh, saeré b’eu, beeu dead three thousan’ year !? 2 
The doctor turned on him savagely— \ , 
‘Here. now. what do you mean by such conduct as this! Playing us for China- 
men because we are strangers and trying to learn! Trying to impose yonr vile — 
second-hand carcusses on ws /—thunder and lighting, I’ve a notion to—to—if you de | 


* 


J 
a 
- 
a 
. 
te 


got a nice fresh corpse, fetch him out !—or by George we'll brain you!” 

DR. JOHN BROWN—MR. M. M LENNAN. x 

Joun Brown, son of the distinguished theological professor in 

connection with the As-ociate Syned (ante), and an accomp- = 

lished member of. the literary society of Edinburgh, was born in 
1810, studied medicine, and settled down as a medical practitioner in 

the Scottish capital. In 1858 he published ‘ Hore Subsecive,’ a vol- 


rey 


me ge = = - 
a 


“prown,]) |. - ENGLISH LITERATURE, . ~ 245 


«< ~ 
lid 


ume of essays on Locke and Sydenham, with other occasional 
papers... One of Dr. Brown’s objects in this publication he thus 
© explains: . 


~ Yo give my vote for going back tothe old manly, intellectual, and literary culture 
of the days of Sydenham, Arbuthnot, and Gregory; when a physician fed, enlarged, 
> and quickened his entire nature; whén he lived in the world of letters as a free- 
- holder, and reverenced the ancients, while at the same time Le pushed on among 
his fellows, and jived in the present, believing that his profession and his patients 
need noi suffer, though his horce subsecive were devoted occasionally to misceilane- 
- ous thinking and reading, and to a course of what is elsewhere called ‘fine confused 
_ feeding,’ or thongh, as his Gaelic historian says of Rob Roy at his bye hours, he be 
*- ‘aman of incoherent transactions.’. AsI have said, system is not always method, 

much less progress. ' 


oa 


He adds, as of more important and general application : 


Physiology and the laws of health are the interpreters of disease and cure, over 

whose porch we may best inscribe hine sanitas. It is in watching nature’s methods 

*_ of cure in ourselves and in the lower animals, and in a firm faith in the self-regula- 

tive, recuperative powers of nature, that all our therapeutic intentions and means 

~ must proceed, and that we should watca and obey their truly divine voice and finger 

~ With weverence and godly fear, as well as with diligence and worldly wisdom— 

- humbly standing by while He works, guiding and stemming or withdrawing His 
- current, and acting as his ministers and helps. 


One story in this volume, ‘ Rab and his Friends,’ has been exceed- 
ingly popular, and, being published in a separate form, has had as 
- wide a circuiation as any of the novels of Scott or Dickens. It is 
__ a short and simple tale of a poor Scotch carrier and his dog Rab : 


- 


-Rab had the dignity and simplicity of great size; and having fought his way all 
along the road to absolute supremacy. he was as mighty in his own line as Julius 
~ -Cesar or the Duke of Wellington, and he had the gravity.of all great fighters. A 
_. Highland gamekeeper, when usked why a-certain terrier. of singular pluck, was so 
~ -much graver than thé other dogs, said: ‘ Oh, sir, life’s full o’ sairiousness to him— 

he can just never get enuff o’ fechtin.’ 


The carrier’s wife Ailie, a gentle, delicate old woman, had to sub- 
- mit to an operation for cancer in the breast. It was performed in the 
Edinburgh Hospital, Rab ind his master being present, and the scene — 
is painted with a truth and dramatic vividness which go directly to 
~ the heait. Ailie dies; her husband caught a low fever prevailing in 
_ the village, and died also. Rab is present at both interments; there 
~~ was deep snow on the round; and after the second of the burials he 
slunk home to the stable, whence he could neither be tempted or 
driven, and ultimately he had to be killed. On this homely and 
slender basis of fact, the story of ‘Rab and his Friends’ has been con- 
structed, and its mixture of fancy, humour, and pathos—all curl- 
ously blended, and all thoroughly national in expression and feeling 
—is quite inimitable. No right-hearted Scotsman ever read the little 
story without tears. In 1861 Dr. Brown published a second series of 
‘Hore Subsecivee,’ containing twelve sketches (‘our dogs’ not being 
- forgotten), one of which we subjoin: 


iar 


\ 


_ rattle throngh this hard-featured, and to oureye, comfortless village, lying ugly amid 


/peat-moss ; and far off;.on the horizon, Damyat and the Touch Fells; and at his 


£43 | - CYCLOPA:DIA OF » Jro 1876. 
: | a 
Queen Marys Culd-Garden. 


Tf any one wants a pleasure that is sure to please, one over which he needn’t 
growl the sardonic beatitude of the great Dean, let him, when the mercuryisat 
‘Fair,’ take the nine A.M. train to the north and a return ticket for Callander. and 
when he arrives at Stirling, let him ask the most obliging and knowing of station- 
masters to telegraph to the Dreadnought for a carriage to be in waiting. When pass. 
ing Dunblane Cathedral. let him resolve to write to the *Scotsman,’ advising the remo- 
val of a couple of shabby trees which obstruet the view of that beautiful triple end 
window which Mr. Ruskin and everybody else admires, aud by the time he has writ- 
ten this letter in his mind, and turned the sentences to it, he will find himself at Cal- 
lander and the ecarrixge all ready. Giving the order for the Port of Monteith, he will 


errr a 


so much grandeur and beauty, and let him stop on the crown of the bridge, and fill 


_his eyes with the perfection of the’ view up the Pass of Leny—the Teith lying diffuse 


and asleep, as if its heart were in the Highlands and it were loath to go, the noble 
Ben Ledi imaged in its broad stream. ‘Then let him make his way across a bit of — — 
pleasant moorland—fiushed with maiden-hair and white with cotton grass, and fra- ~~ 
grart with the Orchis conopsia well deserving its epithet odoratissima. 

He will see from the turn of the hillside the Blair of Drummond waving with 
corn.and shadowed with rich woods, where eighty years ago there was a black — — 


side the little loch of Ruskie, in which he may see five Highland cattle, three tawny 
brown and two brindled, standing in the still water—themselves as. still, all except ; 
their switching tails and winking ears—the perfect images of quiet enjoyment. Via 
this time he will have come in sight of the Lake of Monteith, set in its woods, with 
its magical shadows and soft gleams. There is a loveliness, a gentleness and peace 
about it more like ‘lone St. Mary’s Lake,’ or Derwent Water, than of any of its sister 
lochs. It is lovely rather than beautiful, and is a sort of geiitle prelude, in the minor ; 
Key, to the coming glories and intenser charms of Loch Ard and the true Highlands 
eyond, 
You are now at the Port, and have passed the secluded and cheerful manse, and 
the parish kirk with its graves, close to the lake,-and the proud aisle of the Grahams =~ 
of Gartmore washed by its waves. Across the road is the modest little inn, a Fish- 


er’s Tryst. On the unruftled water lie several islets, plump with rich foliage, brood- ‘ 
ing like great birds of calm. You somehow think of them as on, not in the lake, or > — 
like clouds lying in a nethér sky—‘liké ships waiting for the wind.’ Yougetacoble, © — 
and a yauld old Celt, its master, and are rowed across to Inchmahome, ‘the Isle — 
of Rest.’ Here you find on landing huge Spanish chestnuts. one lying dead, others ~ 
standing stark and peeled, like gigantic antlers, and others flourishing in their viridis 
senectus, and in a thicket of wood you see the remains of a monastery of great — 
beauty, the design and workmanship exquisite. You wander through the ruins, © } 
overgrown with ferns and Spanish filberts, and old fruit-trees, and at the corner of ~— 
the old monkish garden you come upon one of the strangest and most touching 
sights you ever saw—an oval space of about eighteen feet by twelve, with the re- ; 
mains of a double row of boxwood all round, the plants of box being about four- 


teen feet high, and eight or nine inches in dia’ eter, healthy, but plainly of great age. 
_ What isthis? It is called in the guide-books Queen Mary’s Bower; but besides _ 
its being plainly not in the Jeast a bower, what could the-little Queen, then five years 
old, and ‘fancy free,’ do with a bower? it is plainly, as was, we believe, first sug- 
gested by our keen-sighted and diagnostic Professor of Clinical Surgery, the Child- 
Queen’s Garden, with her little walk, and its rows of boxwood, left to themselves for 
three hundred years. Yes, without doubt, ‘here is that first garden of her simple- 
ness.’ Fancy the little. lovely royal child, with her four Marys, her playfellows, her 
child maids of honour, with their little hands and feet, and their innocent and happy 
eyes, pattering about that garden all that time ago, ug ae and running, and gar- 
dening as only-children do and can. As is well known, Mary was placed by her 
mother in this Isle of Rest before sailing from the Clyde for France. There is some- 
thing that ‘tirls the heart-strings a’ to the life’ in standing and looking on this un-= © 
mi-takable living relic of that strange and pathetic old time. Were*we Mr. Tenny- 


» son, we would write an Idyll of that child Queen, in that garden of hers, eating her 3 


bread and honey—getting her teaching from the holy men, the monks of old, and 


Py 


WLENNAN.}  __ ENGLISH LITERATURE. ees 


= 
JS 


: -. running off in wild mirth to her garden and her flowers, all unconscious of the black, 


_ lowering thunder-cloud’on Ben Lomond’s shoulder. 


Oh, blessed vision! happy child! 

Thou artso exquisitely wild ; 

I think of thee with many fears, 

Of what may be thy lot in future years. : 


=) I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest, 


Lord of thy house and hospitality. 

And Grief, uneasy lover! never rest 

But when she sat within the touch of thee. 
What hast thou to do with sorrow, 

Or the injuries of to-morrow? 


You have ample time to linger there amid 


The gleams, the shadows and the peace profound, 


and get your mind informed with quietness and beauty, and fed with thoughts 62 
other years, and of her whose story, like Helen of Troy’s, will continue to move the 
hearts of men as long as the gray hills stand round about that gentle lake, and are 
mirrored at evening in its depths. 


A volume illustrative of Scotch rustic life—true in speech, 
thought, and action—appeared anonymously in 1870, under the title 


of ‘Peasant Life: Being Sketches of the Villagers and Field-labour- 


ers of Glenaldie.’ There is a degree of force and realityin these 
homely sketches,-drawn directly from nature, equal to the: pictures 
of Crabbe. - Professor Wilson’s ‘ Lights and Shadows of. Scottish 
Life’ are purely Arcadian. The author of ‘ Peasant Life’ (under- 
stood to be a solicitor in Caithness, Mr. MaAncotm M’LENNAN) en- 
lists our sympathy for coarse farm labourers and ‘ bondagers’ or 
field-workers, and- shews that pure and natural love, and pure and 
natural emotion, are best studied under thatched roofs and in untu- 
tored hearts. The author published a second work, ‘ Dr. Benoni,’ 
but it is inferior to the ‘ Peasant Life.’ 


WILLIAM RATHBONE GREG. 


This gentleman is author of various works, political and literary— 
‘ Political Problems for,our Age and Country;’ ‘ The Creed of Chris- 
tendom;” ‘Literary and Social Judgments;’ ‘Truth versus Edifica- 
tion;’ ‘Enigmas of Life;’ ‘Rocks Ahead, or the Warnings of Cas- 
sandra;’ &c/ Mr. Greg is aman of intellectual power and fine aspi- 
rations. Though unorthodox in opinion, he is sound at heart, 
religious in feeling, and a sincere well-wisher of humanity. He is 
most popular on directly practical questions, with a philanthropic 
turn. Mr. Greg (born in Liverpool about 1810) succeeded John 


‘ Ramsay M’Culloch in 1864 as Comptroiler of H.M. Stationery Office. 


The following extracts are from the most eloquent of his writings— 
the ‘ Enigmas of Life:’. ‘ 
Glorified Spirits. 
Whether in the lapse of ages and in the course of progressive being, the more 


dormant. portions of each man’s vature will be called out, and his desires, and there- 
fore the elements of his heaven, change; whether the loving willlearn to thirst for 


Bag. SY AD SCYCLOPADIA OFF = — fro 1876. . 


knowledge. and the flery and energetic to-value peace, and the active aes earnest: to ° ’ 
grow weary of steapale and achievement. and to long for tenderness and repose. and | 
the rested to begin a new life of aspiration, and-those who had long lain satisticd. 
With the humble constituents of the beatific stare, to-yearn after the conditions Of 18 
loftier being, we cannot tell. Probably. It may be, too, that the tendency of every — 
thought and feeling will be to gravitate towards the erent centre. to inerge in one 
mighty and all-absorbing emotion ‘The thirst for knowledge may find its mitimate — 
expression in the conteinph: ition of the Div ne Nature—in which fndecd all may He ~~ 
contained. It may be that all longings will be finally resolved into striving after a 

closer union with God, and all human ‘affections merged in the desire to be a partaker 

in His nature. It maybe that in future stages of our progress, we shall he- ~ 
come more and more severed from the human, and joined to the divine; that, ~ 


starting on the ‘threshold of the eternal world with the one beloved being : 
who has been the -partner of our thoughts «nd feelings .on this earth, we | 
may find, as we go forward to the goal, and soar upward to the > throne, ~ a 
and dive deeper and deeper into the mysterics-and immensities of creation, —— 


that affection will gradually emerge in thought, and the cravings and ~ 
yearnings or the heart be calmed and superseded by the sublimer interests ofthe-@ 
perfected intelligence; that the hands which have so Jong been joined in love may ~ 
slowly unclasp, to be stretched forth towards the approaching glory; that the glance. _ 
of tenderness which we cast ov the companion at. our side may become faint, languid, 
and hurried before the earnest gaze with which we watch ‘ the light that shall be re~ 
vealed.’ We might even picture to ourselves that epoch in our progress through suc-_ 
cessively loftier and more purified existences, when those who on earth strenerhasieds 
each other in every temptation, sustained each other under every trial. mingled smiles. 
at every joy and tears at every sorrow ; and who, in succeeding varieties of being, 
hand in hand, heart with heart, thought for thought, penetrated together each new 
secret. gained each added height, ¢ glow ed with each new rapture. drank in each suc- ~ 
cessive revelation, shall have reached that point where all Jower affections will be, 
merged in one absorbing Presence ; when the awful nearness of the perfect love will — 
dissolve all other ties and swallow up all other feelings; and when the finished and 
completed soul, before melting away into that sea of light which wil be its clement. 
for ever, shall turn to take a last fond look of the now glorified but. thereby lost com- 
panion of so much anguish and so many joys! But we cannot yet contemplate the~ 
prospect without pain: therefore it will not be yet; not till we can contemplate it — 
without joy: for heaven is a scene of bliss and recompense, not of sorrow and be- -¥ 
reavement. = a 


Human Development. 


Two glorious fitiees lie heforeus: the progress of the race here, the progress OL 
the man hereafter. Histor rs ai caide that the individual man needs to be Poceienicdal 
in order to excel the past. e appears to have reached his perfection centuries ago. 
Men Jived then whom we ee never yet been able to surpass, rarely even to equal. 
Our knowledge has, of conrse, gone on increasing, for that is a material capable of 
indefinite accumulation. But for power, for the highest reach and range of mental ~ 
and spiritual capacity in every line, the lapse of two. or three thousand years has. 
shewn no sign of increase or improvement. What scniptor has surpassed Phidias ? 

- What poet. has transcended Eschylus, Homer, or the author of the Book of Job? W hat__ 
devont aspiranr has soared higher than David or Isaiah ? What statesman have modern 
times produced mightier or grander than Pericles ? What patriot martyr truer or no- 
bler than Socrates? Wherein. eave in mere acquirements, was Bacon superior to 

Plato? or Newton to Thales or Pythagor as? Very early in our history individual men 
beat their wings against the allotied. boundaries of their earthly Cominions ; earlyin. — 
history God gave to the human race the types and patterns to imitate and approach, + 
but never to transcend. Here, then, surely we see clearly imitated to us our appointed 
work—namely. to raise the masses tothe true standard of harmonions human virtue 
and capacity. not to strive ourselves to overleap that standaré; not to put our own ~ 
souls or brains into a hot-bed. but to put all our fellow men into a fertile and a whole- — 
sone soil. If this be so. both onr practical course and our speculative difficulties are . ‘ 
preatly cleared, The timid fugitives from the duties and temptations of the world, — 
the selfish coddlers and nursers of their own souls, the sedulous cultivators either. of ae 


x7 ~» 
- . “ 


ARNOLD.}| ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 249 


a cold intellect or of a fervent spiritualism, have alike deserted or mistaken their riijs- 
sion, and turmed their back upon the goal. The philanthropists, in the measure of 
their wisdom and their purity of zeal, are the real fellow-workmen of the Most High. 
This principle may give us the clue to many dispensations which at first seem dark 
and grievous, to the grand scale and the distracting slowness of nature’s operations; 
to her merciless incousideration for the individual when the interests of the race are 
‘in question : = 
So careful of the type she seems, 
So careless of the single life.—Jn Memoriam. 


Noble souls are sacrificed to ignoble masses; the good champion often falls, the 
wrong competitor often wius: but the great car of humanity moves forward by those 
very steps which revolt our sympathies and crush our hopes, and which, if we could, 
we would have ordered otherwise. 


MATTHEW ARNOLD, ETC. 


_ Mr. Arnowp is perhaps better known as a critic and theologian 
than as a poet (ante). He has published ‘Essays on Criticism,’ 
1865; ‘Lectures ca the Study of Celtic Literature,’ 1867; ‘ Culture 
and Anarchy,’ 1870; ‘St. Paul and Protestantism,’ ‘Literature and 
Dogma,’ ‘God and the Bible,’ a review of objections to ‘Literature 
and Dogma,’ 1875; &c. Without subscribing to Mr. Arnold’s theo- 
logical opinions, we may note the earnest, reverential tone with which 
he discusses such subjects, and the amount of thought and reading 
he has brought to bear on them. He says: ‘Why meddle with re- 
ligion at all ? why run the risk of breaking a tie which it is so hard 
to join again? And the risk is not to be run lightly, and one is not 
always-to attack people’s illusions about religion merely because illu- 
Sions they are. But at thc present moment two things about the 
Christian’religion must surely be clear to anybody with eyes in his 
head. One is, that men cannot do without it; the other, that they 


— cannot do with it as it is.’ 


Two volumes, partly biographical and partly critical—‘A Mauual 


of English Prose Literature,’ 1872; and ‘ Characteristics of English 


Poets from Chaucer to Shirley,’ 1874—have been published by Wi1- 
LIAM Minto, M.A., now editor of ‘The Examiner.’ The first work 
- ‘endeavours to criticise upon a methodical plan,’ and selects certai: 
authors (De Quincey, Macaulay, and Carlyle) for ‘full criticism and, 
exemplification.’ The second volume, besides describing the charac- 
teristics of the poets, traces how far each was influenced by his liter: 
ary predecessors and his contemporaries. The two works are valuabie 
for students of our literature, and are interesting to all classes of 
readers. Mr. Minto is, we believe, a native of Aberdeen, and prom. 
ises to take a high place among our critical and political writers—q 
_ place worthy the successor of Leigh Hunt, Albany Fonblanque, and 


_ John Forster 


Something similar to Mr. Minto’s volumes are two by Mr. Lresiis 


STEeruens, editor of the ‘Cornhill Magazine,’ entitled ‘Hours in a 


Library,’ being a series of sketches of favourite authors, drawn with 
taste and discrimination, and bearing the impress of a true lover of 


_ E.L.V.2—9 


te 


a 


250 CYCLOPADIA OF © ~~ |r 1876, 


literature. Another editor, Mr. R. H. Hurron of the ‘Spectator,’ 
has collected two volumes of his ‘ Essays Theological and Literary,’ _ 
in which there is more of analytical criticism and ingenious dogmatic — 
discussion than in the above. ‘ 


SCIENTIFIC WRITERS. 


The progresss of physical and mental science, up to the nineteenth — 
century, was traced with eminert ability in the dessertations written ~ 
for the ‘ Encyclopedia Britannica.’ Ethical philosophy was treated — 
by Dugald Stewart and Mackintosh, as already stated, and a third dis- 
sertation was added by Archbishop Whately, exhibiting a general 
view of the rise, progress, and corruptions of Christianity. Mathe- 
matical and physical science was taken up by PROFESSOR JOHN PLAY- — 
FAIR (1748-1819), distinguished for his illustrations of the Huttonian 
theory, and for his biographies of Hutton and Robison. Playfair 
treated of the period which closed with Newton and Leibnitz, and the 
subject was continued through the course of the eighteenth century by 
Str JoHN LESLIE, who succeeded to Playfair in the chair of Natural — 
Philosophy in the university of Edinburgh. Sir John (1766-18382) — 
was celebrated for his ardour in physical research, and for his work, 
an ‘ Experimental Inquiry into the Nature and Propagation of Heat,’ 
1804. A sixth dissertation was added in 1856 by the Professor of — 
Natural Philosophy in the university of Edinburgh, Dr. JAMEs Davin ~ 

ForBEs, who continued the general view of the progress of .mathe- 
matical and physical science principally from 1755 to 1850. 

‘If we look for the distinguishing characteristic of the centenary pe- 
riod just elapsed (1750-1850), we find it,’ says Professor Forbes, ‘in — 
this, that it has drawn far more largely upon experiment asa means ~ 
of arriving at truth than had previously been done. By a natural — 
conversion of the process, the knowledge thus acquired has been ap- ~ 
plied with more freedom and boldness to the exigencies of mankind, — 
and to the further investigation of the secrets of nature. If wecom- — 
pare the now extensive subjects of heat, electricity, and magnetism, — 
with the mere rudiments of these sciences as understood in 1750; cr _ 
if we think of the astonishing revival of physical and experimental 
optics—which had well-nigh slumbered for more than a century— — 
during the two short lives of Young and Fresnel, we shall be dispos- — 
ed to admit the former part of the statement ; and when we recol- 
lect that the same period has given birth to the steam-engine of Watt, 
with its application to shipping and railways—to the gigantic teles- — 
copes of Herschel and Lord Rosse, wonderful as works of art as welf — 
a4 instruments of sublime discovery—to the electric telegraph, and to 


. | 


w ‘ 7 - i 


DAVY.) _ "ENGLISH LITERATURE. 251 


the tubular bridge—we shall be ready to grant the last part of the 
proposition, that science and art have been more indissolubly united 
than at any previous period.’ 

A series of ‘ Lectures on Some Recent Advances in Physical Sci- 
ence,’ 1876, by Prorrssor Tarr of the university of Edinburgh, 
continues the history of modern progress, and describes fully the 
‘marvels of the spectrum analysis, one of the triumphs of the present 
generation. 


SIR HUMPHRY DAVY. 


A great chemist and a distinguished man of letters, HuMPHRY 
Davy, was born at Penzance, in Cornwall, in 1778. He was edu- 
cated at the school of ‘Truro, and afterwards apprenticed to a 
surgeon at Penzance. He was an enthusiastic reader and student. 
‘His was an ardent boyhood,’ says Professor Forbes: ‘Educated in 

--a manner somewhat irregular, and with only the advantages of a 
--remote country town, his talents appeared in .the earnestness with 
which he cultivated at once the most various branches of knowledge 
aud speculation. He was fond of metaphysics; he was fond of 
experiment; he was an ardent student of nature; and he possessed 
at an early age poetic powers, which, had they been cultivated, 
would, in the opinion of competent judges, have made him as emi- 
nent in literature as he became in science. All these tastes endured 
' throughout life. Business could not stifle them—even the approach 
_ of death was unable to extingu’sh them. .The reveries of his boy- 
hood on the sea-worn cliffs of Mount’s Bay may-yet be traced in 
many of the pages dictated during the last year of his life amidst 
the ruins of the Coliseum. But the physical sciences—those more 
emphatically called at that time chemical—speedily attracted and 
~ absorbed his most earnest attention. ‘The philosophy of the impon- 
_ derables—of light, heat, and electricity—was the subject of his 
earliest, and also that of his happiest essays.’ Of his splendid dis- 
_ coveries, the most useful to mankind have been his experiments on 
_ breathing the gases, his lectures on agricultural chemistry, his inven- 
tion of the safety-lamp, and his protectors for ships. 

At the early age of twenty-two, Davy was appointed lecturer to 
“the Royal Institution of London. In 1803 he commenced lecturing 

- on agriculture, and his lectures were published in 1818, under the title 
of ‘Elements of Agricultural Chemistry.’ His lecture ‘On Some 

_ Chemical Agents of Electricity’ is considered one of the most valu. 
-able contributions ever made to chemical science. Dr. Paris, the 
biographer of Davy, observes that, ‘since the account given by New 
ton of his first discoveries in optics, it may be questioned whether so 
happy and successful an instance of philosophical induction has ever 

_ been afforded as that by which Davy discovered the composition of 
~ the fixed alkalis.’ In 1812 he published ‘ Elements of Chemical Phil 
“osophy.’ About 1815 he entered on the investigation of fire-dan~p, 


a 
tS 


= 


R52 CYCLOPAEDIA OF _ . [ro 1876, 
which is the cause of explosions in mines. The result was his in- 
vention of the safety-lamp, for which he was rewarded with a baror- 
etcy by the prince regent in 1818, and the coal-owners of the north 
of England presented him with a service of plate worth £2000. In 
1820 Davy was elected President of the Royal Society, in the room of 
Sir Joseph Banks, deceased. 

It is mortifying to think that this great man, captivated by the 
flatteries of the fashionable world, and having married (1812) a rich — 
Scottish lady, Mrs. Apreece, lost. much of the winning simplicity of — 
his early manner, and of his pure devoticn to science. In 1826 Sir 
Humphry had a paralytic attack, and went abroad for the recovery - 
of his health. He composed an interesting little volume, ‘Salmonia, — 
or Days of Fly-fishing,’ 1828; and he wrote also ‘Consolations in — 
Travel, or the last Days of a Philosopher,’ which appeared after his ~ 
death. He died at Geneva on the 29th May 1829, and the Genevese 
government honoured him with a public funeral. a 

The posthumous volume of ‘Consolations’ contains some finely _ 
written speculations on moral and ethical questions, with descrip- — 
tions of Italian scenery. The work is in the form of dialogues be- — 
tween a liberal and accomplished Roman Catholic and an English 
patrician, poetical and discursive, whose views on religion entered — 
the verge of scepticism. The former he calls Ambrosio; the latter ; 
Onuphrio. Another interlocutor is named Philalethes. We subjoin 
part of their dialogues, : 


The Future State of Human Beings. 


AmBR0S10. Revelation has not disclosed to us the nature of this state, but only 
fixed its certainty. Weare sure from geological facts, as wellas from sacred history, 
that man is a recent animal on the globe, and that this glohe has undergone one 
cousiderable revolution, since the creation, by water; and we are taught that it is 
to undergo another, by fire, preparatory toa new and glorified state of existence of | 
man; but this is all we are permitted to know, and as th’s state is to be entirely _ 
different from the present one of misery and probation, any knowledge respecting it — 
would be useless, and indeed almost impossible. ‘ J 

~ PaiuaLeTues. My genius has placed the more exalted spiritual natures in 
ley ga worlds, and this last fiery revolution may be produced by the appulse of a 
comet. 

AmB. Human fancy may imagine a thousand ways in which it may be produced; — 
but on such notions it is absurd to dwell. I will not allow your genins the sl ghtest. 
approach to inspiration, and I can admit no verisimility in a reverie which is fixed on 
a founda ion you now allow to be so weak.. But see, the twilight is beginning to 
appear in the orient. sky, and there are some dark clouds on the hovizon opposite to 
the crater of Vesuvius, the lower edges of which transmit a bright light, shewing the 
sun is already risen in the country beneath them. I would say that they may serve 
as unimaze of the hopes of immortality derived from revelation ; for we are sure 
from. the light reflected in those clouds that the lands below us are in the brishtest 
sunsalue, but we are entirely ignorant of the surface and the scenery; so, by revela- 
tion, the light of an imperishable and glorious world is disclosed to us: but it is in 
SE and its objects cannot be seen by mortal eye or imaged by mortal imagina- | 

ion. . 


gs 


pavy.]? . ENGLISH LITERATURE. 258 


€rowned with palins and amaranths, and that they are described as perpetually hymn- 
ing axd praising God. 

AMB, ‘This 1s evidently only metaphorical; music is the sensual pleasure which 
approaches nearest to an intellectual one, and probably may represent the delight 
resulting from the perception of the harmony of things and of truth seen in God. 
The palm as 4n evergreen tree, and the amaranth a perdurable flower, are emblems 
of immortality. If Iam allowed to give a metaphorical allusion to the future state 
of the blest, J] shonld image it by the orange-grove in that sheltered glen, on which 
the sun is now beginning to shine, and of which the trees are at the same time loaded 
with sweet golden fruit and balmy silver flowers. Such objects may well portray a 
State in which hope and fruition become one eternal feeling. 


Indestructibility of Mind. 


The doctrine of the materialists was always, even in my youth, a cold, heavy, du’ls 
and insupportable doctrine to me, and necessarily tending to atheism. When TI had 
heard, with disgust, in the dissecting rooms, the plan of the physiologist, of the 
gradual accretion of matter, and its becoming endowed with irritability, ripening into 
Sensibility, and acquiring such organs as were necessary by its own inherent forces, 
and at last issuing into intellectual existence, a walk into the gre n fields or woods, 
by the banks of rivers, brought back my feelings from nature to God. Isaw in all 
the powers of matter the instruments of the Deity. ‘The sunbeams, the breath of 
the zephyr. awakening animation in forms prepared by divine intelligence to receive 
it, the insensate seed, the slumbering eggs which were to be vivified, appeared, like 
the new-born animal, works of a divine mind; I saw love as the creative principle in 
the material world, and this love only asa divine attribute. ‘Then my own mind I 
felt connected with new sensations and indefinite hopes—a thirst for immortality ; 
the great names of other ages audof distant uations appeared to me to be still living 
around me, and even in the fancied movements of the heroic and the great, I saw, as 
it were, the decrees of the indestructibility of mind. These feelings, though gen- 
erally considered as poetical, yet, I think. offer a sound philosophical argument in 

“favour of the immortality of the soul. In all the habits and instincts of young ani- 
mals, their feelings and movements, may be traced an intimate relation to their im- 
proved perfect state; their sports have always affinities to their modes of hunting or 
catching their food: and young birds, even in the nests. stew marks of foudness 
which. when their frames are developed. become signs of actions necessary to the 
reproduction and preservation of the species. The desire of glory, of honour, of 
immortal fame, and ot constant knowledge. so usual in young persons of _well-con- 
stituted minds, cannot.'I think. be other than symptoms of the infinite and progres- 
sive nature of the intellect—hopes which, as they cannot be gratified kere, belong toa 
frame of mind suited to a nobler state of existence. 

Religion, whether natural or revealed, has always the same beneficial influence on 
the mind. In youth. in health and prosperity, it awakens feelings of gratitude and 
sublime love, and putifies nt the same time that it exalts. But it isin misfortun», in 
sickness, in age. that its effects are most truly and beneficially felt; when submis- 
sion in faith and humble trust in the divine will, from duties become pleasures. un- 
decaying sources of consolation. Then. it creates powers which were believed to be 
extinct; and gives a freshness to the mind. which was supposed to kave passed 
-away for ever, but which is now renovated as an immortal hope. Then it is the 
Pharos, guiding the wave-tossed mariner to his home—as the caln and beautiful 
still basins or fiords. surrounded by tranquil groves and pastoral meadows, to the 

- Norwegian pilot escaping from a heavy storm in tha North Sea—or as the green and 
dewy spot. eushirg with fonntains, to the exhausted and thirsty traveller in the 
midst of the desert. Its influence ontlives a!l earthly enjoyments, and becomes 
stronver as the organs decay and the frame dissolves. It appears as that evening- 
star of light in the horizon of life. which. we are sure, is to become, In anofher sea- 
son. a moerning-star; and it throws its radiance through the gloom and shadow of 
death. 

SIR JOHN HERSCHEL, 


The more popular treatises of this eminent astronomer—the ‘ Pre- 
liminary Discourse on Natural Philosophy,’ 1880, and ‘ Treatise on 


254 CYCLOPAEDIA OF- - [To 1876. 
Astronomy,’ 1833, have been widely circulated. Sir John subse- 
quently collected a series of ‘Essays which appeared in the Edin- 
burgh and Quarterly Reviews, with Addresses and other Pieces,’ 1857. 
Protoundly versed in almost every branch of physics, Sir John Her- 
schel occasionally sported with the Muses, but in the garb of the an- 
cients—in hexamet:r and pentameter verses. The following stanzas 
are at least equal to Southey’s hexameters, and the first was made in 
a dream in 1841, and written down immediately on waking: 

Throw thyself on thy God, nor mock him with feeble denial; 

Sure of his love, and oh! sure of his mercy at last, . ; 

Bitter and deep though the draught, yet shun not the cup of thy trial, 

But in its healing effect, smile at its bitterness past. 
Pray for that holier cup while sweet with bitter lies blending, 


r ae ; i 
Tears in the cheerful eye, smiles on the sozrowing cheek, 


Death expiring in life, when the long-drawn struggle is ending 3 
Triumph and joy to the strong, strength to the weary and weak. 

The abstruse studies and triumphs of Sir John Herschel—his work 
on the Differential Calculus, his Catalogues of Stars and Nebule, and 
his Treatises on Sound and Light are well known; but perhaps the 
most striking instance of his pure devotion to science was his expedi- 
tion to the Cape of Good Hope, and his sojourn there for four years, 
solely at his own expense, with the view of examining under the 


ye AN = Se oo Cae ~~ a Ss =" 


most favourable circumstances the southern hemisphere. This com- - 


pleted a telescopic survey of the whole surface of the visible heavens, 
‘commenced by Sir William Herschel above seventy years ago, as- 
sisted by his sister Caroline and his brother Alexander, and continued 
by him almost down to the close of a very long life.* Sir William 


*<«Herschei. a musician residing at Bath, though a native of Hanover, which he 
had left in early youth, devoted his leisure to the construction and improvement of 
reflecting telescopes, with which he continued ardently to survey the heavens. His 
zeal and assiduity had already drawn the notice of astronomers, when he announced 
to Dr. Maskelyne, that, on the night of the 18th March, 1781, he observed a shifting 
star. which, from its smallness, he judged to be a comet. though it was distinguished 
neither by a nebulosity nora tail. The motion of the star, however. was so slow as 
to require distant observations to ascertain its path. The president Saron, an expert 
and obliging calculator, was the first who conceived it to be a planet, having in- 
ferred, from the few observations communicated to him, that it described a circle 
with a radius 0f about twelve times the mean distance of the earth from the sun. 
Lexell removed all doubt, and before the close of the year, he computed the ele- 


ments of the new planet with considerable accuracy, making the great axis of its - 


orbit nineteen times greater than that of the earth, and the period of its revolution 
eighty-four years. Herschel proposed, out of gratitude to his royal patron (George 
TIT.). to call the planet he had found by the barbarous appellation of Georgium 
Sidus; bnt the classical name of Uranus. which Bode afterwards applied. is almost 
universally adopted. Animated by this happy omen, he prosecuted his astronomical 
observations with unwearied zeal and ardour, and continued, during the remainder 
of a long life, to enrich science with a succession of splendid discoveries.’—SIR 
Joun Lesutre. Herschel’s discoveries were chicfly made by means of his forty-feet 
reflector, to construct which funds were advanced by the king. An Irish nobleman, 


six-feet speculum has been to resolve many nebulz into stars. EE eee 


. ‘ 


4 


Li 
3 
Pt 


, 


™ 


HERSCHEL] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 255 


died in 1822, aged eighty-four. In 1876 was published a ‘Memoir of 
Caroline Herschel,’ the sister of Sir William and aunt of Sir John, 
who died in 1848, aged ninety-seven years and ten months. The 
author of this memoir, Mrs. John Herschel, says of Caroline: ‘She 
stood beside her brother, William Herschel, sharing his labours, help- 
ing his life. In the days when he gave up a lucrative career that he 
might devote himself to astronomy, it was owing to her thrift and 
_ care thit he was not harassed by the rambling vexations of money 
matters. She had been his-helper and assistant in the days when he 
was a leading musician; she became his helper and assistant 
when he gave himself up to astronomy. By sheer force of will 
and devoted affection, she learned enough of mathematics and 
of methods of calculation, which to those unlearned seem myste. 
ries, to be able to commit to writing the results of his researches 
She became his assistant in the workshop; she helped him to griud 
and polish his mirrors; she stood beside his telescope in the nights uf 
mid-winter, to write down his observations when the very ink was 
_ frozen in the bottle. She kept him alive by her care; thinking 
nothing of herself, she lived for him. She loved him, and believed 
in him, and helped him with all her heart and with all her strength.’ 

This devoted lady discovered eight come!s! The survey of the 
heavens begun by Sir William Herschel was resumed in 1825 by his 
son, Sir John, who published the results in 1847. On his return 
from the Cape, the successful astronomer was honoured with a ba-. 
ronetcy, the university of Oxford conferred upon him the degree of 
~ D.C.L:, and the Astronomical Society—of which he was president— 
voted him a testimonial for his work on the Southern Hemi-phere. 
Besides the works to which we have referred, Sir John Herschel pub- 
lished ‘ Outlines of Astronomy,’ 1849, of which a fifth edition, cor- 
rected to the existing state of astronomical science, was published in 
_ 1858; and he edited ‘ A Manual of Scientific Inquiry,’ 1849, prepared 

by authority of the Admiralty for the use of the navy. 

Sir John Herschel was born at Slough, near Windsor, in 1792, and 
studied at St. John’s Colleve, Cambridge, where he took his Bache- 
_lor’s Degree in 1813, coming out as Senior Wrangler. and Smith’s 

Prizeman. His first work was a ‘Collection of Example: of the Ap- 
plication of the Calculus to Finite Differences,’ 1813. He contrib: 
uted various papers to the ‘Edinburgh Philosophical Journal’ and 
the Royal Society of Edinburgh (1819=24), and he was employed for 
eight years in re-examining the nebule and cluster of stars discovered 
by his father. The result was published in the ‘ Piilosophical Trans- 
-actions’ for 1832; the nebule were about 2300 in number, and of 
these 525 were discovered by Sir John himself. He also discovered 
between three and four thousand double stars. Sir John received 
from William IV. the Hanoverian Guelpvhic order of knighthood, 
and Queen Victoria in 1838 conferred upon him a baronetcy. He 


N 


256 . CYCLOPAEDIA OF — * [ro 1876, 


was literally covered with honorary distinctions from learned socic- 
ties and foreign academies. From 1850 till 1855 he held the office of 
Master of the Mint, which he was forced to resign from ill-health. 


- On the 11th of May 1871, this most illustrious of European men of 


Po 


science died at his seat, Collingwood, near Hawkhurst, Kent. aged 
seventy-nine. 
Tendency and Effect of Philosophical Studies. 


Nothing can be mor2 unfounded than the objection which has been taken, 77 


limine, by persons, well meaning perhaps, certainly narrow minded, against the 


study of natural philosophy—that it fosters in its cultivators an undue and over- 
weening self-conceit, leads them to doubt of the immortality of the soul. and te 
scoff at revealed religion. Its natural effect, we may confidently assert, on every 
well-constituted mind, is, and must be, the direct contrary. No doubt, the testimony 
of natural reason, on whatever exercised, must of necessity stop short of those 
truths which is the object of revelation to make known; but while it places the ex- 
istence and principal attributes of a Deity on-such grounds as to render doubt 
absurd and atheism ridiculous, it unquestionably opposes no natural or necessary 
obstacle to further progress: on. the contrary, by cherishing as a vital principle ap 
unbounded spirit of inquiry and ardency of expectation, it unfetters the mind from 
prejudices of every kind, and leaves it open and free to every impression of a higher 
nature which it is susceptible of receiving, guarding only against enthusiasm aud 
eelf-deception by a habit of strict investigation, but encouraging, rather than sup- 
pressing, everything that can offer a prospect or a hope beyond the present obscure 
and unsatisfactory state. The character of the true philosopher is to hope all things 
not unreasonable... He who has seen obscurities which appeared impenetrable in 
physical and mathematical science suddenly dispelled, and the most barren and 
unpromising fields of inquiry converted, as if by inspiration, into rich and inex- 
haustible springs of knowledge and power, or a simple change of our point of view, 
or by merely bringing them to bear on some principle which it never occurred before 
to try, will surely be the very last to acquiesce in any dispiriting prospects of either 
the present or the future destinies of mankind ; while on the other hand, the bound- 
less views of intellectual and moral, as well as material relations which open on him 
on all hands in the course of these pursuits, the knowledge of the trivial place he 
occupies in the scale of creation, and the sense continually pressed upon him of his 
own weakness and incapacity to suspend or modify the slightest movement of the 
vast machinery he sees in action around him, must effectually convince him that 
pe of pretension, no less than confidence of hope, is what best becomes his 
character... . 


The question ‘ cui bono’—to what practical end and advantage do your researches" 
} p g 


tend 2?—is one which the speculative philosopher who loves knowledge for its own 
sake, and enjoys, as a rational being should enjoy, ihe mere contemplation of harmo- 
nious and mutually dependent truths. can seldom hear without a sense of humilias 
tion. H? feels that there is a lofty and disinterested pleasure in his speculations 
which ought toexempt them from such questioning; communicating as they do to 
his own mind the purest happiness (after the exercise of the benevolent and moral 
feelings) of which hnman nature is susceptible, and tending to the injury of no one, 
he might surely allege this as a sufficient and direct reply to those who. having 
themselves little capacity, and less relish for intellectual pursuits, are constantly re- 
peating upon him this inquiry. Se 


A Taste for Reading. 


Tf I were to pray for a taste which should stand me in stead under every variety of 
circumstances, and be a source of happiness and cheerfulness to me throngh life, 
and a shield against its ills. however things might ¢o amiss, and the world frown 
upon me, it would be a taste for reading. I speak of it. of conrse. only as a worldly 
advantage, and not in the slightest degree as superseding or derogating from the 
higher office, and surer and stronver panoply of religious princip’es, but as a taste 


. 


an instrument, and a mode of pleasurable gratification. Give a man this taste, and ; 


: 


«J 


i | 
; = 


x 


SOMERVILLE.} ENGLISH LITERATURE. 257 


the means of gratifying it, and you can hardly fail of making a happy man, unless, 
indeed, you put into his hands a most perverse selection of books. You place him in 
contact with the best society in every period of history—with the wisest, the wittiest 
—with the tenderest, the bravest, and the purest Characters that have adorned hu- 
manity. You make him a denizen of all nations—a contemporary of all aves. The 
world has been created for him. It is hardly possible but the character should takea 
higher and better tone from the constant habit of associating in thought with a class 
of thinkers. to say the least of it, above the average of humanity. It is morally im- 
possible but that the mann«-rs should take a tinge of good breeding and civilisation 
from having constantly before one’s eyes the way in which the best-bred and best- 


informed have talked and couducted themselves iu their intercourse with each other. 


There is » gentle but perfecily irresistible coercion in a habit of reading well directed, 
over the whole tenor of a man’s character and conduct, which is not the less effectual 
because it works insensibly, and because it is really the last thing he dreams of. It 
cannot, in short, be better summed up than in the words of the Latin poet : 

Emollit mores, nec sinit esse fercs, 


¢ civilises the conduct of men, and stfers them not to remain barbarous. 


MRS. MARY SOMERVILLE. 


Another distinguished astronomer, a worthy contemporary of 
Daroline Herschel, was MAry SOMERVILLE, who died at Naples, 
November 28, 1872, aged ninety-two. She had attained to the high- 
est proficiency and honours in physical science, was a member of 
various learned societi«s at home and abroad, had received the ap- 
probation of Laplace, Humboldt, Playfair, Herschel, and other emi- 
nent contemporaries, and at the age of ninety-two was engaged in 
solving mathematical problems! Mrs. Somerville was born in the 
manse or parsonage of Jedburgh; her father, Sir William George 
Fairfax, Vice-admiral of the Red, was Lord Duncan’s captain at the 
battle of Camperdown in 1797. His daughter Mary was educated at 


-aschool in Musselburgh, and before she was fourteen, it was siid, 


she had studied Euclid, and Bonnycastle’s and Euler’s Algebra, but 
concealed as much as possible her acquirements.. In 1804 she was 


. ° .@ . : . Se 
’ married to her cousin, Captain Samuel Greig, son of Admiral Greig, 


who served many years in the Russian navy, and died Governor of 
Cronstadt.. Captain Grieg died two years after their union. 

In 1812 his widow married another cousin, Dr. William Somerville. 
son of the minister of Jedburgh, author of two.historical works— 


__ the histories of the Revolution and of the reign of Queen Anne—and 


of memoirs of his own ‘Life and Time.’ The venerable minister 
(1741-1813) records, with pride, that Miss Fairfax had been born and 
nursed in his house, her father being at that time abroad on public 
service; that she long resided in his family, and was occasionally his 
scholar, being remarkable for her ardent thirst of knowledge and her 
assiduous application to study. Dr. William Somerville, the son, at- 
tained the rank of Inspector of the Army Medical Board, and Physi- 
cian to the Royal Hospital at Chelsea. He took great pains to foster 
the intellectual pursuits of his wife, and lived to witness her success 
and celebrity, dying at Florence in 1860, at the great age of ninety- 
one. Mrs. Somerville first attracted notice by experiments on the 


“ 


magnetic influence of the violet rays of the solar spectrum. Lord 


Brougham then solicited her to prepare for the Society for Diffusion 
of Useful Knowledge, a popular summary of the ‘ Mécanique Céleste ~ 
of Laplace. She complied, and her manuscript:being submitted to 
Sir John Herschel, he said he was delighted with it—that it was a 
book for posterity, but quite above the class for which Lord Brough- 
ham's course was intended. | Mrs. Somerville herself modestly said 
of it: ‘I simply translated Laplace’s work from algebra into common 
language.’ However, she consented to publish it as an independent 
work, under the title of ‘The Mechanism of the Heavens,’ 1831, and 
it at once fixed her reputation as one of the ablest cultivators of 
physical science. ‘The Royal Society admitted her a member, and 


commissioned a bust of her, which was executed by Chantrey, and. 


placed in the hall of the Society in Somerset House. It is said that 
Mrs. Somerville, meeting one day with Laplace, in Paris, the great 
geometer said: ‘There have been only three women who have undev- 
stood me—yourself, Caroline H:rschel, and a Mrs. Greig, of whom I 
have never been able to learn anything.’ ~ Y 
the modest little woman. ‘So, then, there are only two of you !’ 
exclaimed the philosopher. The learned Frenchman did not live to 
see Mrs. Somerville’s version of his great work, as he died in 1827. 
In 1834 Mrs. Somerville published ‘The Connection of the Physicah 
Sciences,’ a work which affords a condensed view of the phenomena 
of the universe, and has enjoyed great popularity; it isnow in the ninth 
edition. Her next work was her ‘ Physical Geography,’ published 
in 1848. This work was chiefly written in Rome, and while resident 
there, Mrs. Somerville met with a little adventure which she thus de- 
scribes in her ‘ Personal Recollections:’ 


Scene in the Campagna. 


I had very great delight in the Campagna of Rome; the finerange of Apennines 
bounding the plain, over which the fleeting shadows of the passing clouds fell. ever 
changing and always beautiful, whether viewed in the early morniny, or in the glory 
of the setting sun. I was never tired of admiring: and whenever I drove out. pre- 
ferred a country drive to the more fashionable Villa Borghese. One day Somerville 
and T and our daughters went to drive towards the Tavolato, on the road to Albano. 
We got out of the carriage and went intoa field, tempted by the wild-flowers. On one 
side of this field ran the aqueduct; cn the other, a deep and wide ditch full of water. 
Thad gone towards the aqueduct, leaving the others in the field. All at once, we 
heard aloud shouting, when an enormous drove of the beautiful Campagna gray cat- 
tle, with their wide-spreading horns, came rushing wildly between us, with their 
heads down and their tails erect, driven by men with long spears, mounted on little 
spirited horses at full gallop. It was so sudden and so rapid, that only after it was 
—over did we perceive the danger we had run. As there was no possible escape, there 
was nothing for it but standing still, which Somerville and my girls had presence of 
mind to do, and the drove dividing, rushed like a whir!wind to the right and left of 
them. The danger was not so much of being gored, as of being run over by the ex- 
cited and terrified animals, and round the walls of Rome places of refuge are pro- 
videc for those who may be passing when the cattle are driven. 

Near where this occurred there is a house with the inscription. ‘Casa Dei Spirit ;? 
but I do not think the Italians believe in either ghosts or witches; their chief supers 
stition seems to be the ‘Jettature’ or evil eye, which they, have inherited from the 


258 -CYCLOPEDIA OF | [ro 1876, 


‘Iwas Mrs. Greig,’ said. 


ss 


SOMERVILLE. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. z 259 


the early Romans, and, I believe, Etruscans. They consider it a bad omen to meet 


-a monk or priest on first going out in the morning. My daughters were engaged to 


ride with a large party, and the meet was at our house. A Koman, who happened to 
go out first, saw a friar, and rushed in again laughing, and waited till he was out of 
sight. Soon after they set off, this gentleman was thrown from his horse and 
ducked in a pool; so-the Jettature was fulfilled. But my daughters thought his bad 
seat On horseback enough to account for his fall without the evil eye. 


After an interval of eleven years from the publication of her 
‘Physical Geography,’ Mrs. Somerville came forward with two more 


volumes, ‘On Molecular and Microscopic Science.’ She continued her 


scientific studies and inquiries; and in January 1872, a gentleman 
who had visited her, wrote: ‘She is stiil full of vigour, and working 
away at her mathematical researches, being particularly occupied 
just now with the theory of quaternions, a branch of transcendent 
mathematics which very few, if any, persons of Mrs. Somerville’s 
age and sex have ever had the wish or power to study.’ For many 
years the deceased resided with her family at Florence, and there 
she was as assiduous in the cultivation of her flower-garden and of 
music as she was of her mathematics. Her circumstances were easy 
though not opulent, and Sir Robert Peel—the most attentive of all 


- prime-ministers since the days of Halifax to literary and scientific 


cluims—had in 1835 placed her on the pension list for £800 per an- 
num. She had three children, a son (who died in 1865) and two 
daughters. To an American gentleman who visited her, she said: ‘I 
speak Italian, but no one could ever take me for other than a Scotch 
woman.’ Her love of science had been to her an inexhaustible source 
of interest and gratification; ‘and I have no doubt,’ she said, ‘but 
we shail know more of the heavenly bodies in another state of exist- 
ence’—in that eternal city ‘which hath no need of the sun, neither of 
the moon, to shine in it, for the glory of God doth enlighten it, and 
the Lamb is the light, thereof.’ 

In her old age Mrs. Somerville had amused herself by writing out 
reminiscences of her early struggles and difficulties in the acquire- 
ment of knowledge, and of her subseauent. studies and life. These 
were published in 1873 by her daughter, Martha Somerville, under 
the title of ‘ Personal Recollections from Early Life to Old Age, of 


_ Mary Somerville, with Selections from her Correspondence.’ 


PROFESSOR J. D. FORBES. 


JAMES Davip Forsss is chiefly known for his theory of glacial 
motion, which appears to have been independent of that of Rendu, 
and also for his observations as to the plastic or viscous theories of 
glaciers. His claims have been disputed, but the general opinion 
seems tobe that the palm of originality, or at least priority of an- 
nouncement, belongs to the Scottish professor. Mr.. Forbes was 
born at Colinton, near Edinburgh, in 1809, son of Sir William Forbes, 
an eminent banker and citizen of Edinburgh ; his mother, Williamina 


260 | _CYCLOPADIA OF  ——_—_— [ro 3876. 


Belches, heiress of a gentleman of the old stock of Invermay, after- 
werds Sir John Stuert of Fettercairn. This lady was the object of 
Sir Walter Scott’s early and lasting attachment. Visiting at St. An- 
drews thirty years later in his life, he says : ‘1 remember the name 
_I had once carved in Runic characters beside the castle gate, and 
asked why it should still agitate my heart.’ Lady Forbes had 
then been long dead. In 1883, Mr. Forbes was appointed Professor 


of Natural Philosophy in the university of Aberdeen, which he held - 


until 1859, when he became Principal of St. Andrews University. 
He died December 31, 1868. His principal works are—‘ Travels 
though the Alps and Savoy,’ 1843; ‘Norway and its Glaciers,’ 
18538 ; ‘The Tour of Mont Blanc and Monte Rosa,’ 1855; and ‘Oc- 
casional Papers on the Theory of Glaciers,’ 1859. He wrote also 
numerous papers in the scientific journals. 


DR. WHEWELL. 


WILLIAM WHEWELL was a native of Lancaster, born May 24, 
1794. Hewas of humble parentage, and his father, a joiner, intended 
him to follow his own. trade; but he was’ early distinguished for 
ability, and after passing with honour through the grammar-school 
at Lancaster, he was placed at Heversham School, in order to be 
qualified for an exhibition at Trinity College, Cambridge, connected 
with that seminary. He entered Trinity College in 1812, became a 
Fellow in 1817, took his degree of M.A. in 1819, and the same year 
published his first work, a ‘Treatise on Mechanics.’ He was or- 
dained priest in 1826. For four years, from 1828 to 1832, he was 
Professor of Mineralogy; from 1838 to 1855, he was Professor of 
Moral Theology or Casuistical Divinity; and from 1841 till his death, 
he was Master of Trinity College. ‘Lthese accumulated university 
‘ honours sufficiently indicate the high estimation in which Dr. Whe- 
well’s talents and services were held. In the Cambridge Philosophi- 
cal Society, the Royal Society, and British Association for the Advance- 
ment of Science, he was no less distinguished; while his scientific 
and philosophic works gave him a Europeanfame. After contributing 
various articles to reviews, Dr. Whewell in 1833 published his Bridge- 
water Treatise on ‘Astronomy and General Physics considered with 
reference to Natural Theology ’"—an able work, learned and eloquent, 
which has passed through seven editions. His next and his greatest 
work was his ‘ History of. the Inductive Sciences,’ three volumes, 


1837; which was followed in 1840 by ‘The Philosophy of the 


Inductive Sciences.’ Passing over various mathematical publications, 
Wwe may notice, as indicating the versatility of Dr. Whewell’s talents, 
that in the year 1847 he published ‘Verse Translations from the 


German,’ ‘ English Hexameter Translations,’ and ‘Sermons’ preached. 


in Trinity College Chapel. 


In 1853 he issued anonymously, ‘Of the Plurality of Worlds: an 


- 
f 
a 
bea 
~ 


WHEWELL.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 261 


_ Essay’ There was a common belief in the doctrine of the plurality 
of worlds, which was supported by Dr Chalmergin his ‘ Astronom. 
ical Discourses.’ Whewell in his Essay (which is one of the clever. 
est of his works), opposed the popular belief, maintaini-g that the 
earth alone among stars and planets is the abode of intellectual, 
moral, and religious creatures, Sir David Brewster and others op: 
posed this theory. Dr. Whewell said the views he had committed to 
paper had been long in his mind, and the convictions they involved 
had-gradually grown deeper. His friend, Sir James Stephen, thougnt 
the plurality of worlds was a doctrine which supplied consolation and 
comfort to a mind oppressed with the aspect of the sin and misery of 
the earth. But Whewell replied: ‘'l'o me the effect would be the con- 
trary JI should have no consolation or comfort in thinking that out 
earth is selected as the especial abode of sin; and the consolation 
which revealed religion offers for this sin and misery is, not that there 
are other worlds in the stars sinless and happy, but that on the earth 
an atonement and reconcilintion were effected. This doctrine gives 
a peculiar place to the earth in theology. It is, or has been, in a pe- 
culiar manner the scene of God’s agency and presence. This was the 
view on which I worked.’ In opposition to Dean Mansel, who held 
that a true knowledge of God is impossible for man, Dr. Whewell 
said: ‘If we cannot know anything about God, revelation isin vain. 
We cannot have anything revealed to us, if we have no power of 
seeing what is revealed. It is of no use to take away the veil, when 
we are blind. If, in consequence vf our defect of sight, we cannot 
see God at all by the sun of nature, we cannot see Him by the light- 
ning of Sinai, nor by the fire of Mount Carmel, nor by the star in 
the East, nor by the rising sun of the Resurrection. If we cannot 
know God, to what purpose is it that the Scriptures, Old and New, 
constantly exhort usto know Him, and represent to us the knowledge 
of Him asthe great purpose of man’s life, and the sole ground of his 
eternal hopes?’ 

Num:rous works connected with moral philosophy were from 
time to. time published by Whewell—as ‘ Elements of Morality,’ 1845; 
‘Lectures on Systematic Morality,’ 1846; ‘ Lectures on the History of 
Moral Philosophy in England,’ 1852; ‘Platonic Dialogues for Eng- 
lish Readers,’ 1859-1861, &c. Various scientific memoirs, sermons, 
and miscellaneous pieces in prose and verse were thrown ‘off by the 
indefatigable Master ‘of Trinity, and perhaps as Sir John Herschel 
said, ‘2 more wonderful variety and amount of knowledge in almost 
every department of human inquiry was never accumulated by any 
man.’ The death of Dr. Whewell was acccidental. He was thrown 
from his horse on the 24th of February, and died on the 6th of 
March 1866. An account of the writings, with selections from the 
correspondence of Dr. Whewell, was lately published by I. Tod- 
hunter, M.A., &. 


262 CYCLOPEDIA‘OF ~—_ [ro 1876,- 


Wonders of the Universe. 


The Book of Job comes down to us -freighted apparently with no smail portion 
of the knowledye of that early age; speaking to us not merely ot flocks and herds, 
of wine and oil, of writings and judgments; but telling us also of ores and metals 
drawn from the recesses of the mountains—of genis and jewels of many names and 
from various countrics; of constellations and their risings, and seasons, and influ- 
ences. And above all, it comes tinged with a deep and contemple*ive spirit of ob- 
servation of the wonders of the animate and inanimate creation, ‘The rain and the 
dev, the ice and the hoar-frost, the lightning and the tempest, are noted as contain- 
- ing mysteries past men’s finding out. Our awe and admiration are demanded for the 
care that provides for the lion and the ostrich after their natures; for the spirit that 
jnforms with fire and vigour the war-horse and the eagle; for the power ihut guides 
the huge behemoth and leviathan. ... ; 

Not only these connections and transitions, but the copiousness with which proper- 
ties. as to us it seems, merely ornamental, are diffused through the creation, may well 
excite our wonder. — Almost all have felt, as it were, a perplexity chastened by the 

ense of beauty, when they have thought of the myriads of fair and gorgeous objects 


that exist and perish without any eye to witne:s their glories—the flowers that are - 


born to blish unseen in the wilderness—the gems, so wondrously fashioned, that 
stud the untrodden caverns—the living things with adornments of yet richer work- 
mauship that, solitary and unknown, glitter and die. Nor is science without food for 
such feelings. At every step she discloses things and Jaivs preenant with unobtrus- 
ive splendonr. She has unravelled tiie web of light in which all things are involyed, 
and has found its texture even more wonderful and exquisite than she could have 
thoaght. This she has done in our own days—and these admirable properties the 
sunbeams had borne about with them since light was created. contented as it were, 
with their unseen glories. What, then. shall we say? ‘hese forms, these appear- 
ances of pervading beauty, though we know not their end and meaning, still touch 


all thoughtful minds with a sense of hidden delight, a still and grateful admiration. - 


J hey come over our meditations like strains and snatches of a sweet and distant 
fymphony—sweet indeed, but to us distant and broken. and overpowered by the din 
of more earthly perceptions—canght but at intervals—eluding our attempts to learn 
itasa whole, but ever and anon returning on our ears, and elevating our thoughts of 
the fabric of this world. We might, indeed, well believe that this harmony breathes 
not for us alone—that it has nearer listeners—more delighted auditors. But even in 
usit raises no unworthy thoughts—even in us it impresses a conviction, indestructible 


by harsher voices, that far beyond’all that we can know and conceive, the universe is — 


full of symmetry and order and beauty and life. 


final Destiny of the Universe. : 
Let us not deceive ourselves. Indcfinite duration and gradnal decay are not th 
destiny of this universe. It will not find its termination only in the imperceptible 


crumbling of its materials, or clogging of its wheels. It steals not calmly and — 


slowly to its end. Noages of long und deepening twilight shall gradually bring the 
last setting of the sun—no mountains sinking under the decrepitude of years, or 
weary rivers ceasing to rejoice in the:r courses, shall prepare men for the abolition of 


y 


this ear. bh. No placid ewthanasia shall silently lead on the dissolution of the natural — 


world. But the trumpet shall sound—the struggle shall come—this goodly frame of 

things shall be rent and crushed by the mighty arm of its Omnipotent Maker. It 

shall expire in the throes and agonies of some sudden and fierce convulsion; and 

the same hand which plucked the elements from the dark and troubled slumbers of - 
their chaos, shall cast them into their tomb, pushing them aside, that they may ng 
longer stand between His face and the creatures whom he shall come to judge. 


BABBAGE—AIRY—-HIND—NICHOL. 


CHARLES BABBAGE (1792-1871) is popularly celebrated for his 
calculating-machine. But he was author of about eighty volumes, 
including his valuable work on the ‘Economy of Mannfactures and 


eS eee Bee ee We ET ep i . 7 : 
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. => 


- .BARBAGE.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 263 
$ ~ : 
_ Machinery,’ 1833—a volume that has been translated into most 
foreign languages. Mr. Babbage’s most original work is one entitled 
_ *A Ninth Bridgewater Treatise,’ a most ingenious attempt to bring 
~ mathematics into the range of sciences which afford proof of Divine 
design in the constitution of the world. Mr. Babbage was a native 
. of Devonshire, and after attending the grammar-school at Totnes, 
was entered at Cambridge, and took his Bachelor’s degree from 
Peterhouse College in 1814. It is said that Mr. Babbage spent some 
thousands in perfecting his calculating-machine. It was presented, 
together with drawings illustrative of its operation, to King’s Col- 
lege, London. For eleven years (1828-89) Mr. Babbage held the 
appointment of Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Camtridge. 
The Astronomer-royal, Sir GrorGE BrppELL Arry (born at 
_ Alnwick in 1801), has done valuable service by his lectures on ex- 
perimental. philosophy, and his published Observations. He is au- 
thor of the treatise on Gravitation in the ‘Penny Cyclopedia,’ and of 
various lectures and communications in scientific journals. From 
the universities of Oxford, Cambridge, and Edinburgh he has re- 
ceived the honorary degrees of D.C.L. and LL.D., and in 1871 he 
was nominated a Companion (civil) of the Bath. 
Mr. Joun Russe_t Hinp, Foreign Secretary of the Royal Astro- 
~ nomicai Society, and Superintendent of the ‘ Nautical Almanac,’ has 
discovered ten small planets, for which the Astronomical Society 
_ awarded him their gold medal, and a pension of £200 a year has been 
- granted to him by royal warrant. Any new discovery or observation 
is chronicled by Mr. Hind in the ‘Times’ newspaper, and his brief 
notesare always welcome. Mr. Hind isa native of Nottingham, born 
in 1823. He is author of various astronomical treatises and contribu- 
_ tions to scientfic’journals. 
_ Jonn Prineiet Nicnor (1804-1859) did much to popularise astrono- 
_ way by various works at once ingenious and eloquent—as ‘ Views of 
_ the Architecture of the Heavens,’ 1837; ‘Contemplations on the Solar 
- System,’ 1844; ‘Thoughts on the System of the World,’ 1848; ‘The 
- Planet Neptune, an Exposition and History,’ 1848; ‘The Stellar Uni- 
| 
B 
£ 


_— wa? Form” wee F.C 


Se eee Te ER ET Ne PE eS Re 


_ verse,’ 1848; ‘The ‘Planetary System,’ 1850. Mr. Nichol was a na- 

- tive of Brechin, Forfarshire. He was educated at King’s College, 
~ Aberdeen, was sometime Rector of Montrose Academy, and in 1886 
~ was appointed Professor of Practical Astronomy in Glasgow, The 
_ professor’s son, Joun. Nicuon, B.A, Oxon., is Rezius Professor of 
_ English Language and Literature in the university of Glasgow. He 
- js author of ‘ Hannibal,’ an historical drama, 1873, and other works, 
evincing literary and critical talent of a superior description. 


ADAMS—GRANT—PROCTOR—LOCKYER. 


- The discoverer of the planet Neptune, Mr. Jonn Covcn ApAms 
_ (born in 1816), is an instance of persevering original genius. He was 
4 intended by his father, a farmer near Bodmin, in Cornwall, to follow 


264 + S-CYCLOPBDEACOF 2 = 7 [ro 1874, 


the paternal occupation, but was constantly absorbed in mathemati- 
cal studies. He entered. St. John’s College, became senior wrangler 
in 1848, was soon after elected to a Fellowship, and became one of 
the mathematical tutors of his college. In 1844 he sent to the Green- 
wich Observatory a paper on the subject of the discovery whence he 
derives his chief fame, Certain irregularities‘in the pianet Uranus 
being unaccounted for, Mr. Adams conceived that they might be 
occasioned by an undiscovered planet beyond it. He made experi- 
ments for this purpose; and at the same time a French astronomer, 
“M. Le Verrier, had arrived at the same result, assigning the place of 
the disturbing planet to within one degree of that given by Mr. 
Adams. The honour was thus divided, but both were independent 
discoverers. In 1858 Mr. Adams was appointed Lowndean Professor 
of Astronomy, Cambridge. 

A ‘History of Physical Astronomy,’ 1852, by RoBERT GRANT, is a 
work of great research and completeness, bringing the history of as- 
tronomical progress down to 1852. In conjunction with Admiral 
Smyth, Mr. Grant has translated Arago’s ‘ Popular Astronomy,’ and 
he was conjoined with the Rev. B. Powell in translating Arago’s 
‘Eminent Men,’ 1857. Mr. Grant isanative of Grantown, [nverness- 
shire, born in 1814. In 1859, on the death of Professor Nichol, Mr. 
Grant was appointed to the chair of Practical Astronomy in the uni- 
versity of Glasgow. 

Two of our younger men of science, happily engaged in popular- 
ising astronomy, are Ricnuarp A. Proctor and JosepH NoRMAN 
Lockyer. The former (late scholar of St. John’s College, Cam- 
bridge, and King’s College, London) is author of ‘Saturn and its 


System,’ 1865; ‘The Expanse of Heaven’ (a series of essays on the — 


wonders of the firmament), ‘ Light Scienee for Leisure Hours,’ ‘Our 
Place among Infinities,’ 1875; ‘Science Byways,’ 1876; and a great 
number of other occasional short astronomical treatises. Mr. Lock- 


yer (born at Rugby in 1836)-was in 1870 appointed Secretary of the — 


Royal Commission on Scientific Instruction; and the same year he ~ 


was chief of the English Government Eclipse Expedition to Sicily. 
In the following year he was elected Rede Lecturer to the university 
of Cambridge. Mr. Lockyer is author of ‘Elementary Lessons in 


Astronomy,’ and of various interesting papers in the literary jour- ~ 


nals. He is editor of ‘ Nature,’.a weekly scientific periodical. 


BADEN POWELL—PRICHARD. 


The Rev. BADEN Powe tt (1796-1860), for some time Savilian Pro- 
fessor of Geometry, Oxford, was author of a ‘ History of Natural 


Philosophy,’ 1842; a series of three ‘ Essays on the Spirit of the In- ~ 


ductive Philosophy, the Unity of Worlds, and the Philosophy of 
Creation,’ 1855; a work entitled ‘The Order of Nature,’ 1859; and 


an essay ‘On the Study and Evidences of Christianity,’ 1860—a trea- — 


{ 


3 
- 


‘\ 


a, 
J 


_ powELL.} ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. ; 255 - 


tise which formed a part of the volume entitled ‘Essays and Re- 


views.’ In some of these treatises, he discusses matters on the border. 
land betweea religion and science, and his opinions on miracles. ex- 
cited considerable controversy. 

‘ Researches into the Physical History of Mankind,’ by Dr. Jamus 
©. PRICHARD (1785-1248), a work in five volumes, 1636-47, and ‘The 
Natural History of Man,’ one volume, 1843, open up a subject of 
interest and importance. Dr. Prichard’s investigations tend to con- 
firm the belief. that ‘man is one in species, and to render it highly 
probable that all the varieties of this species are derived from one pair 
and a single locality on the earth.’ He conceives that the negro must 
be considered the primitive type of the human race—an idea that 
contrasts curiously with Milton’s poetical conception of Adam, his 
‘fair large front,’ and ‘ eye sublime,’ and ‘ hyacinthine locks,’ and of 
Eve with her unadorned golden tresses.’ Dr. Prichard rests his theory 
on the following grounds: (1), That in inferior species of animals any 
variations of colour are chiefly from dark to lighter, and this generally 
as an effect of domesticity and cultivation; (2). That we have instan- 
ces of light varicties, as of the Albino among negrces, but never any: 
thing like the negro among Europeans; (3). That the dark races are 
better fitted by their organisation for the wild or natural state of life; 
and (4). That the nations or tribes lowest in the scale of actual civili- 
sation have all kindred with the negro race. Of course, this con- 


_ elasion must be conjectural: there is no possibility of arriving at any 


certainty on the subject. 
SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON, ETC. 


_ This eminent metaphysician sustained for some years the fame of 
the teottish colleges for the study of the human mind. He wasa 
native of Glasgow, born March 8, 1788, son of Dr. William Hamilton, 
Professor of Anatomy and Botany. He was of an old Presbyterian 
stock, the Hamiltons of Preston. <A certain Sir William Hamilton 
was created a baronet of Nova Scotia in 1673, and dying without 
issue, he was succeeded by his brother, Sir Robert Hamilton, the 
leader—or rather misleader—of the Covenanters at Bothwell Bridge. 
This baronet, after the Revolution of 1688, refused to acknowledge 
King William III., as being ‘an uncovenanted sovereign.’ He did 
not assume the baronetcy, but the Scottish philosopher in 1816 estab- 
lished his claim to the title which the conscientious, wrong-headed 
baronet refused, and became the twenty-fourth representative of the 
old name and house. William Hamilton studied at Glasgow univer- 
sity, and, like his townsman, J. G. Lockhart, obtained a presentation 
to Balliol College, Oxford, as a Snell exhibitioner. During his aca- 
demical career, he was distinguished for the extent and accuracy of his 


knowledge, and for his indefatigible application as a student of 


ancient and modern literature, He afterwards studied law, and was 
Called to the Scottish bar in 1813. In 1820 he was a candidate for 


266 “CYCLOPEDEV OF 72-3) © = = raster, 


-the chair of Moral Philosophy, vacant by the death of Dr. Brown, 
but was defeated by the Tory candidate, Mr. John Wilson, the 
famous ‘Christopher North.” ‘The state of the vote was twenty-one 
toeleven. MUamilton next year obtained the appointment of Professor 
of Civil History. : 

In 1829 he wrote for the ‘Edinburgh Review’ an article on Cousin’s 
‘Cours de Philosophie.’ which seems to have been the first public 
general exhibition of his talent as a powerful thinker, and which 


was hailed by the metaphysicians of the day, British and foreign— ~ 


then a very limited class—as a production of extraordinary ability. 
‘He wrote other articles for the Review—papers on phrenology (to 
which he was strenuously opposed), on perception, on the philoso- 
phers Reid and Brown, and on logic. These essays were collected 
and published under the title of ‘ Discussions in Philosophy and 
Literature, Education,-and University Reform,’ 1852. In 1:36 Sir 
William was elected to the chair of Logic and Metaphysics in Edin- 
burgh, after a severe contest, in which the rival candidate was Isaac 
Taylor, author of ‘The Natural History of Enthusiasm,’ and other 
works (see ante). The appointment rested with the town-coun- 
cil, and Sir William had a majority of four—eighteen members of. 
council voting for him, and fourteen for Mr. ‘Taylor. His lectures 
were well attended, and he took much. interest in his class. His 


writings, though limited in quantity, were influential, and according _ 


to Professor Veitch, the spring-time of a new life in Scottish specu- 
lation had begun. ‘A more profound analysis, a more comprehen- 
sive spirit, a learning that had surveyed the philosophical literature 
of Greece and Germany, and marked the relative place in the intel- 
Jectual world of the sturdy growths of home thought, were the char- 
acteristics of the man who had now espoused the cause of Scottish 
speculative philosophy.’ Sir William Hamilton died May 6, 1256, 
at which time he had reached the age of sixty-eight. He was re- 
garded as the most profound philosophical scholar of his day—a- 
man of immense erudition and attainments. His principal works 
were, as we have said, contributions to the ‘ Edinburgh Review,’ but 
he also edited the works of Dr. Thomas Reid, 1846, adding preface, 
notes, and supplementary dissertations; and at the time of his 
death, was engaged on the works of Professor Dugald Stewart. He 
contemplated a memoir of Stewart, but did not live to accomplish 
the task. This, however, has since been done by one of his pupils, 
Mr. JoHN Verrcn, 1858. 

The most celebrated of Sir William Hamilton’s essays are those 
against phrenology, on Cousin and the philosophy of the uncondi- 
tioned, on perception, and on Whately and logic. _‘ His philosophy,’ 
says a Scottish metaphysician in the ‘ North British Review,’ ‘is a 
determined recoil against the method and systems of Mylne and 
Brown, the two professors who, in Hamilton’s younger years, were 


a tN 


7 ON ge ee 


"HAMILTON. J ENGLISH LITERATURE. 267 


exercising the greatest influence on the opinions of Scottish students. 
So far as he felt attractions, they were towards Reid, the great meta: 
physician of his native college; Aristotle, the favourite at Oxford, 
where he completed his education; and Kant, whose sun was rising 
from the German Ocean on Britain, and this, in spite of all opposing 
clouds, about the time when Hamiiton was forming his philosophic 
creed. Professor Ferrier thinks that the ‘‘ dedication of his powers to 
the service of Reid’’ was the ‘‘ one mistake in his career;” to us it ap- 
pears that it must rather have been the-me:ns of saving one possessed 
of so speculative a spirit from numberless aberrations. But Kant ex- 
ercised as great an influence over Hamilton as even Reid did. His 
whole philosophy turns round those topics which are discussed in the 
‘* Kritik of Pure Reason,” and he can never get out of those *‘ forms” in 
which Kant sets all our ideas so methodically, nor Jose sight of those 
terrible antinomies, or contradictions of reason, which Kant ex- 
pounded in order to shew that the laws of reason can have no appli- 
cation to objects, and which Hegel glorified in, and was employing as 
the ground-principle of his speculations, at the very time when 
Hamilton aspired to bea philosopher. From Kant he got the princi- 
-ple that the mind begins with phenomena and builds thereon by 
forms or lawsof thought; and it was as he pondered on the Sphinx 
enigmas of Kant and Hegel, that he evolved his famous axiom about 
all positive thought lying in the proper conditioning of one or other 
of two contradictory propositions, one of which, by the rule of ex- 
cluded middle, must be true. His pupils have ever since been stand- 
ing before this Sphinx proposing, under terrible threats, its supposed 
contradictions, and are wondering whether their master has resolved 
the riddle.’ To those who delight in ‘the shadowy tribes of mind,’ 
must be left the determination of these difficulties. The general 
reader will find many acute and suggestive remarks in Sir William’s 
essays on education, logic, and the influence of mathematical studies. 
_ Against the latter, as a mental exercise, he waged incessant war. He 
defined philosophy to be the knowledge of effects and their causes, 
and he limited the term philosophy to the science of the mind, refus- 
ing the claim of mathematics and the physical sciences to the title. 
Lord Macaulay was as little disposed as Sir William to acknowledge 
the claim urged for mathematics, and Sir David Brewster. too, 
a‘lopted the heresy. ; 
The following is part of Sir William Hamilton’s dicta: 


On Mathematics 


Some knowledge of their object-matter and method is requisite to the philosa- 
pher; but their study should be followed out temperately, and with due caution. A 
mathematician in contingent matter is like an owl in daylight. Here, the wren pecks 
at the bird of Pallas, without anxiety for beak or talon; and there, the feeblest rea- 
soner feels no inferiority to the strongest calculator. It is true, no doubt, that a 
power of mathematical and a power of philosophical, of general logic, may some- 
times be combined ; but the individual who unites both, reasons well out of neco 


et alah 


288 CYCLOP-EDIA OF ~ ~ [ro 1876) 


airy matter, from a still resisting vigour of intellect, and in spite, not in consequence, 
of his geometric or algebraic dexterity.. He is naturally strong—not a mere cipherer, 
a mere demoustrator; and this is the explanation why Mr, De Morgan, among other 
mathematicians. so often argues right. Still, had Mr. De Morgan been Jess of a 
mathematician, he might have been more of a philosopher; and be it remembered 
that mathematics and dram-drinking tell, especially in the long-run. Fora season, 
I admit Toby Philpot may be the champion of Enzland; and Warburton testifies, ‘It 
is y Acie notorious that the oldest mathematician in England is the worst reasoner 
1D lt. 

Notes of Sir William Hamilton’s lectures were taken by students 
and shorthand reporters, and they have been published in four vol- 

‘umes, 1859-1861, edited by Professors Mansel and Veitch. ‘The lat 
ter, in 1859, published a Memoir of Sir William, undertaken at the 
request of the family of the deceased philosopher. Professor Veitch, 
im his summary of,the character aud aims of the subject of his inte- 
resting memoir, Says : 

‘To the mastery and treatment of a subject, the essential prelimi- 
nary with Sir William Hamiltcn was reading.. He must know, in the 
first place, what had been thought and written by others on the point 
which he proposed to consider. In this respect he may be taken as 
the extreme contrast of many men who have given their attention to 
speculative questions. Hobbes, Locke, Brown—to say nothing of 
writers nearer the present time—were content with a very limited 
knowledge of the conclusions of others on the subjects which they 
discussed. Hamilton’s writings shew how little he sympathised with 
men of the non-reading type—how he was even blinded, to some 
extent, to their proper merits—as in his references t. Brown and 
Whately. In the universality of his reading and knowledge of 
philosophical opinions, he is to be ranked above all those in Britain 
who have given their attention to speculative questions since the time 


of Bacon, with the exception, perhaps, of Cudworth. Dugald Stew- 


art was probably his superior in acquaintance with general literature, 
but certainly far from his equal in philosophical learning. On the 
continent, the name which in this respect can be placed most fittingly 
alongside of Hamilton during the same period, is Leibnitz. 2 
‘Between Leibnitz and Hamilton, indeed, amid essential differ- 
ences in their views of what is within the compass of legitimate 
speculation, there are several points of resemblance. - The predomi- 
nating interest of each iay in the pursuit of purely iatellecual ideals 
and wide-reaching general laws, especially in the highest depart- 
ments of metaphysics. Both were distinguished by rare acuteness, 
logical consecution, deductive habit of mind, and love of system. 
They were greater thinkers than observers; more at home among 
abstract conceptions than concrete realities. Both had a deep inter- 
est in the important intellectual and moral questions that open on 
the vision of thoughtful men in the highest practical sphere of all— 
the border-land of metaphysics and theology; both had the truest 
sympathy with the moral side of speculation. In each there was 3 


— 


HAMILTON. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 269 
firm conviction that our thoughts and feelings about the reality and 
mature of Deity, his relation to the world, human personality, free- 
dom, responsibility, man’s relation to the Divine, were to be vital- 
ised, to receive a meaning and impulse, only from reflection on the 
ultimate nature and reach of human thought.’ 

‘he words on Sir William Hamilton’s tombstone are striking: ‘ His 
aim was, by a pure philosophy, to teach that now we see through a 
glass darkly, now we know in part: his hope that in the time to 
come, he should sce face to face, and know even as also he is known.’ 

Sir Williain’s favourite study of logic has been well treated in ‘An 
‘Introduction to Logical Science,’ by the late PRorEssorn SPALDING 
of St. Andrews, which forms an excellent text-book as to the pro 
gress of the science, 1858. Mr. Spalding was also author of ‘ Italy 
and the Italiins,’an historical and literary summary, 1845, and ‘ The 
History of English Literature,’ 1853, a very careful and ably written 
little manual. Professor Spalding died in 1859. Another Professor 
of St. Andrews, JAMES FERRIER (who possessed the chair of Moral 
Philosophy and Political Eeonomy), published ‘ Institutes of Meta- 
physics, the Theory of Knowing and Being,’ 1854. He died in 1864, 
aged fifty-six. 
ey DEAN MANSEL. 

A distinguished metaphysician, the Rev. Henry LONGUEVILLE 
MANSEL, was born in 1820, son of a clergyman of the same name, 
rector of Cotsgrove, in Northamptonshire. He was educated at Mer- 
chant Taylors’ School and St. John’s College, Oxford, of which le 
was elected scholar in 1839. He graduated B.A. in 1848. In 1855 he 
was appointed Reader in Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy in 
Magdalen College, Oxford; and in 1858 he delivered the Bampton 
Lectures, which were published with the title of ‘The Limits of Re- 
ligious Thought,’ and occasioned considerable controversy, into which 
the Rev. T. D. Maurice entered. In 1859 Mr. Mansel was appointed 
Waynflete Professor of Philosophy; in 1866, Regius Professor of 
Ecclesiastical History and Canon of Christ Church, Oxford; and in 
1863, Dean of St. Paul’s. The published works of Mr. Mansel ‘are 
‘various. In his nonage he issued a volume of poems, ‘The Demons 
of the Wind,’ &., 18388. This flight of fancy was followed by his 
‘metaphysical and philosophical treatises: Aldrich’s ‘Logic,’ with 
‘notes, 1849; ‘Prolegomena Logica,’ 1851; ‘Psychology,’ a lecture, 
1855; ‘I.ecture on the Philosophy of Kant,’ 1856; the article ‘ Meta- 
physics,’ in eighth edition of the ‘ Encyclopzedia Britannica,’ 1857; the — 
‘Bampton Lectures,’ 1858; ‘The Philosophy of the Conditioned; 
comprising some Remarks on Sir William Hamiltcn’s Philosophy, 
‘and on Mr. J. S. Mill’s Examination of that Philosophy,’ 1866. Mr. 
‘Mansel was associated with Professor Veitch in editing Sir William 
-Hamilton’s lectures. 


wee: 
rs 


ey nt ae = 
2 : ; 


s 


270 CYCLOPEDIA OF [To 1876. 


’ JOHN STUART MILL. 


This philosophical author (son of the late historian pf Dritish India,) 


(ante), has professed to supersede the Baconian. principle of in- 


duction, without which, according to Reid, ‘experience is as blind ~ 


asa mole.’ In 1846, Mr Mill published ‘A System of Logic, Ratio- 
cinative and Inductive, being a Connected View of the Principles of 
Evidence and the Methods of Scientific Investigation,’ two volumes. 
He was author, also, of ‘Essays on some Unsettled Questions of Po- 
litical Economy,’ 1844, and ‘'fhe Principles of Political Economy,’ 


two volumes, 1848. The metaphysical opinions of Mr. Mill warped ~ 
his judgment as to the Baconian system, but he expounds his_ 


views with clearness 2nd candour, and is a profound as well as in- 
dependent thinker. This was still further evinced inhis work ‘On 
Liberty,’ 1859, in which he describes and denounces that ‘strong 
permanent leaven of intolerance which at all times abides in the mid- 
dle classes of this country,’ and which, he thinks, subjects society 


to an intolerable tyranny. 
Social Intolerance. 


Though we do not inflict so much evil on those who think differently from us as 


it was formerly our custom to Co, it may be that we do ourselves as much evil as ever 
by our treatment of them. Socrates was put. to death, but the Socratic philosophy 
rose like the sun in heaven, and spread its illumination over the whole intellectual 
firmament. Christians were cast to the lions, but the Christian Church grew up a 


stately and spreading tree, overtopping the older and less vigorous growths, and — 


stifling them by its shade. Our merely social intolerance kills no one, roots out no 


opinions. but induces men to disguise them, or to abstain from any active effort for — 
their diffusion. With us, heretical opinions do not perceptibly gain or even lose ~ 


ground in each decade or generation. They never blaze out far and wide. but con- 
tinue to smoulder in the narrow circles of thinking and studious persons, among 


- 


whom they originate, without ever lighting up the general affairs of mankind with 


either a true or a deceptive light. . .. A convenient plan for having peace in the 


intellectual world, and keeping all thingsgoing on therein very much as they do al- — 
ready. But the price paid for this sort of intellectual pacification is the sacrifice of © 
the entire moral courage of the human mind, A state of things in which a large por- — 
tion of the most active and inquiring intellects find it advisable to keep the genuine — 
principles and grounds of their convicticus within their own breasts, and attempt, in — 
what they address to the public, to fit as much as they can of their own conclusions — 


to premises which they have internally renounced, cannot send forth the open. fear- 
less ‘characters, and logical consistent intellects who once adorned the thinking 
world. 

The sort of men who cen be looked for under it are either mere conformers to 
commonplace or time-servers for truth, whose arguments 0” all great subjects are 


ee) 


meant for their hearers, and are not those which have convinced themselves. Those ~ 


who avoid this alternative do so by narrowing their thoughts and interest to things 
which can be spoken of without venturing within the region of principles—that is, to 


small practical matters which would come right of themselves if but the minds of — 


mankind were strengthened and enlarged, and which will never be made effectually 


~ e 


‘right until then—while that which would strengthen and enlarge men’s minds, free — 


and daring speculation on the higher subjects, is abandoned. 
On the Laws against Intemperance. ~ F 
Under the name of preventing intemperance, the people of one English colony, 


Ps 


and of nearly half the United States, have been interdicted by law from making any ~ 


yse whatever of fermented drinks, except for medical purposes; for prohibition of 


4 


their sie is, in fact, as it is intended to be, prohibition of their use. And though the — 


~ « 
< , .~_ 


MILL] = =~=——s« ENGLISH LITERATURE. 271 


impracticability of executing the law has caused its repeal in several of the states which 
¢ haa adopted it, including tue oue from which it derives its name, an attempt has not- 
withstanding been commenced, anit is prosecuted with considvrable zeal by many of 
the professed philanthropists, to agitate for a similar law in this country. The asso- 
ciation, or * Alliance,’ as it terins itself, which has been formed for this purpose, has 
acquired some notoriety through the publicity given to a correspondence between its 
secretary and one of the very tew Envlish public men who hold that a poliiician’s 
opinions ought to be founded on priuciples. Lord Stauley’s share in this correspond- 
euce is calculated to strengthen the hopes: already built on him, by those who know 
how rare such qualities as are manifested in some of his public appearances, un- 
happily are among those who figure in political life. ‘he organ of the Alliance, who 
would * deeply deplore the recoguition of any principle which could be wrested to 
just: y Digotry and persecution,’ undertakes to point out the * broad and impassable 
barricr’? which divides such principles from those of the association. ‘ All matters 
relating to thought, opinion, conscience, appear to me,’ he says, *to be without the 
sphere of legislation; all pertaining to social act, habit, relation, subject. only toa 
discretionary power vested in the state itself, and not in the individual to be 
within it.’ No mention is made of a third class, different from either of these— 
nainely, acts and habits which are not social, but individual—although it is to this 
elass, surely, that the act of drinking fermented liquors belongs. Setting fermented 
liquors, however, is trading. and trading is a social act. But the infring-ment com- 
plained of is not on the liberty of the seller, but on that of the buyer and consumer ; 
since the state might just as well forbid him to drink wine, as purposely make it im- 
possible for him to obtain it. he secretary, however, says: ‘I ciaiin, as a citizen, 
a right to legislate whenever my social rights are invaded by the social act of another.’ 
And wow for the definition of these ‘social rights.” ‘If anything invades my social 
rights, certainly the traffic in strong drink does. It destroys my primary right of 
security. by constantly creating and stimulating social disorder. It invades my right 
_ of equality by deriving a profit from the creation of a misery Iam taxed to support. 
It impedes my right to free moral and intellectual development, by surrounding my 
path with dangers, and by weakening and demoralising socicty, from which I have a 
“fight to claim mutual aid and intercourse.’ A theory of ‘social rights,’ the like of 
which probably never before found its way into distinct language; being nothing 
short of this—that it is the absolute social right of every individual, that every otner 
- individual shall act in every respect exactly as he ought; that whosoever fails thereof 
in the smallest particular, violates my social right, and entitles me to demand from the 
_ legislature the removal of the grievance. So monstrous a principle is far more dan- 
gerous than any single interference with liberty; there is no violation of liberty 
_ which it would no justify ; it acknowledges no right to any freedom whatever, ex- 
cept, perliaps, to that of holding opinions in secret, without _ver disclosing them ; for 
the moment an opinion which I consider noxious passes any one’s lips, it invades all 
the ‘social rights’ attributed to me by the Alliance. The doctrine ascribes to all 
mankind a vested interest in each other’s moral, intellectual, and even physical per- 
- fection, to be defined by each claimant according to his own standard. i 


The Limits of Government Interference. 


The objections to Government interference, when it is not such as to involve in- 
_ fringement of liberty. may be of three kinds. en 
The first is, when the thing to be done is likely to be better done by individuals 
than by the government. Speaking generally. there 1s no one S0 fit to conduct any 
- business. or to determine how or by whom if shall be conducted, as those who are 
personally interested in it. This principle condemns the interferences, once so com- 
non. of the legislature. or the officers of covernment. with the ordinary processes of 
industry. Butthis part of the subject has been sufficiently enlarged upon by political 
economists. and is not particularly re’ated to the principles of this essay. 
The second objection 18 more nearly allied to our subject. In many cases. though 
‘{ndividuals may not do the particular thing so well. on the average. as the officers of 
government. itis nevertheless Gesirable that it should be done by them, rather than 
by the government, as a means to their own mental education—a mode of strength- 
ening their active faculties. exercising their judgment, and giving them a familiar 
know!edge of. the subjects with which they are thus lett to deal. Thisisa principa, 


. ’ 2 


970 _ CYCLUPADIA OF > ——s&[ro. 1876 


though not the sole, recommendation of jury trial (in cases not political) ; of free and 
popular local and municipal institutions; of the conduct of industrial and philan- 
thropic enterprises by voluntary associations. ‘hese are not questions of 
liberty, and are connected with that subject only by remote tendencies; but 
they are questions of develeme-t. It belongs to. a different occasion from 


ey, a ee eS, Ds ~ay 


é 


the present to dwell on. these chings as parts of national education; as — 


being, in truth, the peculiar traaing of a citizen, the practical part of 
the pclitical education of a free people, taking them out of the narrow circle 
of personal and family selfishness, and accustoming them to the comprehension of 
joint interests, the management of joint concerns—habituating them to act from 
public or semi-public motives, and gu.de their conduct. by aims which unite instead 
of isolating them from one another. Without these habits and powers, a free con- 
stitution can neither be worked ucz preserved ; as is exemplified by the too often 
transitory nature of political freedom in countries where it does not rest upon a suf- 
ficient basis of local liberties. The r1anagement of purely Jocal business by the local- 
ities, and of the great enterprises of indusiry by the union of those who voluntarily 
supply the pecuniary means, is further recommended by all the advantages which 


have been set furth in this Essay as belonging to individuality of development, and | 


diversity of modes of action. Government operations tend to be everywhere alike. 
With individuals and voluntary assc<iations, on the contrary, there are varied experi- 
ments, and endless diversity of experience. What the State can usefully do is to 
make itself a central depository, and active circulator and diffuser, of the experience 
resulting from many trials. Its business is to enable each experimentalist to benefit 
by the experiments of others; instead of tolerating no experiments but its own. 

The third, and most cogent reason for restricting the interference of government, 
is the great evil of adding unnecessarily to its power. Every function superadded to 


those already exercised by the government, causes its influence over hopes and fears ” 


to be more widely diffused, and conveits, more and more, the active and ambitious 
part of the public into hangers-on of the government, or of some party which aims 
at becoming the government. If the roads, the railways, the hanks, the insurance 
offices. the great joint stock companies, the universities, and the public charities, 
were all of them branches of the government; if, in addition, the municipal corpora- 
tions and local boards, with all that now devolves on them, became departinents of 
the central administration ; if the employés of all these different enterprises were ap- 
pointed and paid by the government, and looked to the government for every rise in 
life; not all the freedom of the press and popular constitution of the legislature 
would make this or any other country free otherwise than in name. 


Mr. Mill held the office long possessed by his father, that of Ex- 
aminer of Indian Correspondence, India House. On the dissolution 
of the East India Company, 1859, he retired with a liberal provision, 
and, we may add, with universal respect. Subsequently he pub- 
lished ‘ Considerations on Representative Government,’ 1861; ‘ Util- 
itarianism,’ 1862; ‘Comte and Positivism,’ and ‘ Examination of Sir 
William Hamilton’s Philosophy,’ 1865; ‘ England and Ireland,’ 1868; 


‘The Subjection of Women,’ 1869. Mr. Mill was returned to the — 
House of Commons as one of the members for Westminster, and re- — 


tained his seat for about three years, from 1865 to 186%. As a politi- 
cian, he acted with the Liberal party, but made little impression on 
the House or the country. He was aware, he said, of the weak points 
in democracy, as well as in Conservatism, and was in favour of a 


plurality of votes annexed to education, not to property. His — 


speeches on Ireland and the Irish Land Question were published. 
Mr. Mill died at Avignon in 1878. Shortly after his death appeared 


his ‘Autobiography,’ one of the most remarkable narratives in_ 


‘vu 


~ 


t 


the language. He was trained by his father with extraordinary — 


a 
a 


a ae £NGLISH LITERATURE. 273 


care. He had no recollection of beginning to learn Greek, and be- 
fore he was eight years old he had read in Herodotus, Xenophon, 
and Plato, and had devcured such English books as the histories of 
Hume, Robertson, and Gibbon. ‘My father,’ he added, ‘never. per- 
mitted anything which I learned to degenerate into a mere exercise 
of memory. He strove to make the understanding not only go long 
with every step of the teaching, but, if possible, precede it.’ ‘The father 
had entirely given up religious belief. Though edtcated in the Scotch 
creed of Presbyterianism, he had come to reject not only the belief in 
revelation, but the foundations of what is commonly called natural re- 
ligion. Hence the son received no religious instruction. ‘I grew up,’ 
he says, ‘in a negative state with regard to it: 1 looked upon the modern 
exactly as | d.d upon the ancient religion, as something which in no 
way concerned me.’ The result of this system of education and un- 
belief was not favourable. The elder Mill thought ‘human life a 
poor thing at best, after the freshness of youth and of unsatisfied 
curiosity had gone by;’ and the son fell into a state of mental depres- 
sion, the habit of analysis having worn away feeling and pleasure in 
the ordinary objects of human desire. He never seems to have pos- 
sessed the vivacity and tenderness of youth; in his autobiography he 
does not once mention his mother. At length he became acquainted 
With a married lady, a Mrs. Taylor, of whom he speaks in the most 
extravagant terms, comparing her to Shelley ‘in her general spiritual 
characteristics as well as in temperament and organisation; but in 
thought and intellect the poet,’ he says, ‘so far as his powers were 
developed in his short life, was but a child to what she ulti- 
mately became.’ This lady was to Mill an object of idolatry—a 
being that seemed to supply the want of religion and veneration. 
After twenty years of Platonic affection, and the death of Mr. Tay- 
lor, she became the wife of the philosopher. He aads: ‘ For seven 
years and a half that blessing was mine; for seven and a half only! 
I could say nothing which could describe, even in the faintest manner, 
what that loss was and is. But because I know that she would have 
wished it, I endeavour to make the best of what life I have left, and 
-to work for her purposes with such diminished strength as can be 
derived from thoughts of her, and communion with her memory.’ 
He survived her about fifteen years. 


SIR DAVID BREWSTER. 


_ The writings of Sm Davin Brewster present a remarkabie 
union of the man of science with the man of letters. The experi- 
_mental philosopher is seldom a master. of rhetoric;*but Sir David, 
far beyond the appointed periad of threescore-and-ten, was full of 
fancy and imagination, and had a copious and flowing style. This 
- eminent man was a native of Jedburgh, born in 1781. His father 
was rector of the grammar-school of Jedburgh. David, his second 
“#0n, was educated for the Scottish Church, was licensed by the Presby- 


Ss 7 ‘ ie oe = a 


pee oS CYCLOPEDIA OF —_ [10 1876, 


tery of Edinburgh, and preached occasionally. He soon, however, 
devoted himself to science. In his twenty-fourth year he edited Fergu- 
son’s ‘ Lectures on Astronomy,’ and five years afterwards, in 1810, he 
commenced the ‘ Edinburgh Encyclopedia,’ which was continued at - 
intervals until 1828, when it had reached eighteen volumes. In 1813 
he published « treatise on ‘New Philosophical Instruments,’ and. he_ 
afterwards commenced the ‘Edinburgh Philosophical Journal’ and 
the ‘Edinburgh Journal of Science.’ Among his other works are— 
‘A Treatise on the Kaleidoscope,’ 1818; ‘ Notes to Robison’s System 
of Mechanical Philosophy,’ 1822; ‘Euler’s Lectures and Life,’ 1823; 
a ‘Treatise on Optics,’ 1831; ‘Letters on Natural Magic,’ 1831; ‘The 
Martyrs of Science’ (lives of Galileo, Tycho Brahe, and Kepler); 
‘Treatise on the Microscope; ‘More Worlds than One,’ 1854; 
&c. ‘The contributions of Sir David Brewster to scientific and 
literary journals would fill at least a score of volumes. A list of his 
scientilic papers extends to 315 in number, and he contributed 74 
articles to the ‘North British Review.’ His work, ‘More Worlds 
than One,’ isa reply to the treatise ascribed to Professor Whewell, 
on the ‘Plurality of Worlds.’ This subject had been fancifully 
treated by Fontenelle, and was a favourite source of speculation 
during the last century, but it is one evidently destitute of scientific 
proof. Inductive philosophy disowned it and it belonged only to the 
region of speculation. Dr. Chalmers conceived that there were 
strong analogies in favour of such an opinion, while Dr. Whewell, on 
the other hand, laboured to reduce such analogies to their true value. 
We cannot materialise them, or conce:ve of beings differing from our 
own knowlcdge and experience. ‘Truth and falsehood, right and _ 
wrong, law and transgression, happiness and misery, reward and. 
punishment, are the necessary elements of all that can interest’ us— _ 
of all that we can call government. To transfer these to Jupiter or — 
to Sirius, is merely to imagine those bodies to be a sort of island of — 
Formoso, or New-~ Atlantis, or Utopia, or Platonic polity, or some- — 
thing of the kind.’ Sir David Brewster took the opposite side, ~ 
maintaining that even the sun may be inhabited by beings having pur- ~ 
suits similar to those on earth. ‘The following is part of his argu- — 
ment respecting another planet: - ; 


Is the Planet Jupiter Inhabited? 


In studying this subject. persons who have only a superficial knowledge of 
astronomy, though firmly believing in a plurality of worlds, haye felt the force of — 
certain objections, or rather difficulties, which naturally present themselves to the ~ 
inguirer. The distance of Jupiter from the sun is so great. that the licht and heat 
which he receives from that luminary are supposed to be incapable of sustaining the 
same animal and vegetable life which exists on the earth. If we consider the heet 
upon any planet as arising solely from the divect ravs of the sun, the cold nvon 
Jupiter must be very intense. and water could not exist npon its snrface in a fluid 
state. Its rivers and its seas mnst be tracks and fields of ice. But the temperature 
of a planet depends upon other causes—npon the condition of its atmosphere, and 
upon the internal heat of its mass. The temperature of our own globe decreases 89 
we rise in the atmosphere and approach the sun, and it inereases as we descend 


“en 
Bits: 
an S- 


} “BREWSTER. } ENGLISH LITERATURE. O75 


- into the bowels of the earth and go further from the sun. In $ s 
cases, the increase of heat as we approach the surface of the tre Mee A Meat 
__ height in a balloon, or from the summit of a lofty mountain is produced by its 
almospliere ; and in Jupiter the atmosphere may be so formed as to compensate to 
- acertain extent the diminution in the direct heat of the sun arising from the great 
distance of the planet. In the second case, the internal heat of Jupiter may he 
such: as to keep its rivers and seas in a fluid state, and maintain a temperature sufti- 
- elently genial to sustain the same animal and vegetable life which exists upon our 
own globe. - These arrangements, however, if they are required, and have been 
- adopted, cannot contribute to increase the feeble light which Jupiter receives from 
the sun; but in so far as the purposes of vision are concerned, an enlargement of 
the pupil of the eye, and an increesed sensibility of the retina would be amply 
sufficient to make the sun’s light as brilliant as it is te us. The feeble light. re- 
flected from the moons of Jupiter would then be equai to that which we derive 
_ from our own, even if we do not adopt the hypothesis, which we shall afterwards 
_ have occasion to mention, that a brilliant phosphorescent light may be excited in 
_ the satellites by the action of the solar rays, Another difficulty has presented itself 
_ though very unnecessarily, in reference to the shortness of the day in Jupiter. A 
day of fen hours has been supposed insufficient to afford that period of rest which is 
4 _requisite for the renewal of our physical functions when exhausted with the labours 
_ of the day. his objection. however, has no force. Five hours of rest are surely 
- sufficient for five hours of labour; and when the inhabitants of the temperate zone 
of our own globe reside, as many of them have aone, for years in the arctic regions, 
~ where the length of the days and nights is so unusual, they have been able to perform 
_ their usual functions as well as in theix native climates. A difficulty, however, of a 
more serious kird is presented by the great force of gravity upon so gigantic a planet 
as Jupiter. The stems of plants, the materials of buildings, the human body itself, 
would, it is imagined, be crushed by their own enormous weight. This apparently form- 
 idable objection will be removed by an accurate calculation of the force of gravity 
upon Jupiter. or of the relative weight of bodies on its surface. ‘The mass of Jupiter 
is 1230 times greater than that of the earth. so that if both planets consisted of the 
game kind of matter, a man weighing 150 pounds on the surface of the earth would 
weigh 1501200, or 180.000 pounds. at a distance from Jupiter’s centre equal to the 
earth’s radius. But as Jupiter’s radius is eleven times greater than that of the earth, 
the weight of bodies on his surface will be diminished in the ratio of the square of 
“his radins—that is, in the ratio of 11X11, or 121 to 1. Consequently. if we divide 
180,000 pounds by 121, we shall have 1487 pounds as the weight of aman of 150 pounds 
on the surface of Jupiter—that is, less than ten times his weight on the earth. But 
the matter of Jupiter is much lighter than the matter of our earth, in the ratio of 24 
to 100, the numbers which represent the densities of the two planets, so that if we di- 
minish 1487 pounds in the ratio of 24 to 100, or divide it by 4:17. we shall have 312 
pounds as the weight of aman on Jupiter, who weighs on the earth only 150 pounds 
- —that is. only double his weight—a difference which actually exists between many 
individuals on our own planet A man. therefore, constituted like ourselves, could 
-_ exist without inconvenience upon Jupiter ; acd plants. :nd trees, and buildings, such 
~ ag occur on our own earth, could grow and stand secure in so far as the torce of 


gravity is concerned. 


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~*~ A more recent astronomer, Mr. RrcHaRD A. Proctor, differs 
_ from Sir David Brewster as to the planet Jupiter. The careful study 
_ of the plancts Jupiter and Saturn has shewn him, he says, that any 
- theory regarding them as the abode of life—that is, of any kind of 
life in the least resembling the forms we are familiar with—is alto- 
- gether untenable. In the case of Mars and Venus, he considers the 
- theory of life at least plausible. 

_ ‘Olearest evidence shews how our earth was once a fluid haze of 
ligh', and how for countle:s eons afterwards her globe was instinct 
~ with fiery heat, amidst which no form of life could be couceived to 


ad 
/ 


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bie A Veet ae 
= z “ y ™» 3 5 


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276 _ CYCLOPZEDIA OF > : [vo 1876. 
- 3 
exist, after the manner oflife known to us, though the germs of life — 
may have been present. ‘Then followed ages in which the earth’s 
glowing crust was drenched by showers of muriatic, nitric, and sui- — 
phuric acid, not only intensely hot, but fiercely burning through 
their chemical activity. Only after periods infinite to our concep. 
tions could life such as we know it, or even in the remotest degree 
like what is known to us, have begun to exist upon the earth.’ 

Jupiter he considers to be in this burning state.~ We see that his _ 
whole surface is enwrapped in ctoud-layers of enormous depth, and — 
undergoing changes which imply an intense activity, or in other — 
words, an intense heat throughout his whole mass. He is.as yet far 
from the life-bearing state of planetary existence; ages must elapse — 
before life can be possible. Mars, on the other hand, is ata later stage — 
of its existence, far on its way towards the same state of decrepitude — 
as the moon.* Of course, no certainty can be attained as to the sup- — 
posed plurality of worlds. We have only ‘ thoughts that wander — 
through eternity.’ - 

More popular than any of Sir David Brewster's writings was the in- — 
strument named the kaleidoscope, invented by Brewster in the year Z 
1816. ‘This beautiful little toy, with its marvellous witcheries of — 
light and colour, spread over Europe and America with a furor — 
which is now scarcely credible. Although he took outa patent, yet, — 
as it often has happened in this country, the invention was quickly — 
pirated.’{ Sir David received the honour of knighthood in 1831. He — 
continued his studies and experiments, with scarcely a day’s interrup- — 
tion, until his eighty-sixth year. A few days before his death Sir — 
James Simpson, the eminent physician, expressed a hope that he 
might yet rally. ‘Why, Sir James, should you hope that?’ he said, — 
with much animation. ‘The machine has worked for above eighty 
years, and it is worn out. Life has ben very bright to me, and now 
there is the brightness beyond.’ He di d February 10, 1867, and was _ 
interred in the cathedral burying-ground at Melrvuse. ae 


Bacon and Newton. | | 


In the economy of her distributions, nature is seldom thus lavish of her intelleors | 
tual gifts. The inspired genius which creates is rarely conferred alone with the — 
matured judgment which combines, and yet without the exertion of both, the fabric © 
of human wisdom could never have been reared. Though a ray from heaven kindled 
the vestal fire, yet a humble priesthood was required to keep alive the flame. : 

The method of investigating truth by observation and experiment. so successfully 
pursued in the Principia, has been ascribed by some modern writers of creat eelebe 
rity to Lord Bacon; and Sir Isaac Newton is represented as having owed all his dis- 
coveries to the application of the principles of that distinguished writer. One of the 
greatest admirers of Lord Bacon has gone so far as to characterise him asa man whe 
has had no rival in the times which are past, snd as likely to have none in those which 
are tocome. Ina eulogy so overstrained as this, we feel that the langeuare of panes 
gyric has passed into that of idolatry; and we are desirous of weighing tho fore of 


a 

ares: i i 
_ * Science Rypows (London. 1873), an interesting volumo of esays on scientific sub © 
jects popularly treated. 5 . } 


t The Home Life of Sir David Brewster, by his daughter. Mrs. Gordon, 1869. -* if 


4 
e ee A 
i 2 
* : — > 
2 ae 


‘PROCTOR.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 277 


arguments which tend to depose Newton from the high-priesthood of nature, and to 
unsettle the proud destinies of Copernicus, Galileo, aud Kepler. 

That Bacon was aman of powerful genius, and endowed with varied and pro- 
found talent—the most skilful logician, the most nervons and cloquent writer of the 
age which he adorned—are points which have been established by universat suffrage. 
The study of ancient systems had early impressed him with the conviction that ex- 
periment and observation were the only sure guides in physical inquiries ; and, ignor- 
ant though he was of the methods, the principles, and the details of the mathemati- 
cal sciences, his ambition prompted him to aim at the construction of an artificial 
system by which the laws of nature might be investigated, and which might direct the 
inquiries of philosophers in every future age. The necessity of experimental re- 
search, and of advancing gradually from the study of facts to the determination of 
their cause, though the groundwork of Bacon’s method, is a doctrine which was 
not only inculcated but successfully followed by preceding philosophers. In a letter 


-from ‘Tycho Brahé to Kepler, this industrious astronomer urges his pupil ‘ to lay a solid 


foundation for his views by actnal observation, and then by ascending from these to 
strive to reach the causes of things ;’ and it was no dou:t under the influence of this 
advice that Kepler submitted his wildest fancies to the test of observation, and was 
conducted to his most splendid discoveries. The reasonings of Copernicus. who pre- 
ceded Bacon by morethan a century, were all founded upon the most legitimate in- 
duction. Dr. Gilbert had exhibited in his treatise on the magnet the most perfect speci- 
men of physical research. Leonardo da Vinci had described in the clearest manner the 
proper method of pailosophical investigation ; and the whole scientific career of Galileo 
was one continued example of the most sagacious application of observation and ex- 
periment to the discovery of general laws. ‘The names of Paracelstis, Van Helmont 
and Cardan have been ranged in opposition to this constellation of great names, and 
while it is admitted that even they had thrown off the yoke of the schools, and bad 
succeeded in experimental research, their credulity and their pretensions have been 
adduced as a proof that to the ‘ bulk of philosophers’ the method of induction was 


~ rnkuown. ‘ihe fault of this argument consists in the conclusion being infinitely 


more general than the fact. The errors of these men were not founded on their 
ignorance, but on their presumption. They wanted the patience of philosophy and 
not her methods. An excess of vanity, a waywardness of fancy, and an insatiable 


_ appetite for that species of passing faine which is derived from eccentricity of opin- 
- ion, moulded the reasonings and disfigured the writings of these ingenious men; and 


it can scarcely admit of a doubt, that had they lived in the present age, their philo- 
sophical character would have received the same impress from the pculiarity of their 
tempers and dispositions. This is an experiment. however, which cannot now be 
made; but the history of modern science supplies the defect, and the experience of 
every man furnishes a proof thatin the present age there are many philosophers 
of elevated talents and inventive genius who are as impatient of experimental 
research as Paracelsus, as fanciful as Cardan, and as presumptuous as Van Helmont. 

Haying thus shewn that the distinguished philosophers who flourished before 
Bacon were perfect masters both of the princip'es and practice of inductive research, 
it becomes interesting to inquire whether or not the philosophers who snecceeded 
him acknowledged any obligation to his system, or derived the slightest advaniage 
from his precepts. If Bacon constructed a method to which modern science owes 
its existence, we shall find its cultivators grateful for the gift, and offering the richest 
incense at the shrine of a benefactor whose generors labours conducted them to 


’ jmmortality. No such testimonies, however, are to be found. Nearly two hundred 


-ycears have gone by, teeming with the richest fruits of human genins, and no grate- 


ful disciple has appeared to vindicate the rights of the alleged legislator of science. 
Even Newton, who was born and educated after the publication of the ‘ Novum 
Organon.’ never mentions the name of Bacon or his system,and the amiable and 
indefatigable Boyle treated him with the same disrespectful silence. When we sare 


_ told therefore, that Newton owed all his discoveries to the method of Bacon, nothing 


more can be meant than that he proceeded in that path of observation and experi- 
ment which had been so warmly recommended in the ‘ Novum Organon;’ but itought 
to have been added, that the same method was practised by his predecessors—that 
Newton possessed no secret that was not used by Galileo and Copernicus—and that 
he would have enriched science with the same splendid discoveries if the name and 
the writings of Bacon had never beer heard of. : Be 


—_ 


“ . 2 
. x 


FESS POE SR 


278 ; _CYCLOPADIA OF ~ <= * fro 1876. 


Lord Macaulay’s epitaph on an English Jacobite (see ante), was 


much admired by Sir David Brewster, but he was d ssatisfied with 
the want of Christian resignation expressed in it, and he wrote the 
Yollowing imitation—not much inferior to Macaulay: 


Epitaph on «a Scotch Jacobite. 


To Scotland’s king I knelt in homage true, 

My heart—my all I gave—my sword I drew; 

For him I trod Culloden’s bloody plain, 

And lost the name of father’monygat its slain. 

Chased from my hearth I reached a foreign shore, 

My native mountains to behold no more— 

No more to listen to T'weed’s silver stream— 

No more among its glades to love and dream, 

Save when in sleep the restless spirit roams 

Where Melrose crumbles, and where Gala foams 

To that bright fane where pligbhted vows were paid, 

Or that dark aisle where all I loved was laid; 

And yet methought I ’ve heard neath Terni’s walls, - 

The fevered pulse of Foyers* wilder falls, 

On seen in Tiber’s wave my Leader flow, 

And heard the southern breeze from Eildon blow. 

Childless and widowed on Albano’s shore, 

I roamed an exile till life’s dream was o’er— ~ 
Till God, whose trials blessed my wayward lot, 

Gave me the rest—the early grave—I sought: 

Shewed me, o’er death’s dark vale, the strifeless shore 
With wife, and child, and king, to part no more, 

O patriot wanderer, mark this ivied stone, 

Learn from its story what may be thine own: he 
Should tyrants chase thee from thy hills of blue, 

And sever all the ties to nature true, 

The broken heart may heal in life’s last hour 

When hope shall still its throbs, and faith exert her power. 


MICHAEL FARADAY. 
In electricity and magnetism valuable discoveries were made by 


Micuarn, Farapay (1791-1867) a native of Newington, in Surrey, — 


the son of a poor blacksmith, who could only give his son the bare 
rudiments of education. He was apprenticed to a bookbinder, and 
early began to make experiments in chemistry and electricity, He 


had attended Sir Humphry Dayy’s lectures, and taken notes which 


he transmitted to Sir Humphry, desiring his assistance to ‘ escape 


from trade and enter into the service of science.’ Through Davy’s - 


exertions he was appointed chemical assistant in the Royal Institu- 
tion in 1813. In 1824 he was admitted a member of the Royal Soci- 
ety. In 1831, the first series of his ‘Experimental Researches in 
Electricity ’ was read before the Royal Society—a work which was 
continued to 1856, and afterwards published separately in four vol- 
umes. For mony years he gave lectures at the Royal Institution, - 
which were highly popular from the happy simplicity of his style 


and his successful illustrations. His publications on physical sci-— 


ence are numercus, _In 1&35 a pension was. conferred on Faraday. 
At first, it is said. Lord Melbourne, then premier, denounced all 


oT > \ 


as bees oe, Le a a een ee ee ey = > Ma. to i = x 
wae a ~J “y - — 4 " a > 


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FARADAY. } ENGLISH LITERATURE. 279 
such scientific pensions as humbug, upon which Faraday wrote to 
him: ‘I could not, with satisfaction to myself, accept at your lord- 
ship’s hands that which, though it has the form of approbation, is 
of the character which vour lordship so pithily applied to it.’ Lord 
Melbourne explained, and the pension was granted. 

~ Faraday was a simple, gentle, cheerful man of genius, of strong re- 
ligious feeling* and unassuming manners, His ‘ Life and Letters,’ by 
Dr. Bence Jones, two volumes, 1869, and ‘ Faraday as a Discoverer,’ 
by Mr. Tyndall, are interesting works. The latter considers Fara- 
day to have been the greatest experimental philosopher the world has 
ever seen, and he describes his principal discoveries under four dis- 
tinct heads or groups—magno-electric induction, the chemical pheno- 
mena of the current, the magnetisation of light (‘ which,’ says Tyndall, 
‘I should liken to the Weisshorn among mountains—high, beautiful, 
and alwne’), and diamagnetism. Faraday used to say that it required 
twenty years of work to make @ man in physical science; the previ- 
ous period being one of ¢nfancy. When lecturing before a private 
society on the element chlorine, Faraday, as Professor Tyndall tells 
us, thus expressed himself with reference to the question of utility: 
‘Before leaving this subject I will point out the history of this sub- 
stance, as an answer to those who are in the habit of saying to every 
new fact, ‘‘ What is its use?” Dr. Franklin says to such, ‘‘ What 
is the use of an infant?” The answer of the experimentalist is, ‘‘ En- 
deuvour to make it useful.”’ 


~ 


From ‘ Chemical History of a Candle.’ 


-_- What is all this process going on within us which we cannot do without, eithe. 
day or night, which is so provided for by the Author of all things, that He has ar 
ranged that it shall be independent of all will? If we restrain our respiration, as 
we can to a certain extent, we should destroy ourselves. When we are asleep, the 

organs of respiration. and the parts that are associated with them, still go on with 
their action, so necessary is this process of respiration to us, this contact of air with 
the lungs. I must tell you in the briefest possible manner, what this process is. We 
consume food: the food goes through that strange set of vessels and organs within 
us, aud is brought intuy various parts of the system, into the digestive parts 
especially; and alternately the portion which is so changed is carried through 
our lungs hy one set of vessels, while the air that we inhale and exhale is drawn 
into and thrown ont of the Jungs by another set of vessels, so that the air and the 
food come close together, separated only by an. exceedingly thin. surface: the air 

*can thus act upon the blood by this process, producing precisely the same results in 
kind a: we have seen in the case of the candle. ‘The candle combines with parts of 
the air, forming carbonic acid, and evolves heat; so in the lungs there is this curious, 
wonderful change taking place. The air entering. combines with the carbon (not 
carbon in a free state, but, as in this case. placed ready for action at the moment), 
and makes caronic acid, and is so thrown out into the atmosphere, and thus this 


-. singular result takes place: we may thus look upon the food as fuel. Let me take 


that piece of sugar, which will serve my purpose. It is a compound of carbon, hy- 


* He wasof asmall scct called Sandemaninns. who endeavour to keep up the simple 


- forms and unworldliness of the primitive Christians, with cortain views concerning 


saving faith and charity, 


" 
. 
= 


280 CYCLOPADIA OF © fro 1876, 


drogen, and oxygen, similar to a candle, as containing the same: elements, though 
notin the same proportion; the proportions in sugar being asshewninthistable: . 


Oooh wey eerie Ae Pare ity, weeps @2 . 
FLY OTO SOM: Se rekon ed oft bearee a > Caters nana 11) 99 
ORV POT Fiatie Ss ceatbtce e aes sietole ois ee attains 8S 


This is, indeed, a very curious thing, which you can well remember, for the oxygen 
and hydrogen arein exactly the proportions which form water, so that Suvar may be 
said to be compounded of 72 parts of carbon and 99 parts of water; and it is the car- 
bon in the sugar that combines with the oxygen carried in by the uir in the process 
of resyiration, so making us like candles ; producing these actions, warmth, and far 
more wonderful results besides, for the sustenance of the system, hy a most beauti- 
ful and simple process. ‘l’o make this still more striking, I will take a little sugar ; 
or to hasten the experiment I will use some syrup, which contains about three- 
fourths of sugar and a little water. If I put a little oil of vitriol on it, it takes away 
the water, and leaves the carbon in a black mass. (The Lecturer mixed the two _to- 
gether.) You see how the carbon is coming out, and before long we shall havea —— 
solid mass of charcoal, all of which has come ont of sugar. Sugar, as you know, is 
food, and here we have absolutely a solid lamp of carbon where you would not have 
expected it. Andif I make arrangements so as to oxidise the carbon of sugar, we - 
shall have a much more striking result. Here is sugar, and I have here an oxidiser— 
a quicker one than the atmosphere; and so we shall oxidise this fuel by a process 
different from respiration in its form, though not different in its kind. It isthe com- 
bustion of the carbon by the contact of oxygen which the body has supplied to it. If 
I set this into action at once. you will see combustion produced... Just what occurs 
in my Jungs—taking in oxygen from another source, namely, the atmosphere—takes 
place here by a more rapid process. ” 
You will be astonished when I tell you what this enrious play of carbon amonnts 
to. A candle will burn some four, five, six, or seven hours. What, then, must 
be the daily amount of carbon going up into the air in the way of carbonic acid! 
What a quantity of carbon must go from each of ns in respiration! What a won- — 
derful change of carbon must take place under these circumstances of combustion 
or respiration! A man in twenty-four hours converts a8 much as seven ounces of 
carbon into carbonic acid; a milch cow will convert seventy ounces, and a horse 
seventy-nine ounces, solely by the act of respiration. That is. the horse in twenty- 
four hours burns seventy-nine ounces of charcoal, or carbon, in his organs of respi- 
ration. to supply his natural warmth in that time. All the warm-blooded animals 
get their warmth in this way, by the conversion of carbon. not in a free state. but 
in a state of combination. And what an extraordinary notion this gives us of the 
alterations: going on in our atmosphere. As much as five million pounds, or 48 
tons, of carbonic acid is formed by respiration in London alone in twenty-four 
hours. And where does all this go? Up into the air. If the carbon had been like 
» the lead which I shewed you, or the iron which. in burning, produces a solid sub- — 
stance, what would happen 2? Combustion could not go on. As charcoal burnsit 
becomes a vapour. and passes off into the atmosphere, which is the great vehicle, € 
the great carrier for conveying it away to other places. _Then what becomes of it? 
Wonderful is it to find that the change produced by respiration. which seems so 
injurious to us (for we cannot breathe air twice over), is the very life and support of 
plants and vegetables that grow upon the surface of the earth. It is the same also 
under the surface, in the great bodies of water; for fishes and other animals respire 
upon the same principle, though not exactly by contact with the open air. » 


AUGUSTUS DE MORGAN. 
This distinguished mathematician and teacher (1806-1871) was 


born at Madura, in Southern India, son of Colonel de Morgan of 
the Madras army. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, — 
and studied for the bar, but in 1828 was appointed Professor of Mathe- 
matics in the University of London. Professor de Morgan contributed 


largely to the ‘Penny Cyclopedia,’ ‘Notes and Queries,’ ‘Athe- — 


ee Se 


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v¢ nF 7 Te ¥ — 4 ° Bb anny °. Z mt 
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“pe MorcAn.]) © ENGLISH LITERATURE. __ egy 


‘ - 


neum, &c. Among his works are—‘ Elements of Arithmetic,’ 1830: 

_ ‘Hlements of Algebra,’ 1835; * Elements of Trigonometry,’ 1837: 

_.‘ Hssay on Pr.babilities,’ 1838; ‘Formal Logic,’ 1847; &c. In 1858 

_ Professor de Morgan contributed to ‘ Notes and Queries’ some clever 
and amusing strictures on Swift’s ‘ Gulliver’s ‘Travels,’ an extract 
-from which we subjoin: 


Dean Swift and the Mathematicians. 


‘ Swift’s satire is of course directed at the mathematicians of his own day. His 
. first atiack upon them is contained in the deseription of the flappers, by which the 
absorbed philosophers were recalled to common life when it was necessary. Now 
_ there is no proof that, in Swift’s time or in any time, the mathematician, however 
capable of withdrawing his thoughts while actually engaged m study, was apt to wan- 
der into mathematics while employed in other business. No such thing is recorded 
eyeti of Newton. 2 man of uncommon power of concentration. The truth I believe 
to be, that the power of bringing the whole*man to bear on one subject which is fos- 
tered by mathematical study, is a power which can be, and is, brought into action on‘ 
any other subject ; so that a person used to mathematical thought is deep in the con- 
cern of the moment, totus in ti/o, more than another person; that is, less likely to 
wander from the matter in hand. 
* Swift’s technical knowledge is of a poor kind. According to him, beef and mut- 
-ton were served up in the shapes of equilateral triangles, rhomvoids, and cycloids. 
This beats the waiter who could cover Vauxhall Gardens with a ham. These plane 
figures have no thickness: and I defy al! your readers to produce a mathematician 
who would be content with mutton of two dimensions. As to the bread, which ap- 
peared in cones, cylinders, and parallelograms, the mathematicians wonld take the 
cones and cylinders for themselves, 2nd leave the parallelograms for Swift. 3 
_ The tailor takes Gulliver’s altitude by a quadrant, then measures all the dimen- 
» _sions of his body by rule and compass, and brings home the clothes all out of shape, 
by mistaking a figure i: the calculation. Now, first, Swift imzgines that the altitude 
taken by a quadrant isa dength, whereas it is an angle. It is awkward satire to re- 
esent the mathematician as using the quadrant to determine an accessible distance. - 
Vext, what mathematician would use calculation when he had all his results om 
paper, obtained by rule and compass? Had Swift lived in our day, he would have 
made the tailor measure the length of Gulliver’s little finger, and then set up the 
whole body by calculation, just as Cuvier.or Owen would set up some therium or 
-- sduvrus with no datum except the end of a toe. 


Is not Professor de Morgan somewhat hypercritical? When Swift 
_ used. those mathematical terms, we may believe he did so in mere 
sportiveness, and that he did not, in the shapes of his beef and mut- 
-ton, ignorantly exclude substance. _ When he says there was a 
shoulder of mutton cut into an equilateral triangle, 1t seems to us 
that the whole fun ]:y in the choice of that figure. He meansa 
pyramid, each face of which is an equilateral triangle. There is, or 
used to be, in the confectioners’ shops a certain comfit known as a 
triangular puff, which the children would care little for if 1t had no 
substance! So when the satirist talks of cutting a piece of beef into 
a rhomboid, it is inito a rhomboidal form, as we have rhomboidal 
‘erystals, rhomboidal leaves in plants, and so on: the meat 18 nos 
_anbihilated, into whatever surface figure you cut it, The story of 
- the tailor who took Gulliver’s measure by a quadrant, refers, we be- 
lieve, to a blunder made by Sir Isaac Newton’s printer, who, by 
carelessly adding a cipher to the astronomer’s computation of the 
~  ELL.V.8—10 


a et «x _ me et 
- ba y= i ae 


259 ‘CYCLOPADIA OF ~~ _ [ro 1876, 


- distanee between the sun and the-earth, had increased it to an 


enormous aiount, 
DR. ALEXANDER BAIN. : 
Treatises on ‘The Senses and the Intellect,’ 1855; ‘The Emotions 


and the Will,’ 1859; ‘ Mental and Moral Science,’ 1868; and ‘ Logic, © 


Deductive and Inductive,’ have been published by Dr. Baty, Pro- 
fessor of Logic in the unversity of Aberdeen. ‘These are able works, 
and Professor Bain has written various text-books on astronomy, 
electricity, meteorology, grammar, &c. The professor is a native of 
Aberdeen, born in 1818; in 1845-he was appointed to the Professor- 
ship of Natural Philosophy in the Andersonian University, Glasgow. 
In the latest work of Dr. Bain’s we have seen, ‘Mind and Body: 
Theories on their Relation,’ 1878, he gives an account of the various 
theories of the soul, and the general laws of alliance of mind and 
body. 

‘The arguments for the two substances have, we believe, now en- 


tirely lost their validity: they are no longer compatible with ascer- © 


tained science and clear thinking. The one substance with two sets 
of properties, two sides, the physical and the mental—a doudle-faced 
unty—would appear to comply with ail the exigencies of the case. 
We are to deal with this, as in the language of the Athanasian creed, 


not confounding the persons, nor dividing the substance. The mind 


is destined to be a double study—to conjoin the mental philosopher 
with the physical philosopher; and the momentary glimpse of Aris- 
totle is at last converted into a clear and steady vision.’ 


-~ 


ROBERT STEPHENSON. 


‘This eminent engineer, son of George Stephenson 5 
Willington, December 16, 1803. He was edsicatee partie ite ie 
versity of Edinburgh, and early displayed a decided inclination for 
mechanics and science. He laboured successfully to bring the rail- 
way locomotive to its present perfection. To his genius and perse- 
verance, aided by the practical knowledge of Mr. (afterwards Sir 
William Fairbairn), we also owe the principle of the tubular bridge. 
characterised as ‘ the greatest discovery in construction in our day.’ 
At the Menai Strait, two spaces of four hundred and sixty feet in 
width are spanned by these iron tubes. The hieh-level bridge over 
the Tyne’at Newcastle, the viaduct (supposed to be the largest in the 
world) over the Tweed valley at Berwick, and the Victoria tubular 
bridge over the St. Lawrence, near Montreal, are among the most 
celebrated of Mr. Stephenson’s works. He was also largely engaged 
in foreign railways. Like his father, he declined the honour of 
knighthood. Mr. Stephenson was author of a work ‘On the Loco- 
motive Steam-engine,’ and another ‘On the Atmospheric Railway 
System.’ He died October 12, 1859, and was buried in Westminster 
Abbey. It is worth noting, that as Lardner predicted that no steam- 


ot ie ha 


STEPHENSON. ( ENGLISH LITERATURE. R38 
vessel could cross the Atlantic, Stephenson considered that the Suez 
Canal was an impossibility. ‘I have surveyed the line; | have trav- 
elled the whole distance on foot; and I declare there is no fall be- 
tween the two seas. A canal is impugsible; the thing would be only 
a ditch!’ 

SIR WILLIAM FAIRBAIRN. 

Some valuable works on the use of iron and engineering operations 
have been published by Sir WiLLIAM Farrpairn, Bart. Among 
these are ‘ Millsand Mill-work;’ ‘Iron, its History and Manufacture; ’ 
‘Application of Iron to Building Purposes;’ ‘lron Ship-building;’ 
&ec. Sir William was a native of Kelso, Roxburghshire, born in 1739. 
He was long established in Manchester, and engaged in various pub- 
lic works. In the construction of the tubular bridge across the 
Menai Strait, he was of great service to the engineer, Mr. Robert 
Stephenson, and has drawn up ‘ Useful Information for Engineers,’ 
as to the strength of iron, iron ship-building, the collapse of tubes, 
&c. Thiseminent engineer was chiefly self-taught. He died August 
18, 1874. 

SIR CHARLES WHEATSTONE. 


In the application of electricity to the arts, CHARLES WHEATSTONE 
—born at Gloucester in 1802 has been highly distinguished. The 
idea of the electric telegraph had been propounded in the last 
century, but it was not practically realised until the year 1837. The 
three independent inventors are Mr. Morse of the United States, M. 
Steinheil of Munich, and Mr. Wheatstone. Of these, the last has 
shown the greatest perseverance and skill in overcoming difficulties. 
To Wheatstone we also owe the invention of the stereoscope—that 
beautiful accompaniment to art and nature. Professor Forbes says: 
‘Although Mr. Wheatstone’s paper was published in the ‘ Philosophi- 
cal Transactions’ for 1838, and the stereoscope became at that time 
known to men of science, it by no means attracted for a good many 
years the attention which it deserves. It is only since it received a 
convenient alteration of form—due, I believe, to Sir David Brewster 
—by the substitution of lenses for mirrors, that it has become the popu- 
lar instrument which we now sec it, but it isnot more suggestive than 
it always was of the wonderful adaptations of the sense of sight.” 
The electric telegraph, however, is the great source of Wheatstone’s 
fame; and the late President of the Royal Society, the Marquis of 
Northampton, on presenting him with the Society’s medal in 1840, 
said the honour had-been conferred ‘for the science and ingenuity 
by which Professor Wheatstone had measured electrical velocity, 
and by which he had also turned his acquaintance with galvanism 
to the most important practical purposes.’ His services to science 
were further acknowledged by Her Majesty conferring upon him the 
honour of knighthood (1868), and the university of Edinburgh 
awarding him the honorary degree of LL.D, 


i? ~ p See = ; oa wg ee a PS pee 2 Se we ete ey . 
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284. ae CYCLOP AUDIALOT 3 aes [To 1876. ~ “a 
3 “3 — 
DR. BUCKLAND—SIR. CHARLES LYELL, ETC. ok a : 
Geology has had a host of discoverers and illustrators. Oneof-  — 
the earliest of English geologists was Mr. WiLLIAM Sirs, who — 
published his ‘Tabular View oi the British Strata’ in 1790, and con- 
structed a geo. »gical map of England in 1815... He had explored the 
whole country on foot. The first of the prize-medals of the Geolog- 
ical Society was awarded to that gentleman in 18381, ‘in considera- 
tion,’ as stated, ‘of his being a great original discoverer in English 
geology, and especially for his having been the first in this country 
to discover ang to teach the identification of strata, and to determine 
their succession by means of their imbedded fossils.’ * 
The Rev. Dr. Buck LanpD (1784-1856), by his ‘ Vindicise Geo- 
logicee,’ 1820, and ‘ Reliquiz Diluvianee,’ 18238, and by various con- 
tributions to the Geological Society, awakened public interest to the 
claims of thic science, although he advocated the old hypothesis of 
the universality of the deluge, which he abandoned in his ‘ Bridge- 
water ‘Ireatisc’ of 1836. His ‘Geology and Mineralogy’ was re- 
“printed in 1858, with additions by Professors Owen and Phillips, 
and a memoir of the author by his son, Mr. Francis T. Buckland. 
‘The indomitable energy of Buckland, in pursuing his researches and - 
collecting specimens of organic remains, is brought out fully in this 
memoir, with an account of his exertions to procure the endowment 
of a Readership in Geology at Oxford, which he accomplished in 
1819. His invaluable museum he bequeathed to the university. It 
may be noted, also, that the glacial theory, illustrated by Agassiz 
and Professor James Forbes, was first promulgated by Dr. Buck-- 
land, who travelled over the north of England and the wilds of Scot- 
land for proofs of glacial action. Sir Robert Peel rewarded the 
labours of this ardent man of science by procuring his appointment 
to the ‘deanery of Westminster. In its now revised and improved 
form, with additional plates of organic remains, Buckland’s ‘ Geol- 
ogy and Mineralogy’ is the best general work on this interesting- 
study. Previous to its first publication, Mr., afterwards Sim ~ 
CHARLES LyELL, had published ‘ Principles of Geology, being - 
an Attempt to Explain the former Changes of the Earth’s Sur- 
face by a Reference to Causes now in operation, two volumes, 
1830-32. Additions and corrections have been made from time to 


\ 
A 
- 


eT eee ee ee Te eC ae ee we ee Oe 


* This, however. had been clearly indicated more than a century before by the 
mathematician and natural philosopher, Dr. RoBERT HooKE (1635-1703 ) In alec= 
ture dated 1488, and published in Hooke’s posthumous works. there occurs this strik- 
ing prophetic passage; ‘ However trivial a thing a rotten shell may appear to some, 
yet these monuments of nature are more certain tokens of antiquity than coims OF 
medals. since the best of those may be counterfeited or made by artand design; - + « 
and though it must be granted that it is very difficult to read them—the records of 
naturs—and to raise a chronology out.of them. and to state the intervals of time 
wherein such or such catastrophe and mutations have happened, yet it is not impos- 
sible. See Lyell’s. Prine7ples. vol. i.. in which the history of geological science 18 
traced. Also Conybeare’s Outiines of the Geo ogy of England and Wales. 


ih Scale tad 


= 


LYELL. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. |. 285 
time, and the eighth edition of the ‘Principles,’ entirely revised, 1850, 
is a very complete and interesting work. But though introducing 
recent facts, Sir Charles still adhered to his original theory, that the 
forces now operating upon and beneath the earth’s surface, are the 
same both in kind and degree with those which, at remote epochs, 
have worked out geological revolutions ; or, in other words, that we 
may dispense with sudden, violent, and general catastrophes, and 
regard the ancient and present fluctuations of the inorganic world ag 
belonging to one continuous and uniform series of events. 

In 1838 Sir Charles published his ‘ Llements of Geology,’ since en- 
larged to two volumes. He is author also of ‘Travels in North 
America, with Geological Observations on the United States, Cana- 
da, and Nova Scotia,’ two volumes, 1845; and ‘Second Visit to the 
United States of America im 1845,’ two volumes, 1849. These are’ 
agreeable as well as instructive volumes, for Sir Charles was an ac- 
-complished literary artist, without betraying art in his composition. 
-This eminent geologist was a niativeof the county of Forfar, born 


- November 14, 1797, son of a Scottish. landed proprietor of the same 


name. He was created a baronetin 1864; and received the honorary 
degree of D.C.L. from the University of Oxford. His great work, 
*The Principles of Geology,’ first elevated geology to the dignity of 
a science, and his latest important work on the ‘ Antiquity of Man,’ 
1863, has also had great influence on the thought and speculation of 
the present generation. Sir Charles died 22d January 1875, and was 
interred in Westminster Abbey. 
Geology Compared to History. 


We often discover with surprise, on looking back into the chronicles of nations, 
how the fortune of some battle has influenced the fate of millions of our contempo- 
rarics, when it has lone’ been forgotten. by the mass of the population. With this 
remote event, we may find inseparably connected the geographical boundaries of a 
gr at state, the language now spoken by the inhabitants, their peculiar manners, 
Jaws, and religious opinions. But far more astonishing and unexpected are the con- 

_nections brought to light, when we carry back our researches into the history of 
nature. The form of a coast, the configuration of the interior 6f a country, the ex- 
istence and extent of lakes, valleys, and mountains can often be traced tothe former 
prevalence of earthquakes and volcanoes in regions which have long been undis- 
turbed. ‘To these remote convulsions, the present fertility of some districts, the 
sterile character of others, the elevation of land above the sea, the climate, and various 
peculiarities, may be distinctly referred. On the other hand, many distinguishing 
features of the surface may often be ascribed to the operation, at a remote era, of 
slow :n1 tranquil causes—to the gradual deposition of sediment in a lake or in the 
ocean, or to the prolific increase of testacea and corals, 

To select arother example; we find in certain localities subterranean deposits of 


- coal, consisting of vezetable matter formerly drifted into seas and lakes. These seas 


and iakes have sinee been filled up: ihe lands whereon the forests grew have disap- 
appeared or changed their form; the rivers and currents which flosted the vegetable 
masses can no Jonger be traced; avd the plants belonged to species which for ages 
have pissed away from the surface of our planet. Yet the commercial prosperity 
and numerical strength of a wafion may now be mainly dependent ou the local dis- 
tribution of fuel determined by that ancient state of things. 

Geology is intimately related to almost all the physical sciences, as history is to 


~ the moral. A historian should, if },oasible, be at once profoundly acquainted with 


ethics, politics, jurisprudence, the military art, theology ; in aword, with all branches 


286 CYCLOPEDIA OF 


of knowledge by which any insight into human affairs, or into the moral and intel- 
lectual nature of man, can be obtained. — It would be no less desirable that a geologist 
should be well versed in chemistry, natural philosophy, mineralogy, zoology, compur-— 
ative anatomy, botany ; in short, in every science relating to organic aud inorganic 
nature. With these accomplishments, the historian and geologist would rarely fail 
to draw correct philosophical! conclusions from the various monuments transmit:ed 
to them of former occurrences. They would know to what combination of causes 
analogous effects were referrible, and they would often be enabled to supply, by in- 
ference, information concerning many events unrecorded in the defective archives of 
former ages. But as such exteusive acquisitions are scarcely withinthereachef any 
individual, it is necessary that men who have devoted their lives to different depart- 
ments should unite their efforts; and as the historian receives assistance from the anti- 
quary, and from those who have cultivated different branches of moral and political 
scieuce, so the geologist should avail himself of the aid of many naturalists, and par- 
ticularly of those who have studied the fossil remains of lost species of animals and 
plants. ; 

The analogy, however, of the monuments consulted in geology, and those avyaila- 
ble in history, extends no further than to one class of historical monuments—those 
which may be said to be undesignedly commemorative of former events. The ca- 
noes, for example, and stone hatchets found in our peat-bogs, afford an insight into 
the rude arts and manners of the earliest inhabitants of our island ; the buried coin 
fixes the date of the reign of some Roman emperor; the ancient encampment indi- 
cates the districts once occupied by invading armies, and the former method of con- 
structing military defences; the Egyptian mummies throw light on the art of em- 
balming, the rites of sepulture, or the average stature of the human race in ancient 
Egypt. This class of memorials yields to no other in authenticity, but it constitutes 
a small part only of the resources on which the historian relies, whereas in geology 
it forms the only kind of evidence which is at our command. For this reason we 
must not expect to obtain a full and connected account of any series of events beyond 
the reach of history. But the testimony of geological monuments, if frequently im- 
perfect, possesses at least the advantage of being free from all suspicion of misrep- 
resentation. We may be deceived in the inferences which we draw, in the same man-= 
ner as we often mistake the nature and import of phenomena observed in the daily 
course of nature, but our liability to err is confined to the interpretation, and, if this 
be correct, our information is certain. ’ 


The Great Earthquake of Lisbon in 1755. 


In no part of the voleanic region of Southern Europe has so tremendous an earth- 
quake-occurred in modern times as that which began on the Ist of November 1755 at 
Lisbon. <A. sound of thunder was heard underground, and immediately afterwards a 
violent shock threw down the greater part of that city. In the couvse of about six 
minutes, sixty thousand persons perished. The sea first retired and laid the bar Gry; 
it then rolled in, rising fifty feet above its ordinary level. The mountains of Arra- 
_bida, Estrella, Julio, Marvan, and Citra, being some of the largest in Portugal, were 

impetuously shaken, as it were, from their very foundations; and some of them 
opened at their sammits, which were split and rent in a wonderful manner, huge 
masses of them being thrown down into the subjacent valleys. Flames are related 
to have issued from these mountains, which are supposed to have been electric ; they 
are also said to have smoked; but vast clouds of dust may have given rise to this 
appearance. 

‘he most extraordinary circumstance which occurred at Lisbon during the catas- 
trophe, was the subsidence of a new quay. built entirely of marble at an immense 
expense. A great concourse of people had collected there for safety, as a spot 
’ where they might be beyond the reach of falling ruins: but suddenly the quay sank 
down with all the people on it, and not one of the dead bodies ever floated to the sur- 
face. <A great number of boats and small vessels anchored near it, all full of peopte, 
were swallowed up as in a whirlpool, No fragments of these wrecks ever rose 
again to the surface, and the water in the p!ace where the quay had stood isstated. in 
muny accounts, to be unfathomable; but Whitehurst says he ascertained it to be one 


hundred fathoms. 4 
In this case, we must cither suppose that a certain tract sank down into a subter- 


eS he : Le, 
pret il z 


<7 7 °" 


\ LYELL} ENGLISH LITERATURE. 28% 
ranean hollow, which would cause a ‘fault’ in the strata to the depth of six hundred 
feet, or we may infer, as some ‘have Coue, from the entire disappearance of the subs 
siauces engulfed, that 1 chasm opened and closed again. Yet in adopting this latter 
hypothesis, we must suppose that the upper part of the chasm, to the depth of one 
hundred fathoms, remuined open atter the shock. According to the observations 
made at Lisbon, m 1837, by Mr. Sharpe, the destroying effects ef this earthquake 
were confined to the tertiary straia, and were most violcnt on the blue clay, on which 
the lower part of the city is constructed. Nota building, he says, on the secondary” 
limestone or the basalt was injured. : : 

‘he great area over which this Lisbon earthquake extended is very remarkable. 
The movement was most violent in Spain, Portugal, and the north of Africa; but 
nearly the whole of Europe, and even the West Indies, felt the shock on the same 
day. A seuport called St. Ubes, about twenty miles south of Lisbon, was engulfed, 
At Algiers and Fez, in Africa, the agitation of the earth was equaily violent; and at 
the distance of eight leagues from Morocco, a village with the inhabitants to the 
number of about eight or ten thousand persons, together with all their cattle, were 
swallowed up. Soon after, the earth closed again over them. ° 
he shock was felt at sea, on the deck of a ship to the west of Lisbon, and pro. 

-duced very much the same sensation as on dry land. Off St. Lucar, the captain -of 
the ship Nancy felt his vessel so violently shaken, that he thought she had struck the 
ground, but, on heaving the lead, found a great depth of water. Captain Clark, from 
Denia, in latitude 36° 24’ N., between nine and ten in the morning, had his ship 
shaken and strained as if she had struck upon a rock. Another ship, forty leagues 
west of St. Vincent, experienced so violent a concussion, that the men were thrown a 
foot and a half perpendicularly up from the deck. In Antigua and Barbadoes, as 
also in Norway, Sweden, Germany, Holland, Corsica, Switzerland, and Italy, tremors 
and slight oscillations of the ground were felt. 

The agitation of lakes, rivers, and springs in Great Britain was remarkable. At 
Loch Lomond, in Scotland, for example, the water, without the least apparent cause, 
rose against its banks, and then subsided below its usuai level. The greatest per- 
dicular height of this swell was two feet four inches. It is said that the movement 
of th's earthquake was unduiatory, and that it travelled at the rate of twenty miles a. 
minute. <A great wave swept over the coast of Spain, and is said to have been sixty 
feet high at Cadiz. At Tangier, in Africa, it rose and fell eightecn times on the coast; 
at Funchal, in Madeira, it rose full fifteen feet perpendicular above high-water 
mark, although the tide, which ebbs and flows there seven feet, was then at half-ebb, 
Besides entering the city and committing great havoc, it overflowed other seaports in 
the island. At Kinsale, in Ireland, a body of water rushed into the harbour, whirled 
round several vessels, and poured into the market-place. 

It was before stated that the sea first retired at Lisbon; and this retreat of the 
ocean fromthe shore at the commencement of an earthquake, and its subsequent re~ 
turnin a violent wave, is acommon occurrence, In order to account for the phe- 
nomenon, Michell imagined a subsidence at the bottom of the sea from the giving 
way of the roof of some cavity, in consequence of a vacuum produced by the con- 
densation of steam. Such condensation, he observes, might be the first effect of 
the introduction.of a large body of water into fissures and cavities already filled 
with steam, before there had been sufficient time for the heat of the incandescent 
lava to turn so large a supply of water into steam, which, being soon accomplished, 
causes 2 greater explosion. 

Geolosical ‘Notes’ and ‘Sections’ were published in 1850 by Sra 

_ Henry '‘ToHomas Dn La Becue (1796-1855), and in 1882 a ‘ Manual of 
Geology.’ But his most valuable work is ‘How to Observe: Geol- 
ogy,’ 1885. In 1851 Sir Henry published another work of the same 
‘kind, ‘ The Geological Observer.’ Dr. Grpreon ALGERNON MANTELL 
(1788-1852), an English physician, in 1852 published ‘ The Fossils of 
the South Downs,’ which appeared simultaneously with the great 
work of Cuvier and Brongniart on the Geology of the Environs of 


Paris, and described also many of the organic remains of the chalk. 


283 - CYCLOPEDIA OF. _ [0 1876, 


Dr. Mantell was the original demonstrator of the fresh-water 
origin of the mass of Wealden beds, and the discoverer of the 
mouster reptile Jywanodon, and other colossal allies. This emi- 


nent paleontologist was author of two popular works—‘ The-Me- — 


dals of Creation,’ and ‘The Wonders of Geology.” Dr. JoHN PyE 
Smitry (1774-1857), in his work ‘On the Relation between the Holy 
Scriptures and some parts of Geological Science,’ 1839, and the dis- 
tinguished American geologist, Dr. Epwarp H1rcncock, in his 
‘ Elementary Geology,’ 1841, anticipated the views of Hugh Miller 
and others as to the interpretation of.the Mosaic account of the crea- 
tion and deluge—the latter being local, not universal. With respect 
to the deluge, Dr. Pye Smith forcibly remarks: ‘ All land-animals 
having their geographical regions, to which their constitutional na- 
tures are congenial—many of them+being unable to live in any other 
situation—we cannot represent to ourselves the idea of their being 
brought into one small spot from the polar regions, the torrid zone, 


and all the other climates of Asia, Africa, Europe, and-America, ~ 


Australia and the thousands of islands—their preservation and pro- 
vision, and the final disposal of them—without bringing up the 
idea of miracles more stupendous than any that are recorded in 
Scripture.’ 

The Rey. Dr. Henry Duncan (1774-1846) of Ruthwell, in Dum- 
friesshire, is known as the founder of savings-banks in this country, 
and he was the first to discover the footprints of animals, supposed to 
be tortoises, on sandstone rocks in a quarry in Dumfriesshire. Dr. 
Buckland, who followed up the search for fossil remains with so 
much ardour, beautifully remarks of these ‘footsteps before the 


flood: ‘The historian may have pursued the line of march of tri- 


umphant conquerors whose armies trampled down the most mighty 
kingdoms of the world. The winds and storms have utterly oblit- 
erated the ephemeral impressions of their course. Nota track re- 
mains of a single foot, or a single hoof of all the countless millions of 
men and beasts whose progress spread desolation over the earth. But 
the reptiles that craw'ed upon the half-finished surface of our infant 
planet, have left memorials of their passage enduring and indelible » 


SIR RODERICK ¥F. MURCHISON, 


Sir RopEerick Impey MuRcuHISsON simplified and extended the sci- 
ence of geology, and proved one of its most indefatigable explorers, 
In the districts of Hereford, Radnor, and Shropshire, large masses of 
gray-coloured strata rise out from beneath the Old Red Sandstone; 


and these rocks contain fossils differing from any which were known | 


in the upper deposits. Sir Roderick began to classify these rocks, 
and after four years’ labour, he assigned to them (1835) the name of 
the Silurian System, as occupying the ancient Roman province of Si- 
aria. ‘ Having first, in the year 1883,’ says Sir Roderick, ‘separated 


- MURCHISON.] © -ENGLISH LITERATURE. 289 


_these-deposits into four formations, and shewn that each is charac- 
terized by peculiar organic remains, I next divided them (1854-35) 
Into a lower and upper group, both of which, I hoped, would be 
found applicable to wide regions of the earth. After eight years of 
labour in the field and the closet, the proofs of the truth of these 
views were more fully published in the work entitled “The Silurian 
System, - 1839.’ A iurther explanation of this system, embodying 
later researches, was published by the author in 1854. entitled ‘Sila 
ria, the History of the Oldest Known Rocks containing Organic Re- 
mains. 

The Lower Silurian Rocks. 


The geologist appeals to the book of nature, where its leaves have undergone 
no great alterations He sees before him an enormous pile or series of early 
subaqueous sediment originally composed of mud, sand, or pebbles, the succes- 
sive bottoms of a former sea, all of which have been derived from pre-existing 
rocks; and in these lower beds, even where they are little altered, he can detect 
no remains of former creatures. But lying upon them, and therefore evolved 
after, other strata succeed, in which some few relics of a primeval ocean are 
discernible, and these again are everywhere succeeded by newer deposits in 
which many fossils occur. In this way evidences have been fairly obtained, to 
shew that the sediments which underlie the strata containing the lowest fossil 
remains constitute,in all countries which have been examined, the natural 
base or bottom rocks of the deposits termed Silurian, 


In France, Germany, Spain, and the Mediterranean, in Scandinavia 
and Russia, the same basis has been found for higher fossiliferous 
rocks. Many years were spent by Sir Roderick. accompanied part 
of the time by Professor Sedgwick, in Russia and other countries in, 
geologic explorations; and in 1846 he published ‘The Geology of 
Russia in Europe and the Ural Mountains,’ in which he was assisted 
-by E. de Verneuil and Count A. von Keyserling. Sir Roderick is 
author of about a hundred separate memoirs, presented to scientific 
societies, and he had the merit of pointing out the aiporae fact 
that gold must exist in Australia. This was in 1844, after inspect- 
ing some specimens of Australian rocks brought to this country by 
Count Streleczki, and comparing them with those of the auriferous 
_Ural Mountains with which he was personally well acquainted. His 
observations were printed the same year (1844) in the journal of the 
Royal Geographical Society. Two years afterwards, at a geological 
meeting in Penzance, Sir Roderick urged the superabundant Cornish 
tin-miners to emigrate to the colony of New South Wales, and there 
obtain go:d from the alluvial soil in the same manner as they ex- 
tracted tin from the gravel of their native country. Again, in the 
year 1846, when some specimens of Australian gold ore were sent to 
him, he addressed a letter to Earl Grey, then secretary for the colo- 
nies, stating his views as to the existence of rich gold-fields in the 
colony.* Sir Roderick also predicted (1854) that ‘the present large 
flow of gold into Europe from those tracts will begin to diminish 


F =< Hargrave’s Australia andits Goldfields, 1855 


290 . _CYCLOPADIA OF © [ro 1876, 


_ Within a comparatively short period’—a result of which we have as 


yet no indication. 
The Relative Value of Gold and Silver. 


The fear that gold may be greatly depreciated in value relatively to silver—a fear 
which may have seized upon the minds of some of my readers—is unwarranted by the 
data registered in the crust of tne earth. Gold is, after all, by far the most restricted 
—in its native distribution—of the precious metals. Silver and argentiferous lead, on 
the contrary, expand so largely downwards into the bowels of the rocks, as to lead us 
to believe that they must yield enormous profits to the skilful miner for ages to come ; 
and the more so in proportion as better machinery and new inventions shal] Jessen 
the difficulties of subterranean mining. It may, indeed, well be doubted whether the 
quantities of gold and silver, procurable from regions unkrown to our progenitors, 
will prove more than sufficient to meet the exigencies of an enormously increased 


population and our augmenting commerce and luxury. But this is pot a theme for a 


veologist ; and I would simply say, that Providence seems to have originally adjusted 
the relative value of these two precious metals, and that their relatious, having re- 
mained the same for ages, will long survive all theories. Modern science, instead of 
contradicting, only confirms the truth of the aphorism of the pa'riarch Job. which thus 
shadowed forth the downward persistence of the one and the superficial distribution 


bf the other: ‘Surely there is a vein tor thesilver.... Theearth hath dust of gold.’ . 


Sir Roderick Murchison was by birth a Scottish Highlander, born 
at Tarradale, Ross-shire—of which his father, Dr. Murchison, was 
proprietor—in 1792. He served from 1807 to 1816 in the army, lat- 
_ terly as captain in the 6th Dragoons. He was knighted in 1£46, and 
the emperor of Russia conferred upon him the Grand Cross of the 
Order of St. Stanislaus, with other marks of distinction. He was 
‘some years Secretary to the Royal Geological Society, and’ twice 
elected president. He was also President of the Geographical Soci- 
ety, occupying the chair until a short time before his death. He 
_took the liveliest interest in all geographical discoveries, and his an- 
nual addresses to the society wee full of information and interesting 
facts. A baronetcy was conferred upon Sir Roderick in 1866. He 
died October 22,.1870. A copious life of Sir Roderick was published 
by his friend Professor Geikie, two volumes, 1875, from which we 
give two short extracts: 
Hint to Geologists. 
If it be true. as Bacon asserted, that ‘ writing maketh an exact man,’ it is no less 
true that mapping makes an exact geologist. Without this kind of training, it isnot 
‘easy to grasp accurately the details of geological structure, and hence the literature 
of the science is sadly overloaded with papers and books which, had their authors 
enjoyed this preliminary discipline, would either not have been written, or would at 
least have been more worthy of perusal. Murchison wisely resolved not to trust 
merely to eye and memory, but to record what he saw~as.accurately as he could 
upon maps. And there can be no doubt that by so doing he gave his work a preci- 
sion and harmony which it could never have otherwise possessed, and that, even 
though still falling into some errors, he was enabled to get a firmer hold of the 
structure of the country wh‘ch he had_resolved to master than he could have ob- 
~ tained in any other way. For, to make his maps complete, he was driven to look 
into all manner of out-of-the-way nooks and corners, with which, but for that 
necessity, he might have been little likely to make acquaintance. It often happeus 
that in such half-hidden places—the course of a mountain torrent. the bottom of a 
tree-shaded ravine, the gully cut by the frosts and rains of centuries from the face 
af alonely hill-side—lies the key to the geological structure of the neighbourhood. 


* oe 


. 
ws! 


< 


~ ‘ 


SEDGWICK. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 294 
In pursuit of his quest. therefore, the geologist is driven to double back to and fro 
over tracts never trodden perhaps by the ordinary tourist, but is many a time amply 
recompensed by the unexpected insight which this circuitous journeying gives him 
into the less obtrusive beauties of the landscape. 


Proposed Purchase of the Island of Staffa. 


Among the miscellaneous correspondence which the President of the Geological: 


Society carried on, was one regarding a proposed purchase of the island of Staffa. 
It was represented urgently to Murchison that as the island was likely to come into 
the market, no more fitting purchaser could be found than the Geological Society of 
London, and that in the hands of that learned body it would remain as a perpetual 
monument consecrated to the progress of science. It is needless to say that this pro- 
ject never took shape. ‘There is little sympathy in Britain with any such fanciful 
notions regarding the acquireient of places of. great natural interest by the State 
or learned societies for the good of the country, and in.the cause of scientific pro- 
gress. Forttnately that fairy island is too small and too barren to warrant the cost of 
protectii.g walls and notices to trespassers, and its wonders are of too solid and en- 
during a nature to be liab.e to effacement by the ruthless curiosity of the British 
tourist. And so it stands amid the lone sea, open to all comers, lifting its little car- 
pet of bright green above the waves which have tunnelled its piilared cliffs, and 
pease aoe ceaselessly destroying and renewing the beauty of the sculpture they have 
revealed. : 


PROFESSOR SEDGWICK. 


The Rev. ApAm SEpGwick endeavoured to substantiate a lower 
and still older section of rocks than the Silurian—a slaty formation, 
in part fossiliferous, and of enormous thickness. He applies to this 
the term ‘Cambrian.’ The system has, however, met with a dubious 
acceptance, Sir Roderick Murchison contending that the Cambrian 


- yocks-are not inferior in position to the lowest stratified rocks of his 


Silurian region of Shropshire and the adjacent parts of Montgomery- 
shire, but are merely extensions of the same strata. Mr. Sedgwick 
was born at Dent, Yorkshire, about the year 1787; in 1809 he was 
admitted to a Fellowship in Trinity College, Cambridge, and in 1818 
was appointed Woodwardian Professor of Geology. He is author of 
‘A Synopsis of the Classification of the British Paleozoic Rocks, 
&c., two volumes, quarto, and ‘ A Discourse on the Studies of the 


University of Cambridge,’ 1850, which was directed against the utili- 


tarian theory of morals, as not merely false in reasoning, but as pro- 
ducing a degrading effect on the temper and conduct of those who 
adopt it. Professor Sedgwick closed his honored life at Cambridge 
in 1873. 

PROFESSOR OWEN. 

TRiemarp Owen, the great naturalist and anatomist, was, like his 
contemporary, Frofessor Whewell, a native of Lancaster. When a 
mer: boy, he was put to sea as a midshipman, but his nautical career 
was avery brief one. In his twentieth year we find him at Edin- 
burgh University, and in the year following he was a student at St. 
Bartholomew’s Hospital, London. He became a member of the 
College of Surgeons, but his professional prospects were so discoura- 
ging that he resolved on re-enteling the navy. He was dissuaded 
from this step by Abernethy, the famous surgeon—-rough, kind- 


Se SU ss 2 = x xX 4 ay } 


~ — s £ es 


292 CYCLOPAEDIA OF . fro 1876, 
hearted, and eccentric—and Abernethy procured for him the ap- 
-pointment of colleague or assistant to Mr. Clift, the curator of the 
Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons. In this capacity, he had 
to prepare a catalogue of the great museum of John Hunter, which, 
had come into the possession of the College of Surgeons. ‘In order,’ 
it is said, ‘to identify the specimens in the Hunterian eollection, h¢ 
was obliged in a large number of cases to dissect and examine fresli. 
specimens. In this manner, volume after volume of the catalogué 
appeared, til] at the end of thirty years the whole was printed—a 
work-of scarcely inferior value and importance to the museum itself: 


. this catalogue which involved the examination of nearly four thou- 


sand specimens, was illustrated by seventy-eight plates.* This 
great achievement led a contemporary to say: ‘Cuvier, with an 
instinctive prescience, asks, ‘‘ Why should not natural history 
one’ day have its Newton?” and the best proof of the reasona- 
bleness of that question we hold to be the success which 
has attended the last researches of Cuvier’s English successor, 
justly styled by Humboldt ‘‘le plus grand anatomiste de son 
siecle”’ (‘Quarterly Review).’ In 1834 Mr. Owen was appointed 
public lecturer to the chair of Comparative Anatomy and Physiology 
in the College of Surgeons. In 1855 he became superintendent or 
chief of the Natural History department of the British Museum (which 
includes zoology, geology, and mineralogy); and his lectures on pale- 
ontology, on physiology, on extinct animals, &c., have been as popu- 


lar as they are valuable. ‘From the sponge to man, he has thrown 


light over every subject he has touched ’—and the number of subjects 
is almost incredible. His contributions to scientific journals, and 


his separate works, amount together to above three hundred! Among 


these we may note—‘ Memoir on the Pearly Nautilus,’ 1832; ‘ Cata- 
logue of the Physiological Series of Comparative Anatomy,’ five 


vclumes, 1833-1840; ‘The Fossil Mammalia collected on the Voyage — 


of the Beagle,’ 1840; ‘Odontography, or a Treatise on the Compara- 
tive Anatomy of the Teeth,’ two volumes, 1840-1845; ‘The Extinct 
Gigantic Sloth,’ 1842; ‘ Lectures on the Comparative Anatomy and 
Physiology of the Invertebrate and Vertebrate Animals,’ two volumes, 
1843-1846; ‘History of British Fossils, Mammals and Birds,’ 1846; 


‘A History of British Fossil Reptiles,’ five parts, 1840-1851; ‘On- 
Paleontology’ and ‘On the Megatherium,’ 1860; ‘On the Gorilla.’ _ 


1865; ‘On the Dodo,’ 1866; ‘Zoology, or Instructions for Collecting 
and Preserving Animals,’ 1849; and the articles on Zoology, Com- 
parative Anatomy, and Physiology, in Brande’s ‘ Dictionary of Sci- 
ence; &c. Professor Owen’s researches and discoveries in compara- 
tive anatomy are believed to ‘form his chief claim to the admiration 
and gratitude of the civilised world.’ In this field, his sagacity, or 
rather his genius, in hypothesis and generalisation are pre-emi- 


— 


——_ 


* Memoir of Owen in Kuight’s Cyclopedia ef Biography, 


OO” ; et ada FL Perey ~’ at lot? = a? 3 at a ~~ - - — * bcd 
SS St UT Sts uals is : - ie ae rh oe get ae 
a SS = ae N 


OWEN} _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 293 


~ 


nent, and have had no parallel since ’Cvfvier. One instance of 


this,.the discovery of a fragment of the femur or thigh-bone of an 
unknown animal from New Zealand, excited much interest. A seaz 
faring mau brought this piece of bone, as he said, from New Zea- 
land, and offered it for sale. It was taken to Professor Owen, ‘ who 


-having looked at it carefully, thought it right to investigate it more 


narrowly; and after much consideration, he ventured to-pronounce 
his opinion “This opinion from almost anybody else would shave 
been, perhaps, only laughed at; for, in the first place, he said that 
the bone (big enough to suggest thit it belonged to an ox) had be- 
longed to a bird; but before people had had time to recover from 
their surprise at this announcement, they were greeted by another as- 
sertion yel more startling—namely, that it had been a bird without 
wings! The incredulity and doubt with which the opinion was re- 
ceived was too great for a time even for the authority of Professor 


' Owen entirely to dispel. But mark the truthfulness of a real science; 


contemplate the exquisite beauty and accuracy of relation in nature! 


By-and-by a whole skeleton was brought over to this country, when 
the opinion of the Professor was converted into an established fact.’* 
A series of-monographs on similar gigantic birds was published by 
Professor Owen, and fossils from Australia of gigantic marsupials, 


resembling in type those at present existing there. Besides his strictly 
oOo ce) J 


_ scientific investigations, Professor Owen has assisted in public and 


benevolent labours—in inquiries into the health of towns, in the or- 
ganisation of the Great Exhibition of 1851, as well as of the Paris 
Exhibition, and in various other efforts for the benefit of society. 
Honours at home and abroad have been showered on the philosophic 
worker, and in his native country all classes, from the sovereign 


‘downwards, are proud of his name and fame. 


We subjoin an extract from the ‘ Historv of British Fossils, Mam- 
mals and Birds,’ 1846. When Cuvier found that the remains of the 
elephants which are scattered over Europe in the unstratified superficial 
deposits, were specifically different from the tecth and bones of the 
two known existing elephants, ‘this fundamental fact,’ says Profes- 
sor Owen, ‘opened up to him new views of the theory of the earth, 
and a rapid glance, guided by the new and pregnant idea, over other . 
fossil bones, made him anticipate all that he afterwards proved, and 
determined him to consecrate to this great work the future years of 
his life.’ This was in 1796, and fortunately Cuvier survived till 1882, 
and had in Owen a worthy successor. 


*Macliwain’s Life of Abernethy. A writer in the Quarterly Review for March 


» 1852, confirms the statement: ‘We well remember seving this fraginent of the shaft 


of a femur when it first arrived, and hearing the opinion of the Professor (Owen) as 
to the bird to which it mu-t have belonged. He took a piece of paper : ni drew the 
outline of what he conceived to be the complete bone. The fragment. trom. which 


- alone he deduced his conclusions, was six inches in length, and five inch+s and a half 


in itssmallest circumference: both extremities had been broken off. Who2n a perfect 


_ bone arrived, and was laid on the paper, it fitted the outline exactly.’ __ 


4s 


— 


204 . CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876) 


<a ~ 


The British Mammoth. 


Most of the Jargest and best preserved tusks of the British mammoth have been 
dredged up from submerged drift, near the coasts. In 1827, an enormous tusk was 
landed at Ramsgate: although the hollow implanted base was wauting, it still mea- 
sured nine feet in length, and its greatest diameter was eight inches ; the outer crust _ 
was decomposed into thin layers, and the interior portion had been reduced to a soft 
substance resembling putty. <A tusk, likewise much decayed, which was dredged up 
off Dungeness, measured eleven feet in length; and yielded some pieces of ivory fit 
for mfuafacture, Captain Byam Martin, who has recorded this and other discoy- 
eries of remains of the mammoth in the British Channel in the ‘Geological Transac- 
tious,’ procured a section of ivory uear the alveolar cavity of the Dungeness tusk, of 
un eval form, measuring nineteen inches in circumference. A tusk dredved up 
from the Goodwin Sands, which measured six feet six inches in length, and tweive- 
inches in greatest circuinference, probably belonged to a female manimeth : Captain 
Martin describes its curvature as being equal to.a semicirele turning outwards on its 
line of projection. This tusk was sent to a cutler at Canterbury, by whom it was 
sawn into five sections, but the interior was found to be fossilised and unfit for 
use; itis now in Captain Martin’s possession, ‘The tusks of the extinct elephant 
which have thus reposed for thousands of years in the bed of the ocean which 
washes the shore of Britain, are not always so altered by time and the action of sur- 
rounding influences as to be unfit for the purposes to which recent ivory is applied: 
Mr. Robert Fitch of Norwich possesses a segment of a mammoth’s tusk, which was 
dredged up by some Yarmouth fishermen off Scarborough, and which was so slightly 
altered in texture, that it was sawn up into as many portions as there were men in the 
boat, and each claimed his share of the valuable product. 

Of the tusks referable by their size to the female mammoth which have been dis- 
interred on dry land, I may cite the following instances: A tusk in the Museum of 
the Geological Society. from the lacustrine pleistocene bed exposed to the action of 
the sea on the coast of Essex at Walton, which measures five feet and a half in 
length ; and another from the same locality, in the possession of John Brown, Esq. 
of Stanway, Essex, which measures four feet in length. A tusk recently discoyvere 
near Barnstaple, on a bed of gravel, beneath a stratum of blue clay five feet deep, and 
one of yellow clay about six feet deep, with several feet of coarse gravel and soil 
above. This tusk was broken by the pickaxes of the men, but must have been about 
six feet in length; it had the grain and markings of ivory, but was reduced to the 
colour and consistency of horn, and retained a considerable degree of elasticity. . 

A very perfect specimen was dug np entire in 1842, twelve feet below the surface, 
out of the drift gravel of Cambridge ; it measured five feet in length. and two feet 
four inches across the chord of its curve, and cleven inches in circumference at the 
thickest part of its base; this tusk was purchased by the Royal College of Surgeons. 
The smaliest mammoth’s tusk which J have seen is in the museum of Mr, Wickham 
Flower; itis from the drift or ti] at Ilford, Essex, and has belonged to avery young 
mammoth; its length measured along the outer curve is twelve inches and a half, 
and the circumference of its base four inches. It has nevertheless been evidently put 
to use by the young animal, the tip having been obliquely worn. 

Mr. Robert Bald has de:cribed a portion of a mammoth’s tusk, thirty-nine 
inches Jong and thirteen inches in circumference, which was found imbedded in 
diluvial clay at Clifton Hall, between Edinburgh and Falkirk, fifteen or twenty feet 
from the present surface. Two other tusks of nearly the same size have been dis- 
covered at Kilmaurs in Ayrshire, at the depth of seventeen feet and a half from the 
surface, in diluvial clay. Thestate of preservation of these tusks was nearly equal 
to that of the fossil ivory of Siberia; that described by Mr. Bald was sold by the 
workmen who found it to an ivory-turner in Edinburgh for two pounds; it was 
sawn asunder to be made into chessmen. The tusks of the mammoth found in 
England are usually more decayed; but Dr. Buckland alludes to a tusk from argil- 
laceonus diluvium on the Yorkshire coast, which was hard enough to be used by the 
oe ee A portion of this tusk is now preserved in the museum at Bridling- 

on. > 2% 

The tusks of the mammoth are so well preserved in the frozen drift of Siberia, 

that they have long been couected in great numbers for the purposes of commerce. 


j 


» 


E LIoTsoN.y) © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 295 


In the account of the mammoth’s bones and teeth of Siberia, published more than 
a century ago in the ‘ Philosophical ‘Transactions,’ tusks are cited which weighed two 
hundred pounds each, and ‘are used as ivory, to make combs, boxes, and such 
other things; being but a little more brittle, and easily turning yellow by weather or 
heat.’ From that time to the present there has been no intermission in the supply 


~ of ivory furnished a by the extinct elephants of a former world. 


DR. CARPENTER—DR. ELLIOTSON. 


In physiology, Dr. WinutaM BensaMIn CARPENTER has. also 
earned distinction. His chief works are—‘ Principles of General 
and Comparative Physiology;’ ‘ Principles of Human Physiology; 
‘Vegetable Physiology and Botany;’ ‘ Zoology, and Instinct’ in 
“Animals; > “Popular Cyclopedia of Natural Science,’ seven volumes; 
‘Mechanical Philosophy;’ ‘On the Microscope;’ &e. These works 
were produced between 1839 and 1854, and most of them have gone 
through several editions. Mr. Morrell, in his ‘History 0 of Modern 
Philosophy,’ has said that Dr. Carpenter’ Ss works ‘ manifest some of 
the best qualities both of the thinker and the observer.’ The father 
of the physiologist, Dr. LANT CARPENTER (1780-1840), was a well- 
known Unitarian minister, and writer on education and theology. 
Dr. JOHN. ELLIOTSON, a London physician, in 1840 published ‘ Hu- 
man Physiology,’ and afterwards attracted attention by lectures on 
phrenology and mesmerism. He procured the establishment of a 
mesmeric hospital, and set up a periodical, * The Zoist,’ in support of 
his physiological opinions. Mr. Thackeray dedicates his novel of 
‘Pendennis’ to Dr. Elliotson, in acknowledgment of his medical 
skill, ‘ great goodness, and kindness,’ for which the physician would 
take no other fee but thanks. This kind physician died in 1858, aged 
eighty. 

HUGH MILLER. 


Asa eoptnat illustrator of geology, no author approaches HucH 
MILuER, the self-taught man of science and genius. He was a na- 
tive of Cromarty, born October 10, 1802. He was of a race of sea- 
faring men well to do in the world, who owned coasting-vessels, and 
buiit houses in the town of Cromarty. One of them had done a little 
in the way of bucanecring on the Spanish main. Most of them per- 
ished at sea, including Hugh’s father, who was lost in a storm in 
1807. By the aid of two maternal uncles, Hugh received the com- 
mon education of a Scottish country-schcol, and was put apprentice, 
_by his own desire, to’a stone-mason. His sensations and geological 
~ discoveries while toiling in the Cromarty quarries are beautifully 
told in the opening chapters of his work on the Old Red Sandstone. 
A life of toil, however, in such a sphere as this has its temptations, 
and the drinking usages of the masons were at that time carried to 
some excess. ~ Hugh Jearned to regard the ardent spirits of the dram- 
shop as high luxuries; they gave lightness and energy to both body 
and mind, ‘Usquebaugh,” he says, ‘was simply happiness doled 


206 _ 2 C¥CLOPAIDIA‘OF - © 2 fro 1896, 


‘out by the glass and sold by the gill.’ Soon, however, his better 
genius prevailed. ; . ; 


The Turning-point in Hugh Miller's Life. 


In-laying down the foundation-stone of one of the larger houses built this year 
by Uncle David and his partner, the workmen had a royal ‘founding pint,’ and two 
whole glasses of the whisky came to my share. <A full-grown man would not have 
deemed a gill of usquebaugh au dyerdose, but it was considerably too much for me ; 
and when the party broke up, and I got home to my books, I found, as I opened the 
pages of a favourite author, the letters dancing before my eyes, and that I could no 
Jonger master the sense. T have the volume at present before me—a small edition of 
the Essays of Bacon, a good deal worn at the corners by the friction of the pocket— 
for of Bacon I never tired. The condition into which 1] had brought myseif was,1 
fett, one of degradation. I had sunk, by my own act, for the time, to a lower. level 
of intelligence than that on which it was ny privilege to be placed; and though the 
state could have been no very favourable one for forming a resolution, I in that hour 
determined that I should never again sacrifice my capacity of intellectual enjoyment 
to a drinking usage; and, with God’s help, I was enabled to hold by the determina- 
tion. . .. I see, in looking back on this my first year of labour, a dangerous point, 


~- 


at which, in the attempt to escape from the sense of depression and fatigue, the 


craving appetite of the confirmed tippler might have been formed. 


This may be considered a grand epoch in the life of Miller. He 
had laid the foundation of a habit of virtuous self-derial and deci- 
sion of character, that was certain to bear precious fruits. Removing 
to Edinburgh for employment, he saw more of the habits of the 
working-men, and had to fight his way among rather noisy and 
intemperate associates. He found that mere intelligence formed no 
guard amongst them against intemperance or licentiousness, but it 
did form a not ineffectual protection against what are peculiarly the 
mean vices, such as theft, and the grosser and more creeping forms 
of untruthfulness and dishonesty. The following is another of his 
experiences: 

“Burns tells us that he ‘often courted the acquaintance of the part of mankind com* 
monly known by the ordinary phrase of b'ackguards, and that * though disgraced by 
follies, nay sometimes stained with guilt, he had yet found amongst them, in not a 
- few instances, some of the noblest virtues—magnanimity, generosity, disinterested 
friendship, and even modesty.’ [eannot say with the poet that I ever courted the 
acquaintance of blackguards ; but though the labouring-man may select his friends, 
he cannot choose his work-fellows; and so [have not unfrequently come in contact 
with blackguards, and have had opportunities of pretty thoroughly knowing them. 
And my experience of this class has been very munch the reverse of that of Burns. I 
have usually found their virtues of a merely theatric cast, and their vices real; much 
assumed generosity in some instances, but a callousness of feeling and meanness of 
spirit lying concealed beneath. 

Most men, we believe, will agree with the comment rather than 
the text, high as Burns’s authority is on questions of life and con- 
duct. No man saw more clearly or judged more rightly than Burns, 


ot sr eo 


Me) SU 


er a ee 


= 


| 
a 


when his passions were not present asa disturbing element; but in — 


this case the poet’s use of. the term ‘ blackguard,’ like Dr. Johnson’s 
use of the term ‘scoundrel,’ was perhaps comprehensive enough to 
include men worthy of a better designation. His experience was 


then limited and confined to a few companions. Men of the stamp - 


& 


oe ea ae - < :s ; " F 
wt << _ < : = ~ aE 


Mitige | > ENGLISH LITERATURE. 207 


“ alluded to are often ready to part with money if it does not directly 


‘interfere with their immediate gratification, and have an impulsive 


~ generosity of sentiment. But ‘ noble virrues* require prudence, self- 


control; regard for the feelings of ofhers, and steady intellectual cul- 
ture; and these cannot long co-exist with folly and sensuality. One 
wnust overpower the other—as in the forest the oak and the brush- 
wood rise together, and either the tree or the parasite soon asserts 
the superiority. Returning ta the north, Hugh Miller ventured on 
the publication of a volume of ‘ Poems, written in the Leisure Hours 


of a Journeyman Mason,’ 1829. The pieces occasionally rise above me- 


diocrity, and are always informed with fine feeling; bu! there is much 
more real poetry in his prose works. He next wrote some letters on 
the ‘Herring Fishing,’ descriptive of the fisher’s life at sea, and they 
shew his happy observant faculty, and his fine English. He had 
heen a diligent student of the best English authors, and was criti- 
eally exact and nice in his choice of language. . Mr. Miller was now 
too conspicuous to be much longer employed in hewing jambs or lin- 
tels, or even cutting inscriptions on tombstones, in which (like Telford 
the engineer in his early days) he greatly excelled. He carried on his 
a as studies and researches on the coast-lines of the Moray 
irth. 


The Antiquiiy of the Globe. 


T found that the caves hollowed by the surf, when the sea had stocd from fifteen 
to five-and-twenty feet above its present level, or, as I should perhaps say, when the 
land had stood that much lower, were deeper, on the average, by about one-third, 
than those caves of the present coast-line that are stijl in the course of being hol- 
lowed by the waves. And yet the waves have been breaking against the present 
coast-line during the whole of the historic period. The ancient wall of Antoninus, 
which stretched between the Firths of Forth and Clyde. was built at its terminations 
with reference to the existing levels; and ere Cesar lunded in Britain, St. Michael's 
Mount was connected with the. mainland as now, by a narrow neck of beach. Jaid 
bare by the ebb, across which, according to Diodorus Siculus, the Cornish miners 


» used to drive at low-water their carts laden with tin. If the sea has stood for two 
_ thousand six hundred years against the present coast-line—and no geologist would 


fix his estimate of the term lower—then must it have stood against the old line, ere 
it could have excavated caves one-third deeper than the modern ones, three thousand 
nine hundred years ; and both sums united more than exhaust the Hebrew chrouol- 
egy. Yet what a mere beginning of geologic history does not the epoch of the old 
coast-line form! Itis but a starting-point from the recent period. Nota single 
shell seems to have become extinct during the last Six thousand years. i 


The ancient deposits of the lias, with their mollusca, belemnites, 
ammonites, and nautili, had by this time overrun the province 
of the muses, and a momenclature very different from poetical 
diction had to be studied. ‘Theological controversy also broke in; 
and as Miller was always stout on the score of polemics, and withal 
sufficiently pugnacious, he mingled freely in local church disputes, 
the forerunners of a national ecclesiastical struggle, in which he was 
also to take a prominent part. The Reform Bill gave fresh scope 
for activity, and Miller was zealous on the popular side. He was 


elected a member of the town-council of Cromarty, and attended at 


Ss . et - SRA, — 


298 CYCLOPADIA OF _ [ro 1876 | 


least one meeting, at which, he says, the only serious piece of busi. ; 
ness was the councillors clubbing pennies apiece in order to defray,/ © 
in the utter lack of town funds, the expense of a ninepenny postage, 
Perhaps Miller’s. interest in burgh politics was a little cooled at this 
time by a new influence that began to gain ground upon him. When 
working in the churchyard, chiselling his ‘In Memoriam,’ he used 
to have occasional visitors, and among them several accomplished 
intellectual ladies, whom he also met occasionally at tea-parties, and 
conducted through the wild scenes and fossiliferous treasures of the 
romantic burn of Eathie. Meditations upon the tombs led to love 
among the rocks, and geology itself had no discoveries or deposits 
hard enough to shut out the new and tender formation. Miller was 
overpowered, and circumstances ultimately sanctioned his union __ 
with the youngest, the fairest, and most accomplished of his lady- 
Visitors. 

He next became accountant in a banking establishment in Cro- 
marty, and in 1834 he published ‘Scenes and Legends in the North — 
of Scotland, or the Traditional History of Cromarty’—a work re, 
markable for the variety of its traditional lore, and the elegance of 
its style. Fifteen years a stone-mason, and about six years a bank- 
accountant, Miller’s next move was into that position for which he~ 
was best adapted, and in which he spent the remainder of his life. ~ 
The ecclesiastical party in Scotland then known as the ‘ Non-Intru- | 
sionists’ (new the Free Church), projected a newspaper to advocate ~ 
their views; all Mr. Miller’s feelings and predilections ran in the same 
direction; he had sufficiently evinced his literary talents and his zeal — 
in the cause—especially by two able pamphlets on the subject; and — 
accordingly, in 1840, he entered upon his duties as editor of ‘The 
Witness,’ a twice-a-week paper. We well remember his farewell din- — 
ner at Cromarty—the complacent smiles of old Uncle Sandy, proud 
of his nephew—the lively earnestness of the minister, Mr. Stewart, — 
varied by inextinguishable peals of laughter, for which he was 
famous—-and Hugh Miller’s grave speech, brimful of geology and of 
choice figurative expression—and the cordial affectionate feeling with ~ 
which the friends of his youth and manhood bade ‘God-speed’ to — 
their townsman and historian. Life has few things better than such 
a meeting even to a spectator, and what must it have been to the 
prime actor in the little drama? The scene’ was about to be shifted — 
—new characters introduced, new machinery, new duties, and a — 
Wier theatre of action. Opinions, thoughts, and language, gathered — 
and fashioned in obscurity, were now to be submitted to the public — 
glare, and tested by severe standards. But early trials, discipline, 
and study had braced and elevated the mind—a mind naturally copi- 
ous, vigorous, and buoyant; and Hugh Miller had been taught what — 
he now set about teaching others, that ‘life itself is a school, and na- —— 
ture always a fresh study, and that the man who keeps his eyesand 


PRR Abst : * “ ar a Ng 


_ . * 
: 


MILLER.) _- ENGLISH LITERATURE. SEN oa ae 
his mind open, will always find fitting, though it may be hard 
schoolmasters, to speed him on his life-long education.’ 

- Darimg the remaining fifteen years cf his life, besides contributing 
_jargeiy to his paper, Mr. Miller wrote his work on ‘The Old Red 
Sandstone,’ 1841, part of which appeared originally in ‘ Chambers’s 
Journar,’ and part in the ‘ Witness;’ his ‘ First. Impressions of Eng- 
land and its People,’ 1847; ‘ Footprints of the Creator, or the Astero- 
lepis of Stromness,’ 1850; ‘My Schools and Schoolmasters,’ an auto- 
biography, 1854; and ‘‘The ‘Testimony of the Rocks,’ a work com- 
pleted, but aot published till after his death. Two other posthu- 
- mous works have since appeared—’ The Cruise of the Betsey, ora 

Summer Ranible among the Fossiliferous Deposits of the Hebrides,’ 
1858; and ‘Sketch-Book of Popular Geology, being a Series of Lec- 
tures delivered before the Philosophical lnstitution of Edinburgh,’ 
with an introduction by Mrs. Miller, giving a résumé of the progress 
of geological science Within the previous two years, published in 
March 1859. The death of Mr. Miller took place on the 24th of 
December 1856. He had overtasked his brain, and for some time 
suffered from visiou3s and delusions combined with paroxysms of 
acute physical pain. In one of those moments of disordered reason, 
awaking from a hidevus dream, he shot himself in the heart, and 
must instantly have expired—a sad and awful termination to a life 
of noble exertion and nigh hopes ! 
Mr, Miller’s first geolovical work, the treatise on ‘The Old Red Sand- 
stone,’ is perhaps the most valuable. On that field he was a dis- 
-coverer, adding to our knowledge of organic remains various members 
of a great family of fishes existing only in a deposit of the highest 
-antiquity. One of these bears now the name of Prerichthys Mil- 
leri?. He illustrated also the less known floras of Scotland—those of 
the Old Red Sandstone and the Oolite, giving figured illustraticns of 
the most peculiar. But the great distinguishing merit of Miller is 
his power of vivid description, which throws a sort of splendour 
over the fossil remains, and gives life and beauty to the geolog'cal 
landscape. His enthusiasm and word-painting were irresistible. He 
was in geology what Carlyle is in history, both possessing the power 
of genius to vivily the past and stir at once the heart and the imagi- 
nation. In his ‘Footprints of the Creator,’ Miller combated the de- 
velopment theory. In his last work, ‘The Testimony of the Rocks,’ 
1857, he goes at great length into the. question of the antiquity @ 
the globe, endeavouring to reconcile it with the Mosaic account of 
the creation. Astronomers do not attempt any such reconciliation, 
and the geologists can never attain to certainty. Miller once believed 
with Buckland and Chalmers that the six days of the Mosaic narra- 
tive were simply natural.days of twenty-four hours each, but he was 
compelled by further study to believe that the days of creation were 
‘not natural but prophetic days—unmeasured eras of time stretching 


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- far back into the bygone eternity. The revelation to Moses he sup-; — 


oses to have been optical—a series of visions seen in a recess of the’ 
lidian desert, and described by the prophet in language fitted to the 
ideas of his times. ‘The hypothesis of the Mosaic vision is old—as 
old as the time of Whiston, who propounded it a century and a half 
since; butin Miller’s hands the vision becomes a splendid piece of ~ 
sacred poetry. a 
The Mosaic Vision of Creation. Be x 


. Such a description of the creative vision of- Moses as the one given by Milton of — 
that vision of.the future which he represents as conjured up before Adam bythe 
archangel, would be a task rather for the scientific poet than for the mere practical 
geologist or sober theologian. Lets suppose that it took place far from me2n, in an 
untrodden recess of the Midean desert, ere yet the vision of the burning bush bad ~ 
been vouchsafed ; and that, asin the vision of St. John in Patmos, voices .were — 
mingled with scenes, and the ear as certuinly addressed as the eye. A ‘great dark. ~ 
ness’ first falls upon the prophet, like that which in an earlier age fell upon Abraham, 
but without the ‘ horror ;’ and as the Divine Spirit moves on the face of the wildly —— 
troubled waters, as a visible aurora enveloped by the pitchy cloud, the great doctrine — 
is orally enunciated, that ‘in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.’ 
Unreckoned ages, condensed in the vision into a few brief moments,-pass away ; the 
creative voice is again heard, ‘ Let there be light,’ and straightway agray diffused 
light spr.ngs up in the east, and, casting its sickly gleam over a clord-limited ex- ~~ 
pause of steaming vaporous sea, journeys through the heavens towards the west. — 
One heavy, sunless day is nade the representative of myriads; the faint light waxes 
fainter—it sinks beneath the dim undefined horizon; the first scene of the drama F 
closes u:on the seer; and he sits awhile on his hill-top in darkness, solitary butnot — 
> 
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4 + 


sad, in what seems to be a calm and starless night. 

‘The light agai brightens—it is day ; and over an expanse of ocean without visi- 
b'e bound the horizon has become wider and sharper of outline than before. There-— 
is life in that great sea—invertebrate, mayhap also ichthyic, life; but, fromthe com=-  ~ 
parative distance of the point of view occupied by the prophet, only the slow roll of — 
its waves can be discerned, as they rise and fallin long undulations before a gentle ~~ 

gale; aud what most strongly impresses the eye is the change which has taken place in 
-the atmospheric scencry. That lower stratum of the heavens occupied in thepreviors ~ 
vision by seething steam, or gray, smoke-like fog, is clear and transparent; and only 
in an upper region, where the previously invisibie vapour of the tepid sea has thick- — 
ened in the cold, do the clouds appear. But there, in the higher strata of the atmos- 4 
phere, they lie, thick and manifold—an upper sea of great waves, Separated froin, — 
those beneath by the transparent firmament, and, like them too, impelled mm rolling — 
masses by the wind. A mighty advance- has taken place in creations but its most — 
conspicuous optical sign is the existence of a transparent atmosphere—of a firma-  ~ 
ment stretched out over the earth. that separates the waters above from the waters q 
below. But darkness descends for the third time upon the seer, forthe evening | 
and the morning have completed the second day. a | 
Yet again.the light rises under a canopy of cloud ; but the scene has changed, 7 
and there is no longer an unbroken expanse of sea. The white surf breaks, at the 
distant horizon, on an insulated reef, formed mayhap by the Silurian orOld Red ~ 
coral zoophytes ages before, during the bygone yesterday; and brats in long lines of ~~ 
foam. nvarer at hand. against the low, winding shore, the seaward barrier of a widely 
spread country. -For at the Divine command the land bas arisen from the deep-—not _ 
inconspicnously and in scattered islets, as at an earlier time, but in extensive though 
‘flat and marshy continents, little raised over the sea-level ; and a yet further fiat has 
covered them with the great carboniferous flora, The scene is one of mighty forests 
. .of cone-bearing trees—of palms, and tree-ferns, and gigantic club-mosses. on the- 
opener slopes. and of great reeds clustering by the sides of quiet Jakes and dark rol- _ 
ling rivers. There is deep gloom in the recesses of the thicker woods, and low thick + 
mists creep along the dank marsh or sluggish stream. But there is a general light- 
enjng of the sky overhead; us the day de¢lines, a redder’ flush than had hitherto — 


- 


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“MILLER. | an =~. ENGLISH. LITERATURE. 201 
“lighted up the prospect falls athwart fern-covered bank and long withdrawing glade. 
And while the fourth evening has fallen on the prophet, he becomes sensible, as it 
‘Wears on, and the fourth dawn appronches, that yet another change has taken place. 
‘he Creator has spoken, and the stars look out from openings of deep unclouded 
“biue; and as day rises, and the planet of morning pales in the east, the broken 
-cloudlets are transmited from b:onze into gold, and anon the gold becomes fire, and 
at Jength the glorious sun arises out of the sea, aud enters on his course rejoicing. It 
“js a brilliant-day; the waves, of a deeper and softer blue than before, dance and 
sparkle in the light; the earth with little else to attract the gaze, has assumed a garb 
of brighter green ; and as the stn declines amid even richer glories than those which 
* had encircled his rising, the moon appears full-orbed in the east—to the human eye 
' the second great luminary of the heavens—and climbs slowly to the zenith as night 
advances, shedding its mild radiance on Jand and sea. 
- Again the day breaks; the prospect consists, as before, of land and ocean. There 
are great pine-woods, reed-covered swamps, wide plains, winding rivers, and broad 
Jakes; an‘ a bright sun_shines over all. But the landscape derives its interest and 
~ novelty from a feature nnmarked before. Gigantic birds stalk along the sands, or 
wade far into the water in quest of their ichthyic food ; while birds of lesser size 
float upon the lakes, or scream discordant in hovering flocks, thick as insects in the 
cali of a summer evening, over the narrower seas ; or brighten with the sunlit gleam 
of their wings the thick woods. And ocean hasits monsters: great tanninim tem- 
_ pest the deep, as they heave their huge bulk over the surface, to inhale the life-sus- 
taining air; and out of their nos{rils goeth smoke, as out of a ‘seething pot or cal- 
~dron.’? Monstrous creatures, armed in massive scales, haunt the rivers, or scour the 
- fiat rank meadows; earth, air, and water are charged with animal life: and the sun 
_ sets on a busy scene, in which unerring instinct pursues unremittingly its few simple 
-ends—the support and preservation of the individual, the propagation of the species, 
- andthe protection and maintenance of the young. 
_ , Again the night descends. for the fifth day has closed; and morning breaks on 
the sixth and last day of creation. Cattle and beasts of the field graze on the plains; 
‘the thick-skinned rhinoceros wallows in the marshes; the squat hippopotamus rus- 
_tles among the reeds, or plunges sullenly into the river; great herds of elephants seek 
their food amid the young herbage of the woods; while animals of fiercer nature—the 
lion, the leopard, and the bear—harbour in deep caves till the evening, or lie in wait 
for their prey amid tangled thickets, or beneath some broken bank. At length, as 
the day wanes and the shadows lengthen, man, the responsible lord of creation, 
formed in God’s own image, isintroduced uvon the scene, and the work of creation 
ceases for ever upon the earth. The night falls once more upon the prospect, and 
_ tnere dawns yet another morrow—the morrow of God’s rest—that Divine Sabbath in 
which thereis no more creative labour, and which, ‘blessed and sanctified’ beyond 
ve the days that had gone before, has as its special object the moral elevation and 
final redemption of man. Andover i¢ no evening is represented in the reco1d as 
falling, for its special work is not yet complete. Such seems to have been the sub- 
_lime panorama of creation exhibited in visions of old to 


Bed The shepherd who first taught the chosen seed, 
= In the beginning low the heavens and earth 
i Rose out of chaos ; 


and, rightly understood, I know not a single scientific truth that militates against 
even the ininutest or least prominent of its details. 


The subject of the Noachian deluge is discussed at length, Miller 
holding with Stillingfleet, Poole, and modern authorities, that the de- 
luge was partial as to the earth, but universal as to the human race. 
“There was no novelty in this portion of his argument, and he some. 
times misconstrucs the opinions of those he opposes, His earnestness 
-and fertility of illustration enchain the reader’s attention, but a repe- 
-rusal only the more convinces us that Mr. Miller’s great power lay in 


. 


302 | EYCLOPADIA OF 


description—not in grappling with the difficulties of speculative phil” 
osophy. We giveafew more specimens of his exquisite composition: 


The Fossil Pine-tree. : 


But let us trace the history of a single pine-tree of the Oolite, as indicated by its 
petrified remains. This gnarled and twisted trunk once anchored its roots amid the 
crannies of a precipice of dark-gray sandstone, that rose over some nameless stream 
of the Oolite, In what is now the north of Scotland. The rock, which, notwithstand-. 
ing its dingy co our, was a deposit of the Lower Old Red Sandstone, formed a member: 
of the fish-beds of that system—beds that were charged then, as now, with numer= 
ous fossils, as strange and obsolete in the creation of the Oolite as in the creation 
which at present exists. It was a firm, indestructible stone, covered by a thin, bar- 
ren soil; and the twisted rootlets of the pine, rejected and thrown backwards from 
its more solid planes, had to penetrate into its narrow fissures for a straightened aud 
meagre subsistence. The tree grew but slowly: in considerably more than half a 
century it had attained to a diameter of little more than ten inches a foot over the 
soil; and its bent and twisted form gave evidence of the life of hardship to which it 
was exposed. It was. in truth, a picturesque rag of a tree, that for the first few feet 
twisted itself round like an overborne wrestler struggling to escape from under his 
enemy. and then struck ont at an abrupt angle. and stretched itself like a bent arny 
over the stream. It must have resembled, on its bald eminence, that pine-tree of w 
later time described by Scott, that high above ‘ash and oak’ a 
Cast anchor in the rifted rock, : 
And o’er the giddy chasm hung 
His shattered trunk. and frequent flung, 
Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, a 
His bonghs athwart the narrowed sky. 


The seasons passed over it: every opening spring gave its fringe of tenderev 
green to its spiky foliage, and every returning autumn sayy it shed its cones into tha 
stream below. Many a delicate fern sprang up and decayed around its gnarled and _ 
fantastic root, single-leaved and simple of form, like the Scolopendria of our caverns” 
and rock recesses, or fretted into many aslim pinnate leaflet, like the minute maidea-— 
hair or the graceful lady-fern. Flying reptiles have perched amid its boughs; the 
light-winged dragon-fly has darted ov wings of gauze through the openings of its” 
lesser twigs; the torioise and the lizard have hybernated during the chills of winter 
amid the hollows of its roots; for many years it formed one of the minor features in 
a wild picturesque scene, on which human eye never looked; and at length, touched 
by decay, its upper branches began to wither and bleach white in the winda of 
heaven; whon shaken by a sudden hurricane that came roaring adown the ravine, 
the mass of rock in which it had been anchored at once gave way, and, bearing fast 
jammed among its roots a fragment of the mass which we still find there, and from 
which we read a portion of its story, it was precipitated into the foaming torrent, — 
Dancing on the eddies, or lingering amid the pools, or shooting, arrow-like, adown — 
the rapids, it at length finds its way to the sea; and after sailing over beds of 
massive coral—the ponderous Isastrea and more delicate Thamnastrea—and after dis- 
turbing the Enaliosaur and Belemnite in their deep green haunts, it sinks, saturated 
with water. into a bed of arenaceous mud, to make its appearance, after long ages, 
in the world of man—a marble mummy of the old Oolite forest—and to be curiously | 


interrogated regarding its character and history. 
The National Intellect of England and Scotland. 


There is an order of English mind to which Scotland has not attained: our first 
men stand in the second rank, not a foot-breadth behind the foremost of Ergland’s 
second-rank men; but there is a front rank of British intellect in which there stands 
no Scotchman. [ike that class of the mighty men of David, to which Abishai and 
Benaiah belonged—great captains, who went down into pits in the time of snow and 
slew lions, or ‘who lifted up the spear against three hundred men at once, and pre= 
vailed’—they attained not, with all their greatness, to the might of the first class, 
¥cotland hes produced no Stak peare; Burns and Sir Walter Scott united would fall 


ax < 5s - <a 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 303. 


wh 


i ice 

“short of the stature of the giant of Avon. Of Milton we have not even a representa- 
tive. <A Scotch poet has been injudiciously named as not greatly inferior, but I shall 
“not do Wrong to the memory of an ingenious young man [Pollock], cut off just as he 
had mastered-his powers, by naming trim again ina connection so perilous. He atleast 
was guiltless of the comparison ; and it would be cruel to involve him in the ridicule. 
Which it is suited to excite. Bacon is as exclusively unique as Milton, and as exclus- 
Ively English; and though the grandfather of Newton wasa Scotcliman, we have cer- 
tainly no Scotch Sir Isaac. I question, indeed, whether any Scotchman attains to the 
“powers of Locke: there is as much solid thinking in the ‘ Essay onthe Human Under- 
‘standing,’ greatly as it Has become the fashion of the age to depreciate it, and not- 
-withstandivg his fundamental error, as in the works of allour Scotch metaphysicians 
apt together. It is, however, a curious fact, and worthy, certainly, of careful exam- 
“Ination, as bearing on the question of development purely through the force of cir- 
‘cumstances, that ali the very great men of England—all its first-class men—belong 
to ages during which the grinding persecutions of the Stuarts repressed Scottish eu- 
ergy, and crushed the opening mind of the country; and that no sooner was the 
“weight removed, like a pavement slab from over a flower-bed, than straightway 
Scottish intellect sprung up, and attained to the utmost height to which English in- 
_tellect was rising at the time. The English philosophers and literati of the eighteenth 
century were of a greatly lower stature than the Miltous and Shakspeares, Bacons 
and Newtons, of the two previous centuries ; they were second-class men—the tall- 
est, however, of their age anywhere ; and among these the men of Scotland take no 
“subordinate place. Though absent from the competition in the previous century, 
through the operation of causes palpable in the history of the time, we find them quite 
“up to the mirk for the age in which they appear. No English philosopher for the 
‘dast hundred and fifty years produced a greater revolution in human affairs than 
Adam Smith; or exerted a more powerful influence on opinion than David Hume; 
or did more to change the face of the mechanical world than James Watt. The 
‘History of England’ produced by a Scotchman is still emphatically tae ‘English 
History ;’ nor, with all its defects, is it likely to be soon superseded. Robertson, if 
inferior in the untaught felicities of narration to his illustrious countrymen, is at 
least infcrior to none of his English contemporaries. The prose fictions of Smollett 
have kept their ground quite as well as those of Fielding. and better than those of 
Richardson. ~ No.« does England during the century exbibit higher manifestations of 
the poetic spirit than those exhibited by Thomson and by Burns. ‘To use a homely 
_but expressive Scotticism, Scotland seems to have lost her bairn-time of the giants; 
-butin the after bairn-time of merely tall men, her children were quite as tall as 
any of their contemporaries. 


_ The ‘ Life-and Letters of Hugh Miller’ have been published by 
Petrr Bayne, M.A., two volumes, 1871. This is a copious—too 
‘copious—but interesting work, embracing a full account of the 
ecclesiastical questions in which Miller was so deeply and earnestly 
‘engaged. An excellent summary of his life and works is also given 
in a volume of biographies, entitled ‘Golden Lives,’ by Henry A. 
“Pagan, 1874. ; 

_ Popular views of physical science in almost every department will 
be found in the works of Dr. Dionysius LARDNER (17938-1%59). 
“These are—‘ Hand-book of Natural Philcsophy and Astronomy,’ 
three volumes, 1851-53; ‘ Museum of Science and Art,’ twelve vol- 
“umes, 18°4-56; ‘ Railwav Economy,’ 1850; with treatises on Hydro- 
statics and Pneumatics, Heat, &c. 

-- Mr. David THomas Anstrep (born in London in 1814). Professor 
‘of Geology at King’s College, Lon‘on, has written severaf valuable 
works on his favourite science. The most popular of these is his 
‘Geology, Introductory, Descriptive, and Practical,’ two volumes, 


B04 . ~* CYCLOPAEDIA OF 


1844; “The Ancient World, or Picturesque Sketches of Great Brit. 
air,’ 1847; also several geological manuals. Few men have done 
‘more to popularise any one br ‘anch of science than Professor Ansted, 

- In 1844 he was appointed Vice-secretary of the Geological Society; 
in 1868, Examiner in Physical Geography in the Department of 
~ Science and Art. 

The late Proressor JoHN FLemre, Edinburgh (1785-1857), dia’ 
much to advance natural science in Scotland. His principal works 
are—‘ The Philosophy of Zoology, * two volumes, 1822; ‘ The History, 
of British Animals,’ 1828; ‘ Molluscous Animals, including Shell-fish,” 
iota # frepbas Utes & emperature of the Seasons,’ 1851: “On the Different 
Branches of Natural History ’ (Address at the meeting of the British 
Association), 1855; ‘ The lithology of Edinburgh,’ 1858; and various” 
papers in the scientific journals. Dr. Fleming was born at -Kirk- 

roads, near Bathgate, Linlithgowshire. He entered the Scottish 
church, and was successively minister of Bressay in Shetland, Flisk- 
in Fifvshire, and Clackmannan. He afterwards was Professor - of 
Natural Philosophy in King’s College, Aberdeen. Another early 
student of geology in Scotland was Mr CHARLES MacnAReEN, Edin- 
burgh (1782-1866), who published an account of the ‘ Geology of Fife. 
and the Lothians,’ 1839. Before this, he had contributed to various” 
scientific jour nals, and written a ‘Dissertation on the ‘Topography of 
the Plain of Troy, * 1822). Mr. Maclaren was the original editor of 

“The Scotsman,’ Edinburgh newspaper, commenced in 1817, and 
his editorship extended over a period of about thirty years. In 1347 
he resigned the conduct of the paper to a very able political writer, 
Mr. ALEXANDER Russe (1814-1876), who was author of a treatise 
on the Salmon, and of contributions to the ‘ Edinburgh’ and ‘ Quar- 
terly’ Reviews: a man of great energy, and of bright and versatile: 
powers. In 1869, two volumes of Mr. Maclaren’s ‘Select Writings’. 
were published by Mr. Robert Cox and Professor James Nicol og 
Aberdeen. 

CHARLES DARWIN. q 

This eminent naturalist, grandson of the poet (see ante), was bert 
at Shrewsbury in 1809. After education ‘at the grammar-school of 
his native town, and at the universities of Edinburgh and Cam-- 
bridge, he volunteered to accompany Captain Fitzroy in H.M.S. 
Beagle as naturalist on an expedition for the survey of South 
America and the circumnavigation of the globe. About five years” 
were spent on this survey, and Mr. Darwin had ample Gpperun as 
for studying nature under new and interesting aspects: 


First Conception of the Theory of Natural Selection. ; 


When (he says) I visited, during the voyage of H.M.S. Beagle, the Galapagos* Ar-— 
chipelago, situ ated in the Pacific Ocean, about five hundred miles from Bouse Amer- 
ica, [ found myself surrounded by peculiar species of birds, re tiles, and plants, — 
isting nowhere else in the world. Yet they nearly all bore an American stamp. 

‘the song of the mocking-thrush, in the harsh cry of the carrion-hawk, in the great 


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“DARWIN. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
Beendiestick-like opuntias, I clearly perceived the neighbourhood of America, though 
_the islands was separated by so many miles of ocean from the mainland, and differed 
mauch in their geo-ovical constitution and climate. Still more surprising was the fact 
that most of the inhabitants of each separate island in this smail archipelago were 
Specifically different, though anost clearly related to-each other. ‘ihe ar-hipelago, 
-Withits innumerable craters and bare streains of lava, appeared to be of recent ori- 
*gin. andthus I fancied myself brought neur to tie very act of creation. I often asked 
-Inyself how these many peculiar animals and plants had been produced : the simplest 
“answer seemed to be that the inhabitants of the several islands had desc: ded from cach 
other, undergoing modification in the course of their descent ; and that all the inhabi- 
“puts of the archipelago were descended from those of the nearest land, namely, Amer- 
ica, whence colonists would naturally bave been derived. But it long remained to me 
‘fn inexplicable problem how the necessary degree of modification could have been 
effected, and it would thus have remained for ever had I not studied domestic pro- 
-ductions, and thus acquired a just idea of the power of selection. As svon as I had 
“fully realised this idea, f saw on reading Malthus on Population, that natural selec- 
-tion was the inevitalle result of the rapid increase of all organic beings; for I was 
‘prepared to appreciate the struggle for existence by having long studied the habits of 
ynimals. ~ ' 
_ Mr. Darwin returned to England in October 1836, and commenced 
“publishing the results of his long voyage and his minute observation: 
“Journal of Researches into the Natural History and Geology of the 
Countries visited during the Voyage of H.M.S. Beagle, 1889; ‘On 
the Structure and Distribution of Coral Reefs,’ 1842; Geological Ob- 
‘servations on Volcanic Islands,’ 1844; Geological Observations on 
‘South America,’ 1846; and ‘A Monograph of the Cirripedia,’ pub- 
lished by the Ray Society in 1851-8 (a remarkable work on zoo- 
ogy). Mr. Darwin’s next work was that which may be said to have 
‘stirred all Europe by the boldness of its speculations and theorics— 
~* On the Origin of Species by means of Natural Selection, or the Pre- 
‘servation of Favoured Races in. the Struggle for Life,’ 1859. His 
subsequent publications have been—‘ Fertilisation of Orchids through 
dnsect Agency, and as to the Good of Inter-crossing,’ 1862: ‘ Varia- 
tion of Animals and Plants under Domestication,’ 1867 ; ‘The Descent 
‘of Man, and Selection in Relation to Sex,’ 1871; ‘Expression of the 
‘Emotions to Man and Animals,’ 1872; ‘Movements and Habits of 
Climbing Plants,’ 1874; and numerous geological and botanical 
papers in scientific journals. The theory of natural selection advo- | 
cated by Mr. Darwin is of ancient date—as old as Lucretius—and_ 
has been maintained by Lamarck and others ; but Mr. Darwin con- 
ceived that these grevious schemes or theories afford no explana- 
tion of the mode ita which the alleged progr:ssive transmutation 
of organic bodies from the lowest to the highest grades has 
taken piace. Species, he says, are not-immutable. Organisms 
vary and muliiply at a z-eater rate than their means of subsistence. 
‘The offspring resemble their parents in general points, but vary 
in particulars. ‘Amid the struggle for existence which has been 
always going on among liviag beings, variations of bodily conforma- 
tion and structure, if in any degree profitable to an individual of 
any species, will tend to the preservation of that individual, and will 
generally be inherited by its oif’jring,' {In the struggle for life, the 


a 


+ 


806 ~ . C¥YCLOPAEDIA OF 


strongest of course prevail; the weak die; and this is the principle ~ 
or hypothesis of natural selection, or survival of the fittest, which 
Mr. Darwin illustrates by a vast store of facts, gleaned from almost- 
innumerable sources, and brought forward’ with-a philosophic calm- 
ness und modesty worthy of all honour and imitation. The illustra- 
lions are often interesting, but the theory wants proof; even Profes- 

sor Huxley admits that it is ‘not absolutely proven that a group of 
animals, having all the characters exhibited by species in nature, has 
ever been originated by selection, whether artificial or natural.’ 
M. Agassiz wholly repudiates it: ‘The animals known to the ancients 
are still in existence, cxhibiting to this day the characters they ex-. 
hibited of old. Until the facts of nature are shewn to have been — 
mistaken by those who have collected them, and that they have a 
diif rent meaning from that now generally assigned to them, I shall 
therefore consider the transmutation theory as a scientific mistake, — 
untrue in its facts, unscientific in its methods, and mischievous in i 
its tendency.’ Professor Owen, in his ‘ Classification of Mammalia,’ — 
is also opposed to the theory. Mr. Darwin, iu his ‘ Origin of Spe- 
cies,’ kas given what we may call - 


“ 


A Poetical View of Natural Selection. a 
Tt is interesting to contemplate a tangled bank clothed with many plants of many 
kinds, with birds singing on the bushes, with various insects flitting about, and with z 
worms crawling through the damp earth, and to reflect that these elaborately con= 
structed forms, so different from each other, and dependent upon each other in so 
complex a manner, have all been produced by laws acting around us. These laws, 
taken in the largest sense, being growth with reproduction; inheritance, which is" 
almost implied by reproduction ; variability from the indirect and direct action of the 
conditions of life, and from use and disuse ; a ratio of increase so high as to lead to a 
struggle for life, and as a consequence to natural selection, entailing divergence of — 
character and the extinction of less-improved forms, Thus, from the war of nature, — 
from famine and death, the most exalted object which we are capable of conceiving — 
—namely, the production of the higher animals—directly follows. ‘There is gran- 
deur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been originally breathed by. 
the Creator into a few ‘orms or into one; and that, whilst this planet has gone cy- 
cling on according to the fixed laws of gravity, from so simple a beginning, endless. 
forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been and are being evolved. 


Utilitarianism is not the sole motive or mover: 


I willingly admit that a great number of male animals, as all our most gorgeous | 
birds. some fishes, reptiles, and mammals, and a host of magnificently coloured but-_ 
terflies, have been rendered beautiful for beauty’s sake, but this has been effected 
through sexual sclection—that is, by the more beautiful males having been continu~ — 
ally preferred by the females, and not for the delight of man. So it is with the 4 
music of birds. We only infer from all this that a nearly similar taste for beautiful — 
colours and for musical sounds runs through a large part of the animal kingdom. 


This seems as fanciful and poetical as the.elder Darwin’s ‘ Loves of 
the Plants.’ The theory of evolution has been carried to its fartHest 
extreme—the descent of man. Mr. Darwin conceives that our early — 
or common progenitor was an ape—one of the quadrumana, “The 
quadrumana and all the higher mammals are probably derived from | 
an ancient marsupial animal, and this through a long line of diversi- 


- 


hed 


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Te! ; a 2 ~- 


Bene et | ot 8s eh a SS eter ee 
+ ! 


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LS De ri ‘ 
Pp 


DARWIN.] +. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 807 


fied forms, either from some reptile-like or some amphibian-like crea- 
ture, and this again from some fish-like animal.’ Of course, a theory: 
“so revolting to the pride of human natiure—so irreconcilable with 
‘the records of both revelation and geology—was sure to occasion 
keen controversy. One of the most learned opponents of Mr. Darwin 
is Mr. St. George Mivart, who contends that man, the ape, and the 
hhalf-ape cannot be arranged in a single ascending series of which 
‘man is the term and culmination. ‘he similarity of structure in 
-some things is no proof of common origin. Each species has been 
independently created. Bishop Wilberforce atta@ked the theory in 
the ‘ Quarterly Review,’ and various other answers appeared. 
“The endeavour of Cuvier to construct from the study of fossil 
“bones an anatomical and physiological history of the individual ani- 
“mal of which these bones are the sole remains, was quite logical ; but 
is wholly different in principle from the fallacious attempts to make 
the facts of ontogenesis, or individual embryonic development, prove 
“the validity of phylogenesis, or evolution of the line of all living forms 
by gradual increase and modification of structure throughout innu- 
-merable generations, in the course of millions of years, from a spon- 
taneously produced shapeless mass of protoplasm, like the flake of 
the white of an egg.’ * 
Of the menta} difference between man and the lower animals—the 
-gulf that separates them—and especially on the subject of language, 
some remarks by Professor Max Miiller will be found in a subsequent 
page. The following extracts will give some idea of Mr. Darwin’s 
style: : 
Variability. 
Not only the varions domestic races, but the most distinct genera and orders 
within the same great class—for instance, inammals, birds, reptiles, and fishes—are 
all the descendants of one common progenitor. and we must admit that the whole 
_yast smount of difference between these forms has primarily arisen from simple 
_ variability. To consider the subject under this point of view is enough to strike 
one dumb with amazement. But our amazemert ought to be lessened when we 
reflect that beings almost infinite in number, during an almost infinite lapse of time, 
have often had their whole organisation rendered in some degree plastic. and that 
each slight modification of structure which was in any way beneficial under exces- 
_ sively complex conditions of life has been preserved, whilst-each which was in any 
- way injurious has been rigorously destroyed. And the long-continued accumulation 
of beneficial variations will infallibly have led to structures as diversified, as beauti- 
fully adapted for various purposes, and as excellent!y co-ordinated as we see in the 
- animals and plants around us. Hence I have spoken of selection as the paramount. 
power. whether applied by man to the formation: of domestic breeds, or by nature 
_to the production of species. If an architect were to rear a noble and commodious 
edifice, without the use of cut stone, by selecting from the fragments at the base of 
a precipice wedge-formed stones for his arches, elongated stones for his lintels, and 
- flat stoucs for Iris roof, we should admire his skill, and regard him as the paramount 
power, Now, the fragments of stone. though indispensable to the architect, bear to 
the edifice built by him. the same relation which the fluctuating varlations of organic 
- beings bear to the varied and admirable’ structures ultimately acquired by their 
- modified descendants. ‘ 
Some authors have declared that natural selection explains nothing, unless the 


* Mr. Wharton Jones’ Lecture on Evolution, 


de i el a 


308 “- CYCLOPADIA OF 


precise cause of each slight individual difference be Fribd’s clear. If it were ae. 
to a savage utterly ignorant of the art of building how the edifice had. becn raised 
stone upon stone, end why wedge-formed fragments were used for the arches, flat” 
stones for the roof, &c.; and if the use of each part and of the whole building were 
pointed out. it would be unreasonable if he declared that nothing had been made | 
clear to him, because the precise cause of the shape of each fragmeit could not be 
told. But this isa nearly parallel case with the objection that selection explains 
nothing, because we know not the cause of each individual difference in the struc- 
ture of each being. 
The shape of the fragments of stone at the base of our precipice may be called 
accidental, but this is not strictly correct; for the shape of each depends on a 
long sequence of events, all obeying natural laws; on the nature of the rock, on the 
lines of deposition @ cle: ivage, on the form ‘of the mountain, which depends 
on its upheaval and subsequent denudation, and lastly on the storm or earthquake — 
which throws down the tragments. But in regard to the use to which the frag- 
ments may he put, their shape may be strictly said to be accidental, And here We! 
are ied to face a great difficulty. in alluding to which Iam aware £— am travelling 
beyond my proper province. An omniscient Creator must have foreseen every con= 
sequence which results from the laws Imposed by Him. But can it reasonably be 
maintained that the Creator intentionally ordered, if we use the words in any ordi- 
nary sense, that certain fragments of rock should assume certain shapes so tliat 
the builder might erect his edifice? If the various laws which have determined 
the shape of each fragment were not predetermined for the builder’s sake; can it- 
be maintained with any greater probability that He specially ordained for the sake” 
of the breeder cach of the innumerable vari: itions in our domestic animals and 
plants; many of these variations being of no service to man, and not beneficial, far_ 
more often injurious, to the creatures themselves? Did He ordain that the crop and 
tail-feathers of the pigeon should vary in order that the fancier might make his gro- 
tesque pouter and fantail breeds? Did He cause the frame and mental qualities of 
the dog to vary in order that a breed might be formed of indomitable ferocity, with 
jaws fitted to pin down the bull for man’s brutal sport? Butif we give up the prin= 
ciple in one case—if we do not admit that the variations of the primeval dog were™ 
intentionally guided in order that the greyhound, for instance, that perfect image of” 
symmetry and vigour, might be formed—no shadow of reason can be assigned for 
the belief that variations, alike in nature and the resultof the same general laws, — 
which have been the groundwork through natural selection of the formation of the- 
most perfectly adapted animais in the world, man included, were intentionally and 
specially guided, However much we may wish it, we can hardly follow Professor’ 
Asa Gray 1 in his beltet, ‘that variation has been led along certain beneficial lines Of 
irrigation.” If we'assuine that each particular variation was from the beginning of 
all time pre-ordained, then that plasticity of organisation which leads to many inju: 
rious deviations of struciure as well as the redundant. power of reproduction which 
inevitably leads toastrugele for existence, and-as a consequence, to the natural se= 
lection or survival of the fittest, must appear to us superfluous Jaws of nature. On 
the other hand an omnipotent and omniscient. Creator ordains everything and fore- 
seeseverytbiny. Thus we are brought face to face with a difficultyas-insoluble as is 
phat of free will and predestination. E 


Improvement in Flowers. > eo 


Buffon, on comparing the flowers, fruit. and vegetables which were then cultivated 
with some excellent drawings made a hundred and fifty years previously, was sirack 
with surprise at te great improvement which bad been effected; and-remarks that 
these ancient flowers and vegetables would now be reneoket not only by a florist, but 
by a village gardener. Since the time of Buffon the work of improvement hag 
steadity and rapidly gone on. Every florist who compares our present flowers with 
those ficured in books published not long since, is astonished at the change: A well= 
known amateur. in speaking of the varicties of Pelargonium raised by Mr. Garth: 
only twenty-two years before. remarks: “¢What a rage they excited; surely we had 
attained perfection, it was said, and now not one of the flowers of those d: ys will 
looked at. But none the less is the debt of gratitude which we owe to those who saw 
what was to be done, and did it,’ Mr. Paul, the well-known horticulturist, in w 


Reece ers sat 
pARwIN.|]. ~*~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 2° B08 


ing of the same flower, says Ike remembers, when young, being delighted with the 
ortraits in Sweet’e work ; ‘but what are they in point or beauty compared with the 
elargoniums of this day? Here, again, nature did not advance by leaps; the im- 
proveincnt was gracduai, and if we had neglected those very gradual adviuces. we 
must have foregove the present grand results.’ How well this practical horticultur- 
ist appreciates and illustrates the gradual and accumulative force of selection! The 
dahlia has advanced in beauty in like manner; the line of improvement being guided 
_- by fashion, and by the successive modifications which the flower slowly underwent. 
~ A steady and gradual change has been noticed in many other flowers: thus, an old 
~~ florist, after describing the leading varieties of the pink which were grown in 1813, 
-- adds, * the pinks of those days would now be scarcely grown as border-flowers.’ ‘The 
- improvement of so many flowers, and the number of the varieties which have been 
* .ruised, is all the more striking when we hear (from Prescott’s * History of Mexico ’) 
. that the earliest known flower-garden in Europe, namely, at Padua, dates ouly from 
the year 1545. 

- THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY. 


In love of science, as well as in similarity of opinions and pur- 
— suits, Prormssor Huxiry resembles his friend Mr. Darwin. Having 
studied medicine in his twenty-first year he obtained the appointment 

of assistant surgeon tc H.M.8. Rattlesnake during the surveying 
~ cruise in the South Pacifie and Torres Straits. During the three 
_ years of the survey, Mr. Huxley studied the numerous marine anl- 
- mals which were collected from time to time, and sent home notes of 

his observatious, which were published in the ‘ Philosophical Trans- 

actions’ under the title of ‘On the Anatomy and Affinities of the 
_ Family of the Meduse.’ Further contributions to the same work 
“were published, and were so highly ajpreciated that in 1801 Mr, 
- Huxley was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, and next year re- 
—evived‘one of the. two royal medals of the Society. He had now 
~ taken his place as one of the most distinguished naturalists and com- 
_ parative anatomists of the ave, and in 1854 he was appoint: d succes- 
sor to Edward Forbes as Professor of Natural History in the Royal 
School of Mines. His scientific publications have earned for him 
_-fame and honours both at home and abread. The most notable of 
these works are—‘ Observations on Glaciers,’ written jointly with 
_ Mr, Tyndall, 1857; ‘On the Theory of the Vertebrate Skull,’ 1858; 
-.*The Oceanic Hydrozoa,’ 1858; ‘Man's Place in Nature,’ 1863; 
‘Lectures on Comparative Anatomy,’ 1864; ‘Lessons In Elementary 
_ Physiology,’ 1866; ‘Classification of Animals,’ 1869; ‘Lay Sermons, 
Addresses and Reviews,’ 1870; &c. The contributions of Mr. Huxley 
“to scientific journals and associations are much too numerous for us to 
mention here, Some of his lectures on:the ‘Phenomena of Organic 
Nature,’ delivered .to working-men at the museum of Pract ical Geol- 
oy, have been published in a separate form, and widely circulated. 
Mr. Huxley is a bold and fearless thinker and inquirer. ‘Men of 
science,’ he says, ‘do not pledge themselves to creeds; they are bound 
by articles of no sort; there is not a single belicf that it 1s not a 
~ _bounden duty with them to hold with a light hand, and to part with 
it cheerfully the moment it is veally proved to be contrary to any 
fact, great or small.” ‘The vroof, nowever, must be irresistible, and 


nm 


e 
is: 
ed 


te 
St 


a ene a ee 


810 . 2, CYCLOP.EDIAOF- 2 [v0 1876, 
on this point we may quote another observation made by Mr. = 
Huxley: , oe 

Caution to Philosophie Inquirers. 2) 


The growth of physical science is now so prodigiously rapid, that those who are — 
actively engaged in- keeping up with the present, have mach ado to find time to look 2 
at the past, and even grow into the habit of neglecting it. But natural as this result 
muy be. it is none tke less detrimental. ‘he intellect loses, for there is assuredly no ~ 
more effectual method of clearing up one’s own mind on any subject than bytalk- — 
ing it over, 'so to speak, with men of real power and grasp who have considered it — 4 
from a totally different point of view. The parallax of time helps us to the true — 
conception, as the parallax of space helps us to that of a star. And the mora] ~ 
nature loses no less. It is well to turn aside from the fretful stir of the present, — 
and to dwell with gratitude and respect upon the services of those mighty men of ~ 
old who have gone down to the grave with their weapons of war, but who, while — 


they yet lived, won splendid victories over ignorance. 
Professor Huxley is a native of Ealing in Middlesex, born in 1825. ~ 
He studied medicine in the Medical School of Charing-Cross Hospital, — 

and in 1846 entered the medical service of the royal navy. He ~ 
is now Professor of Anatomy in the Royal College of Surgeons, and — 
Fullerian Proféssor of Physiology in the Royal Institution. Heisa — 
Vice-president of the Zoological and the Geological Societies, &e. 


ye | 


The Odjectors to Scientifie Inquiry. 


There are in the world a number of extremely worthy, well-meaning persons, — 
whose judgments and opinions are entitled to the utmost respect on account of their — 
sincerity, who are of opinion that vital phenomena, and especially all questions re- 
lating to the origin of vital phenomena, are questions quite apart from the ordinary — 
run of inquiry, and are, by their very nature, placed ont of our reach. They say — 
that all these phenomena originated miraculously, or in some way totally different — 
from the ordinary course of nature, and that therefore they conceive it to be futile, 
not to Say presumptuous, to attempt to inquire into them. 

To such sincere and earnest persons I would only say. that a question of this kind 
is not to be shelved upon theoretic or speculative grounds. You may remember the — 
story of the Sophist who demonstrated to Diogenes in the most complete and satis- 
factory manner, that he could not walk; that. in fact, all motion was an impossi- — 
bility ; and that Diogenes refuted him by simpiy getting up and walking round his — 
tub. So, in the same way, the man of science replies to objections of this kind, by ~ 
simply getting up and walking onward, and shewing what science has done and is ~ 
doing—by pointing to the immense mass of facts which have been ascertained and — 
systematised under the forms of the great doctrines of Morphology. of Development, — 
of Distribution, and the like. He sees an enormous mass of facts and Jaws relating — 
to organic beings, which stand on-the same good sound foundation as every other — 
naturallaw. With this mass of facts and laws before us, therefore, seeing that, as 
far as organic matters have hitherto been accessible and studied, they have shewn — 
themselves capable of yielding to scientific investigation, we may accept thisasa — 
proof that order and law reign there as well as in the rest of nature. The man of — 
science says nothing to objectors of this sort, but supposes that we can and shall — 
walk toa knowledge of organic nature, in the sameway that we have walked toa — 
knowledge of the laws and prine’ples of the morganic world. . ’ 

But there are objectors who say the same from ignorance and ill-will. To such J 
would reply that the objection comes ill from them, and that the real presumpfion— 
I may alinost say, the real blasphemy—in this matter, is in the attempt to limit that — 
inquiry into the causes of phenomena, which is the source of all human blessings, — 
and from which has sprung ell human prosperity and progress; for, after all, we can — 
accomplish comparatively little; the limited range of our own faculties bounds us on” 
every side—the field of our powers of observation is small enough, and he who — 


~ MUXLEY.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 811 


endeavours to narrow thesphere of our inquiries is only pursuing a course that is 
likely to produce the greatest harm to his fellow-men. ... 

_ All human inquiry must stop somewhere; all our knowledge and all our investiga- 
tion cannot take us beyond the limits set’ hy the finite and restricted characte: of our 
facuities, or destroy the endless unknown, which accompanies. like its shadow, the 
endiess procession of phenomena. So far as I can venture to offer an opi.ion on 
‘such a matter, the purpose of our being in existence, the highest object that human 
beings can set before themselves is not the pursuit of any such chimera as the an- 
nihilation of the unknown; but it is simply the unwearied endeavour to remove its 

’ boundary a little further from our little sphere of action. 


The Power of Speech. 


; What is it that constitutes and makes man what he is? What is it but his power 

of language—that language giving him the mears of recording his experience— 
making every generation somewhut wiser than its predecessor—more in accordance 
with the established order of the universe? What isit but this power of speech, of re- 
cording experience, which enables men to be men—looking before and after, and, in 
some dim sense, understanding the working of this wondrous universe—and which 
distinguishes man from the whole of the brute world? I say that this functional 
difference is vast, unfathomable, and truly infinite in its consequences. 


FRIEDRICH MAXIMILIAN MULLER. 


We may supplement Mr. Huxley’s eloquent sentence by observa- 
tions from Professor Max Miller on the same subject: 


Language the Barrier between Brute and Man. 


We see that the lowest of savages—men whose language is said to be no better 
_than the clucking of hens, or the twittering of birds. and who have been declared in * 
many respects lower than even animals, possess this one specific characteristic, that 
if you take one of their babies, and bring it up in England, it will learn to speak as 
weil as any English baby, while no amount of education will elicit any attempts at 
language from the highest animals, whether biped or quadruped. This disposition 
cannot have been formed by detinite nervous structures, congenitally framed, for we 
_-are told by the best sgriologists that both father and mother clucked like hens. ‘his 
fact, ey unless disproved by experiment, remains, whatever the explanation 
may be... . 
. Language is the one great barrier between the brute and man. Man speaks, and 
- no brute has ever uttered a word. Language is something more palpable than a fold 
of the brain or an angle of the’skull. Itadmits of no cavilling, and no process of 
natural selection will ever distil significant words out of the notes of birds or the 
cries of beasts. No scholar, so faras I know, has ever controverted any of these 
statements. But when evolutionism became, as it fully deserved, the absorbing inter- 
est of all students of nature; when it was supposed that, if a moneres could develop 
into a man, bew-wow and pooh-pooh might weil have developed by imperceptible de- 
‘ ne into Greek and Latin, I thought it was time to state the case for the science of 
_ language—a statement of facts, shewing that the results of the science of language 
did not at present tally with the results of evolutionism, that words could no longer 
be derived directly fror imitative and interjectional sounds, that between theae 
sounds and the first beginnings of language, inthe technical sense of the word, a 
barrier had been discovered. represented by what we call roots. and that. as far as we 
_ know, no attempt, not even the faintest, has ever been made by any animal. except 
man, to approsch or to cross that barrier. I went one step further. J shewed that 
~ roots were with men the embodiments of general concepts, and that the only way 
in which man realised general concepts, was by means of those roots, and words de- 
rived from roots. ... 
. That there is in us an animal—ay, a bestial nature--has never been denied: to 
’ deny it would take away the very foundation of psycholoey and ethics. We cannot 
be reminded too often that all the materials of our kfiowledge we share with ani- 
mals; that, like them, we begin with seusuous impressions, and then, like ourselves, 


313 - CYCLOPADIA OF 


and like ourselves only, proceed to the general, the ideal, andthe ‘atceralt Wet 5 
cannot be re; ninded too often that in mauy thines we are like the beasts of the field; ~ + 
but that like ourselves, and like oursel ives only, we can rise superior to our hestial- 
seif, and strive atter what is unselfish. good, and Godlike. ‘the wing by which we> 
soar above the seusuous, was called by wise inen of old the ogos ; ihe wi ine which © 
lifts us above the sensnal, was called by g:od inerrof old the daimonion. Li Tus take ~ 

continual care, especially within the precincts of the temple of science, lest by abus- — 
ing the gift of speech, or doing violence to the voice of conscience, we soil the two — 
wings of our soul, aud fall back, thr ough our own fault, to the dreaded level of the — 
gorilla. 

FRIEDRICH MAXIMILIAN Mij_iER (usually contracted to F. Max 
Miller) is, as his name imports, a native of Germany, born at Dessau ~ 
in 1823. He studied at Leipsic, and was early distinguished for his” ; 
proficiency.in Sanscrit. He repaired to Berlin and to Paris for the - 
prosecution of his philological aPacies, and especially to collate MSS. 
relative to his ‘ Rig-Veda-Sanhita,’ or Sacred Hymns of the Brahmans. 
For the same purpose, he examined the MSS. in the Bodleian Libra- — 
ry at Oxford and in the Indian House. His great work was pub- 
lished at the expense of the East’ India Company. He took up hig 
residence at Oxford, where he gave lectures on comparative philolo- 
gy, was made a member of Christ Church and M.A. in 1851, Pro- 
fessor of Modern Languages, curator in the Bodleian Library, Fellow 
of Ali Souls, &c. He was made one of the eight foreign members of — 
the Institute of France, and has’ received the honorary degree of— 
LL.D. from both the universities of Cambridge and Edinburgh. 
“Few foreigners have been so honoured in England, or so familiar 
with its language and literature and institutions. As an oriental — 

scholar, Pr ofessor Miiller has no superior in England or in Germany. — 
His ‘Rig -Veda’ extends to six quarto volumes, and he has published — 
- Hand-books for the study of Sanscrit, a Sanscrit-English Dictionary 
and Grammar, &c. His ‘ Lectures on the Science of Language,’ two 
volumes, are now (1876) i in their eighth edition; his ‘Introduction to — 
the Science of Religion’ (four lectures delivered at the Royal Institu- — 
tion), with ‘Essays on Mythology,’ ‘On the Stratification of Lan- 
guage,’ “On Missions’ (a lecture delivered in Westminster Abbey in — 
1873), and ‘Chips from a German Workshop,’ are all well known — 
and appreciated in this country. The ‘Chips’ form four volumes, — 
the latest being published in 1875; they range over various subjects, 
but are chiefly on the Professor’s favourite science of langusge, and ~ 
are written in a style clear, forcible, and often picturesque. The — 
following is a short extract from ‘Lectures on the Science of 
Language:;’ 


" 


” : : i 
ee NE a ee 


Pe se 


Spread of the Latin Language. 


There is a pectliar charm in watching the various changes of form and meaning | 
in words passing down from the Ganges ‘or the Tiber into the great ocean of modern” 
speech, In the e'gath century v.c. the Latin dialect was confined to a small territory. 
It was but.one dialect out of many that were spoken all over Italy, But it gr ew—it — 
became the language of Rome and of the Romans, it absorbed all the other “dialects 
of Italy, the Uinbrian, the Osean. the Etruscan. the Celtic, and became by Becpe 
the language of Central Italy. of Southern and Northern Italy. From thence it 


eer OR = 
TYNDALL, ] - ENGLISH LITERATURE. 318 


_ Spread to Gaul, to Spain, to Germany, to Dacia on the Danube. It became the lan- 
guage of law and government in the civilised portions of Northern Asia, and it was 
carried through the heralds of Christianity to the most distant parts of the globe. 
it supplanted in its victoriousx-progress the ancient vernaculars of Gaul, Spain, and 
- Portugal, and it struck deep roots in parts of Switzerland and Walachia. When it came 
in contact withthe more vigorous idioms of the Teutonic tribes, though it could not 
/Supplant or annihilate them, it left on their surface a thick layer of foreign words, 
and it thus supplied the greater portion in the dictionary of nearly ali the civilised 
nations of the world. Words which were first used by Italian shepherds are now 
used by the statesmen of England, the pocts of France, the philosophers of Germany ; 
and the faint echo of their pastoral conversation may be heard in the senate of 
_Washington, in the cathedral of Calcutta, and in the settlements of New Zealand. 
I shall trace the career of a few of those early Roman words, in order to shew how 
words may change, and how they aljapt themselves to the changing wants of each 
“generation. I begin with the royal word Palace. A palace now is the abode of a 
royal family. But if we look at the history of the name we are soon carried back to 
the shepherds of the-Seven Hills. There, on the Tiber, one of the Seven Hills was 
- called the Colis Palatinus, and the hill was called Palatinus, trom Pales, a pastoral 
deity, whose festival was celebrated every year on the 21st. of April as the birthday 
of Rome. It was to commemorate the day on which Romulus, the wolf-child, was 
Supposed to have drawn the first furrow on the foot of that hill, and thus to have 
laid the foundation of the most ancient fart of Rome, the Roma Quadrata. On this 
“hill, the Collis Palatinus, stood in later times the houses of Cicero and of his neighbour 
and enemy Catiline, Augustus built his mansion on the saine hill, and his example 
was followed by Tiberius and Nero. Under Nero all private houses had to be pulled 
down on the Collis Platinus, in order to make roof for the emperor’s residence, the 
Domus Aurea, as it was called, the Golden House. This house of Nero’s was hence- 
forth called the Palatium, and it became the type of all the palaces of the kings and 
emperors of Europe... . 
_ , Another modern word, the English court, the French cour, the Ttalian corte, carries 
us back to the same locality and to the same distant past. It was on the hill of La- 
tium that cohors or cors was first used in the sense of a hurd/le, an inclosure, a cattle- 
- yard, The cohortes or divisions of the Roman ariny were called by the same name ; 
so many soldiers constituted a pen ora court... . 
- Thus cors, cortis, from meaning a pen, a cattle-yard, became in medieval Latin 
_eurtis, and was used like the German Hof of the farms and castles built by Roman 
Settlers in the provinces of the empire. These farms became the centres of villages 
and towns, and in the modern names of Vraucourt, Graincourt, Leincourt, Magni- 
court, Aubignicourt, the older names of Varicurtis, Grani curtis, Leonii curtis, Manii 
curtis, Albini curtis, have been discovered. 
Lastiy, from meaning a fortified place, cwrtts rose to the dignity of a royal resi- 
dence, and became synonymous with palace. The two names having started from 
the same place, met again at the end of their long career. 


e PROFESSOR TYNDALL. 


~~’ "Fhe Professor of Natural Philosophy in the Royal Institution has 
“had a very active and checkered career. _ JOHN TYNDALL, a native of 
freland, was born about the year 1820, and was employed for some 
years on the Ordnance Survey. ‘While stationed at Cork, be 
worked at mapping in the same room with a very-able man, Mr. 
Lawrence Ivers. Noticing the work and conduct of Tyndall, Mr. 
Ivers asked him how he employed his leisure time. ‘‘ You have five 
hours a day at your own disposal,” he said, ‘‘ and these ought to be 
devoted to systematic study.” Next morning Tyndall was at his 
books before five o’clock, and for twelve years afterwards he never 
- swerved from the practice.”"* He was next engaged in railway work, 
“Shs * Supplement to Znglish Cyclopedia (Biography), 


=) Eel:Vi8—11 


$14. CYCLOPADIA OF fro ees 


then paactee abroad, first under Protect Bunsen at Marburgin _~ 
Hesse Cassel, and afterwards at Berlin in the laboratory of Professor x 
Magnus. In 1852 he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, and 
in 1853 he was unanimously appo:nted to the Professorship of Natu. —~ 
rai Philosophy. In 3856, in company with Professor Huxley, he 
visited Switzerland, and the result was a series of papers by the two ~ ; 
friends on the structure and motion of glaciers. Other journeys and 
investigations were undertaken by Professor Tyndall, and described 
in his work on the ‘Glaciers of the Alps,’ 1860. He has since pub- 
lished ‘ Mountaineering,’ 1851; ‘A Vacation Tour,’ 1862; ‘Heat Con- © 
sidered as a Mode of Motion,’ 1863: ‘On Radiation,’ 1855; ‘Sound, a 
Course of Eight Lectures,’ 1867; ‘Faraday as.a Discoverer,’ 1868; 
‘Natural Philosophy i in Easy Lessons,’ 1869; ‘ Essays on the Imagi-  _ 
nation in Science,’ 1870; ‘ Fragments of Science for Unscientific Peo- 
pie 1871; ‘Hours of Exercise in the Alps,’ 1871;.&c, Professor 
d yndall is an enthusiastic climber and admirer of Alpine scenery, — 
‘a remarkable example,’ it has been said, ‘of combined cerebral and~ 
muscular activity.’ He has done much to popularise science as a 
lecturer at tne Royal Institution, besides being distinguished for ori- 
ginal research. Like Mr. Huxley, he has stood forward as an advo- = 
cate for free and unrestricted research into all the recesses of mind- 4 
and matter; but has indignantly repudiated the creed of atheism 
which had been lightly attributed to him. i. 


Freedom of Inquiry. 


It is not to the point to say that the views of Lucretius and Bruno, of Darwin and 
Spencer, may be wrong. Here I should agree with you, deeming it indeed certain 
that these views will under go. modification. But the point is , that, whether right or 
wrong, we claiin the right TO discuss them. For science, however, no exclusive claim. 
is here made ; you are not urged to erect it into an idol. The inexorable advance of 
man’s understanding in the path of knowledge, and those unquenchable claims of his. 
moral and emotion ial nature which the understanding cun never satisfy. are here 
equally set forth. She worid embraces not only a Newton, but_a Shakspeare—not 
only a Boyle, but a Raphael—not only a Kant, bata Beethoven—not only a Darwin, -— 
but a Carlyle. Not in cach of these, but in all, is human nature whole. They are » 
not opposed, but supplementary—not mutnally ‘exclusive, but reconcilable. And if, 
unsat'sfied with them all, the. human mind, with the yearning of a pilgrim for his” 
distant home, will still turn to the mystery from which it has emerved, seeking so to 
fashion it as to give unicy to thought and faith; so long as this is done, not only — 
without intolerance or bigotry of any kind. but with the en! lightened recognition that _ 
ultimate fixity of conception is here unattainable, and that each succeeding age must | 
be held free to fashion the mystery in accordance with its own needs—then}cas!ing 
aside all the restrictions of materialism, I would affirm this to be a field for ‘he no- 
blest exercise of what, in contrast with the knowing faculties, may be ealled the crea= 
tive facuities of man. Here, however, I touch a theme too great for me to handle, 
but which will assuredly be handled by the loftiest minds when you and J, like streaks — 
of morning cloud, shail have melted into the infinite azure of the past. 


This extract is from Professor Tyndall’s address delivered at Bele . 
fast in 1874. From the same address we give another passage : 


~ c ™ r, > - 


- 


“TYNDALL. } ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE, 815, 


Advance tn Science since the Days of Bishop Butler. 


Bishop Butler accepted with unwavering trust the chronology of the Old Testa- 
ment. describing it as‘ confirmed by thé natural and civil bistory of the world. col- 
lected from common historians, from the stite of the earth, and from the Jate inven- 
tions of arts and sciences.’ These words mark progress ; und they must seem some- 
whet hoary to the bishop’s successors of to-day. Itis hardly necessary to inform 
you that since his time the domain of the natnralist has been immensely extended— 
the whole science of geology, with its sstounding revelations regarding the life of the 
ancient earth, having been created. The rigidity of old conceptions has been re- 
jaxed, the public mind being rendered gradually tolerant of the idea that not for six 
thonsand. nor for sixty thousand, nor for six thousand thousand, but for sons em- 
bracing untold millions of years, this earth has been the theatre of life and death. 
The riddle of the rocks has been read by the geologist and paleontologist, froin sub- 
cambrian depths to the deposits thickening over the.sea-bottoms of to-day. And 
upon the leaves of that stone-book are, as you know, stamped the characters, plainer 
and surer than those formed by the ink of history, which carry the mind back into 
abysses of past time, compared with which the periods which Satisfied Bishop Butler 
cease to have a visual angle. 

The lode of discovery once struck, those petrified forms in which life was at one 
time active increased to multitudes, and demanded classification. They were grouped 
in genera, species, and varieties, according to the degree of similarity subsisting be- 
tween them. ‘Thus confusion was avoided, each object being found in the pigeon- 
hole appropriated to it and to its fellows of similar morphological or physiological char- - 
acter. The general fact soon became evident that none but the simplest forms of life 

' lie lowest down, that as we climb higher among the super-imposed strata more per- 
fect forms appear. The change, however, from form to form was not continuous, 
but by steps—some smali, some great. * A section,’ says Mr. Huxley, ‘a hundred feet 
thick will exhibit at different heights a dozen species of ammonite, none of which 
passes beyond its particular zone of limestone, or clay, into the zone below it, or into 
that above it.’ In the presence of such facts, it was not possible to avoid the ques- 
tion : Have these forms, shewing, though in broken stages, and with many irregu- 
larities, this unmistakable general advance, been subjected to no continuous law of 
growth or variation 2 

as HERBERT SPENCER. 

Another enthusiastic votary of biology and kindred studies, and 
an exponent of the theory of evolution, is Mr. HERBERT SPENCER, a 
native of Derby, born in 1820. Mr. Spencer began life as an engineer, 
then assisted some time at the periodical press, and contributed to the 
reviews, &c. His principal works are—‘ Principles.of Psychology,’ 
1855; ‘Essays, Scientific, Political, and Speculative,’ 1858-63; ‘ Prin- 
ciples of Biology,’ 1864; ‘Descriptive Sociology, or Groups of Socio- 
Jogical Facts,’ 1874; &c. 

PROFESSOR GHIKIE. 


. ARCHIBALD GEIKIE, born in Edinburgh in 1835, is author of 

several geological works, and was associated with Sir Roderick Mur- 
_ chison in investigating the geological structure of the Scottish High- 

lands, preparing a memoir of that district, and drawing up a new 
- geological map of Scotland (1861). He was director of the Survey of 
’ Scotland, and when a chair of mineralogy and geology was founded in 

the university of Edinburgh in 1870, Mr. Geikie was appointed profes- 
‘sor. In 1872 the university of St. Andrews conferred upon him the de- 
_greeof LL.D. The works of Dr. Geikie are—‘ The Story of a Boulder, 
1858 ; ‘Life of Professor Edward Forbes’ (conjointly with the late 


\ 


philology. Dr. Morris adds an introduction with notes, tables of 


are drawn. 


_ divisions of Celtic speech, the Gadhelic or the Cymric, they belonged, or whether a 


< ~ 
“ : - 


fro 1876. 


gic S CYCLOPADIA OF 
Dr. Ghoree Wilson), 1861 ; ‘ Phenomena of the Glacial Drift of Scot- 2 
land,’ 1863; ‘The Scenery of Scotland viewed in connection with its. — 
Physical Geology,’ 1860 ; and various articles in reviews and scien- 


tific journals. = ee. 
ad ae GEIKIE, a brother of the above, has written a large and val- — 


uable work, ‘The Great Ice Age and its Relation to the Antiquity of _ 
Man.’ a 


sf 44 


Wintiam Dwicut Wurrney, Professor of Sanscrit and Instructor 
in Modern Languages in Yale College, was born at Northampton, 
Massachusetts, in 1827. He has written various works, including J 
‘Twelve Lectures on Language and the Study of Language,’ 1867. 
Of these lectures, the first seven have, with the consent of the author ~ 
and publisher, been reprinted by the Rev. Dr. Morris, as a sound 
and scientific introduction to a more advanced course of comparative 2 


. 
s a 
PROFESSOR WHITNEY. — , B,. 


declension, and an index, rendering the volume very useful for stu-_ — 
dents. Professor Whitney 1s a well-known Sanscrit scholar, but in — 
these lectures he has chosen English as the language from which the — 
most telling of his examples and explanations of linguistic changes | 


Celtic Branch of the Indo-European Languages. 


So completely were the Gaulish dialects of Northern Italy, France, and Spain _ 
wiped out by the Latin, so few traces of them are left-to us, either in the Jatar 
idioms of the Latin or in “fragments of writings, inscriptions, and coins. that it is- — 
still a matter of doubt and question among Celtic scholars to which of the known ~ 


they did not constitute a third division co-ordinate with them. Aside from the ex- 
ceedingly scanty and obscure Gallic epigraphical monuments, and the few single 
words preserved in classic authors, the earliest records both of Irish and Welsh — 
speech are glosses, or interlinear and marginal versions and comments written by — 
Celtic scholars upon manuscripts which they were studying. in old times when ~ 
Wales and Treland, especially the Jatter, were centres of a lively literary and 
Christian activity. Of these glosses, the Irish are by far the most abundant, and 
afford a tolerably distinct idea of what the language was at about the end of the ~ 
eighth century. There is also_an independent literary work, a Life of St. 
Patrick, which is supposed to belong to the beginning of the ninth century. The — 
other principal Gadhelic dialect, the Scotch Gaelic, presents us a few songs that 
claim to be of the sixteenth century. The Ossianic poems, which excited such at- ~ 
tention a hundred years ago, and whose genuineness and value have been the sub-= © 
ject of so lively discussion, are probably built upon only a narrow foundation of — 
real Gaelic tradition. : a 

In the Cymric division, the Welsh glosses are the oldest monuments of definite — 
date. Though hardly, if at all, less ancient than the Irish, coming down from — 
somewhere between the eighth and the tenth centuries, they are very much more — 
scanty in amount, hardly sufficient to do more than disprove the supposed antiquity 
of the earliest monuments of the language that possess a proper literary character. — 
For long centuries past the Welsh bards have sung in spirit-stirring strains the ~ 
glories and the woes of their race; and itis claimed that during much more thana 
thousand years, or ever since the sixth century. the era of Saxon invasion and con-— 
quest, some of theirsongs have been handed down from generation to generation, — 
by a careful and uninterrupted ‘tradition, and the claim is probably well founded 3 
ouly, itis also pretty certain that as they have been handed down, they have been — 


hy Maal Ss 2 ee een Se StS 
a ee $F pee > 4 XS Se - 
WHITNEY.} = © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 817 


modernised in diction, so that, in their present form, they represent to us the 
Welsh language of a time not much preceding the date of the oldest manuscripts, or 
of the tweifti: to the fourteenth centuries. ‘the later Welsh literature, as well as the 
Trish, is abundant in quantity. ‘The Cornish, also, has a tolerably copious literature 

—of not far from the same age; its earliest monument, a Latin-Cornish vocabulary, 
may be as old. as tue twelfth century. The language of Brittany, the Armorican— 
which is so closely allied with the two last mentioned, that it caunot well be regarded 
asa remnant and representative of the Celtic dialects of Gaul, but must rather be- 
long to colonists or fugitives from Britain—is recorded in one or two brief works 
going back to the fourteenth century or even farther. 


DR. JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER, 


The distinguished Professor of Chemistry in the university of New 
York, in 1875 published a ‘ History of the Conflict between Religion 
and Science,’ commencing with the Greek conquest of Persia, and 
_ the subsequent division of Alexander’s empire, which resulted in the 
_ establishment of the Macedonian dynasiy in Egypt. This was suc- 
ceeded by the erection of the Museum as aschool of knowledge at 
Alexandria, then the intellectual metropolis of the wold. Dr, 
Draper traces the influence of the Museum and the development 
of science. The philosophy was of the stoical Pantheistic type. 
‘Though there is a Supreme Power,’ said the ethical teachers, ‘there 
~ isno Supreme Being; there is an invisible principle, but not a per- 
sonal God, to whom it would be not so much blasphemy as absurdity 
to impute the form, the sentiments, the passions of man.’ ‘The soul 
of man was supposed to be re-absorbed into the universal soul; and 
as the tired labourer looks forward to the insensibility of sleep, so 
the philosopher, weary of the world, anticipated the tranquillity of 
- extinction... Dr. Draper next proceeds to describe the rise of Chris- 
tianity, end to ‘give a history of the conflict between religion and 
science from that time to the present day.’ But the work should 
more correctly be termed a history of the conflict between science 
and the Roman Catholic Church. The Greek Church, he says, has 
met the .advance of knowledge with welcome; the Protestant 
--Churches have been mostly averse to constraint, and their oppo- 
- sition has seldom passed beyond the exciting of theological odium. 
‘In speaking of Christianity,’ says Dr. Draper, ‘reference is gen- 
erally made to the Roman Church, partly because its demands are 
- the most pretentious, and partly because it has sought to enforce 
those demands by the civil power.’ Now to this it may be objected 
that the conflict of a church with science, and that church a political 
or state organisation, is not a battle between science and religion, 
_ The maintenance of its own power was the object of the Papacy, 
and with perfect impartiality it persecuted alike its religious oppo- 
nents and the scientific discoverer. It would be as reasonable to 
- charge upon science all the absurdities of alchemy and astrology as 
_ to discredit religion with all the follies of its professed followers. In 
his History, Dr. Draper gives an account of the rise of Moham- 
_medanism and the conquests of the Arabs, who carried with them 


318 CYCLOPADIA OF © - fro. 1876, 


into Europe a taste for philosophy and science. In the tenth cen- 
tury, the Caliph Hakem II. had made Andalusia a sort of terrestrial 
paradise, where Christians, Mussulmans, and Jews mixed together 
without restraint. . 


~ 


Luxuries of the Spanish Oaliphs. 


The Spanish caliphs had surrounded themselves with all the luxuries of oriental — 
life. ‘They had magniiicent palaces, enchanting gardens, seraglios filled with beauti- 
ful women. Europe at the present day does not offer more taste, more refinement, 
more elegance, than might have been seen at the epoch of which we are speaking, 
in the capitals of the Spanish Arabs. Their streets were lighted and solidly paved. 
‘Their houses were-frescoed and carpeted; they were warmed in winter by furnaces, 
and cooled in sumer with perfume air brought by underground pipes from flower- 
beds. ‘hey had baths and libraries and dining-halls, fountains of quicksilver and 
water. City and country were full of convivial.ty, and of dancing to the lute and 
mundolin. Instead of the drunken and gluttonous wassail oreies of their Northern 
neighbours, the feasts of the Saraceus were marked by sobriety. Wine was pro-~ 
hibited. ‘Lhe enchanting moonlight evenings of Andalusia were spent by the Moors — 
in sequestered fairy-like gurdens, or in orange groves, listening to the romances oF 
the story-teller, or engaged in philosophical discourse ; consoling themselves for the 
disy ppointments cf this Jife by such reflections as that. if virtue were rewarded in this 
world, we should be without expectations in the life to come; and reeonciling them= 
selves to their daily toil by the expectation that rest will be found after death—a rest 
never to be succeeded by labour. 


Dr. Draper is stated to have been born near Liverpoolin 1811. He 
graduated at the university of Pennsylvania in 1886, and in 1889 was _ 
appointed Professor of Chemistry in the university of New York. - 
His ‘Human Physiology, Statical and Dynamical,’ is considered one 


of the best of our physiological treatises. He has also written on the 

‘Organisation of Plants,’ 1844; a ‘ History of the Intellectual Devel- 
opment of Europe,’ 1864; and text-books on chemistry and natural ~ 
history. ,.) 


GEORGE SMITH. 


Mr. Grorce Smrrn (1840-1876), a gentleman honourably associ- ~ 
ated with the pregress of Assyrian discovery, was of humble origin. 
Tn his fifteenth year he was apprenticed to a bank-note engraver, but_— 
his leisure hours were devoted to the study of oriental antiquities; 
and on the recommendation of Sir Henry Rawlinson, he was en- — 
gaged in the British Museum (1857). A contemporary account says: ~ 
‘Several years of arduous and successful study were fruitful of im- ~ 
portant results; but it was in 1872 that Mr. Smith had the good for- ~ 
tune to make what in this connection may be reckoned as his culmi- ~ 
nating discovery—that, namely, of the tablets containing the Chaldean ~ 
account of the deluge, the first fragment discovered containing about 
- half the account which was afterwards supplemented asthe result of ar- — 
duous ard ingenious research, in the course of which Mr. Smith ascer-— 
tained that the deluge tablet was, in fact,the eleventh of a series of — 
twelve viving the history of an unknown hero named Izdubar.’ Mr 
Smith left London on his last mission of discovery at the beginning of — 
the present year (1876), but died at Aleppo on the 19th August. ‘His 
career has been short, but no one can doubt its brilliancy; and he 


° 


Ber te eee: . = | “Ss a ~~ f- he é 4 * 
SOUTHGATE.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 319. 


5 


was endeared to the large number of friends whom his geniality at- 
tracted and attached for the singular modesty and equilibrium which 
characterised him even in the most trying moments of homage and 
ovation.’ Mr. Smith’s chief publication is h s* Chaidean Account of 
Ge: esis,’ containing the description of the creation, the fall of man, 
the deluge, the tower of Babel, the times of the patriarchs and Nim- 
-rod; Babylonian fables and legends of the gods, from the cuneiform 
‘inscriptions. 


eho TRAVELLERS. 


Every season adds to our library of foreign travels and adventures, 
Dr. Edward Clarke saw and described more of the East, as Byron 
said, than any of his predecessors, but a numerous tribe of followers 
has succeeded. ‘Travels in the East,’ by the Rev. Horario Soutu- 

GATE, 1840, describe the traveller’s route through Greece, Turkey, 
-Armeni:, Kurdistan, Persia, and Mesopotamia, and give a good ac 
count of the Mohammedan religion and its rites and ceremonies, 
The following is acorrection of a vulgar error: 


Religious Status of Women in the Mohammedan System. 


The place which the Mohammedan system assigns to woman in the other world 
has often been wrovgfully represented. -It is not trne, as has sometimes been re- 
ported, that Mohammedan teachers deny her admission to the felicities of Paradise. 
‘Nhe doctrine of the Koran is, most plainly, that her destiny is to be determined in 

_ like manner with that of every accountable being; and according to the judgment 
passed upon heris her reward, although nothing definite is said of the place which 
she is to Occupy in Paradise. Mohammed speaks repeatedly of * believing women,’ 
commends them. and promises them the recompense which their good deeds deserve. 

- ‘The regulations of the Sunneh are in accordance with the precepts of the Koran. 
So far is woman from being regarded in these institutions asa creature without & | 
soul, that special allusion is frequently made to ber. and particular directions given 
for her religious conduct. Respecting her observance of Ramazan, her ablutions, 
and many other matters, her duty is taught with a minuteness that borders on inde- 
corous precision. She repeats the creed in dying. and, like other Mussulmans, says: 

 *Tn this faith Ihave lived in this faith I die, and in this faith I hope to rise again.’ 
She is required to do everything of religious obligation equa‘ly with men. ‘The com- 
mand to perform the pilgrimage to Mecca extends to her. In my journeys I often 

“met with women on their way tothe Holy City. ‘They may even undertake this 

journey without the consent ot their husbands, whose authority in rel: gious matters 
extends Only to those acts of devotion which are not obligatory. 

Women are not, indeed, allowed to be present in the mosques at the time of pub- 
lie prayers: but the reason is not that they are regarded, like pagan females, as un- 

susceptible of religions sentiments. but because the meeting of the two sexes in a 
sacred place is supposed to be unfavourable to devotion. This, however, is an ori- 
ental, not a Mohammed:n prejadice. The custom is nearly the same among the 

- Christians-as among the Mussulmans. In the Greek churches the females are sepa 

“rated from the males. snd concealed behind a lattice; and something of the same 
kiud I have observed among the Christians of Mesopotamia. 


‘Six Years’ Residence in Algiers,’ by Mrs. Broucuton, published 
in 1839, is an interesting domestic chronicle. The authoress was 


Oper 


= ‘ t 


820 -< CYCLOPADIA OF ~ fro 1876, 


daughter to Mr. Blanckley, the British consul-general at Algiers; and 
the work is composed of a journal kept by Mrs. Blanckley, with re- 
" miniscences by her daughter, Mrs. Broughton. The vivacity, minute 
description, and kindly fceling everywhere apparent in this book 
render it highly attractive. 

‘ Discoveries in the Interior of Africa,’ by SrR JAMES ALEXANDER, 
two volumes, 1838, describe a journey from Cape ‘Town, of about 
four thousand miles, and occupying above a year, towards the tracts 
of country inhabited by the Damaras, a nation of which-very little 
was known, and generally the country to the north of the Orange 
River, on the west coast. ‘The author’s personal adventures are in-_ 
teresting, and it appears that the aborigines are a kind and friendly 
tribe of people, with whom Sir James Alexander thinks that an ex- 
tended intercourse may be maintained for the mutual benefit of the 
colonists and the natives. ie aie 

‘A Journal written during an Excursion in Asia Minor in 1838, by 
CHARLES FELLOWS, is valuable from the author’s discoveries in Pani- 
phylia. Mr. Fellows has also written a second work, ‘ Ancient Ly-— 
cia, an Account of Discoveries made during a Second Excursion to- 
Asia Minor in 1840.’ Lieut. J. R. WELLSTED, author of ‘ Travels in 
Arabia, the Peninsula of Sinai, and along the Shores of the Red Sea,’ 
1888; and Lorp Linpsay, in his ‘ Letters on Egypt, Edom, and the 
Holy Land,’ 1838, supply some additional details. ‘The scene of the 
encampment of the Israelites, after crossing the Red Sea, is thus de- 
scribed by Lord Lindsay: aie 373 


The Red Sea, 


The bright sea suddenly burst on us, a sail in the distance, and the blue mountains — 
of Africa beyond it—a lovely vista. But when we had fairly issued into the plain on 
the sea-shore, beautiful indeed, most beautiful was the view—the whole African 
coast, from Gebel Ataka to Gebel Krarreb, lay before us, washed by the Red Sea—a 
vast amphitheatre of mountains, except the space where the waters were lost in dis-_ 
tance between the Asiatic and Libyan promontories. It was the stillest hour of day ; 
the sun shone brightly, descending to ‘his palace in the occident;’ the tide was~ 
coming in with its peaceful pensive murmurs, wave after wave. It was in this plain, 
broad, and perfectly smooth from the mountains to the sea, that the children of Israel 
encamped after leaving Elim. What a glorious scene it must then have presented t 
and how nobly those rocks, now so silent, must have re-echoed the Song of Moses ~ 
and its ever-returning chorus—‘ Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously ; 
the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea !’ 


The Ear, or CaRruisLE, in 1854, published an interesting, unpre-> 
tending volume, entitled ‘A Diary in Turkish and Greek Waters.’ 
His lordship is also author of a lecture on Pope, and of a paraphrase 
in verse, ‘The Second Vision of Daniel,’ 1858. ~~ ; 

As a guide and pleasant companion over another Eastern route, we | 
may note the ‘Overland Journey to the North of India from Eng- 
land, by Lirutrnanr ARTHUR ConoLLy, two volumes, 1854. | 
Lieutenant Conolly’s journey was through Russia, Persia, and 
Afghanistan. Miss Emma Roperts, in the following year, gave @- 

| 


| 
' 


aa aie 


é 


; MRS. POSTANS.] ENGLISH LITERATURE, 821 


- lively and entertaining series of ‘ Scenes and Characteristics of Hin- 
» dustan, with Sketches of Anglo-Indian Society.’ This lady went out 
- again to India in 1839, and was engaged to conduct a Bombay news- 
_ paper; but she died in 1840. . Her ‘ Notes of an- Overland Journey 
through France and Egypt to Bombay’ were published after her 
death. Another lady, Mrs. Posrans, ‘published (1839) ‘Cutch, or 

Random Sketches taken during a Residence in one of the Northern 
_ Provinces of Western India.’ The authoress resided some years in 
the province of Cutch, and gives a minute account of the feudal 
- government and customs, the religious sects and superstitions of the 
people. The aristocratic distinctions of caste are rigidly preserved, 
and the chiefs are haughty, debauched, and cruel. 


2 Sacrifice of a Hindu Widow.—From Mrs. Postans’s ‘Cutch, or Random 
nae Sketches,’ &e. 


_. News of the widow’s intentions having spread, a great concourse of people of 
' both sexes, the women clad in their gala costumes, assembied round the pyre. In a 
_ Short time after their arrival the fated victim appeared, accompanied by the Brah- 
_ mins, her relatives, and the body of the deceased. The spectators showered chap- 
_ lets of mogree on her head, and greeted her appearance with laudatory exclamatious 
at her constancy and virtue. The women especially pressed forward to touch her 
'garments—an act which is considered meritorious, and highly desirable for absolu- 
_ tion and protection from the ‘ evil eye.’ : 
_ . The widow was a remarkably handsome woman, apparently about thirty, and 
~most superbly attired. Her manner was marked by great apathy to all around her, 
and by a complete indifference to the preparations which for the first time met her 
eye. From this circumstance an impression was given that she might be under the 
_ influence of opium ; and in conformity with the declared intention of the European 
- Officers present to interfere should any coercive measures be adopted by the Brah- 
‘mins or relatives, two medical officers were requested to give their opinion on the 
“subject. They both agreed that she was quite free from any influence calculated to 
induce torpor or. intoxicatio 
_— Captain Burnes then addressed the woman, desiring to know whether the act she 
Pras about to perform were voluntary or enforced, and assuring her that, should she 
entertain the slightest reluctance to the fulfilment of her vow, he, on the part of the 
_ British government. would guarantee the protection of her life and property. Her 
sanswer was calm, heroic, and constant to her purpose: ‘Idie of my own free-will ; 
give me back my husband. and I will consent to live: if Idie not with him, the souls 
of seven husbands will condemn me!’.. . - : ‘ 
Ere the renewal of the horrid ceremonies of death were permitted, again the voice 
of mercy, of expostulation, and even of entreaty was heard; but the trial was vain, 
“and the cool and collected manner with which the woman still declared her determi- 
“nation unalterable, chilled and startled the most courageous. Physical pangs eyi- 
dently excited no fears in her; her singular creed, the customs of her countr ys and 
cher sense of conjugal duty, excluded from her mind the natural emotions of per sonal 
“dread; and never did martyr to a true cause go to the stake with more constancy and 
firmness, than did this delicate and gentle woman prepare to become the victim of a 
eliberate sacrifice to the demoniacal tenets of her heathen creed. Accompanied 
y the officiating Brahmin, the widow walked seven times around the pyre, pepeats 
ing the usua! mantras or prayers, strewing rice and coories on the ground, and sprink- 
ing water from her hand over the by-standers, who believe this to be efficacious a 
ates disease and in expiating Committed sins. She then removed her jewe a 
and presented them to her relations, saying a few words to each with a calm fon 
mile of encouragement and hope. The Brahmin then presented her with a lighte 
orch, ing which—- | - aa 


LOS a ee ee eee 
ae Nee Pg Bre 
828 CYCLOPADIA OF afro Teahe, 


Fresh as a flower just blowh,, . — * 
And warm with life, her youthful! paises play_-ng. 


she stepped through the fatal door, and sat within the pile. ‘The body or her hus-_ 
band. wrapped in rich kinkaab, was then carried seven times round the»pile, and 
finally laid across her knees. ‘Thorns and grass were piled over the door; and.ugain 
it was insisted that free space sbould be left, us it was hoped the poor victim might 
yet relent, and rush from her fiery prisun to the protection so freely offered. ‘tie 
coinmand was readily obeyed; the strength of a child would have sufficed to burst~ 
the frail barrier which confined her, and a breathless pause succeeded; bat the wo- 
man's constancy was faithful to the last. Nota sigh broke the deathike silence of 
the crowd. until a slight simoke, curling from the sumiit of the pyre, and then a 
tongue of flame darting with bright and lightning-like rapidity into the clear blue sky, 
told us that the sacrifice was completed. fearlessly had this courageous woman fired 
the pile. and not a groan had betrayed to us the moment when her spirit fled. At sight 
of the flame a fiendish shout of exu.tation rent the air; the tom-toms sounded, ther 
yeople clapped their hands with delight as the evidence of their murderous work - 
baat on their view, whilst the English spectators of this sad scene withdrew, bearing 
deep comp:ssion in their hearts, to philosophise as best they might on a custom £0 
fraught with horror. so incompatible with reason, and so revolting to huiuan sympa- 
thy. The pile continued to burn for three hours; but, from its form, it is supposed 
that almost immediate suffocation must have terminated the sufferings of the un-— 
happy victim. i Steno. 
‘First Impressions and Studies from Nature.in Hindustan,’ by 
LIEUTENANT THomas Bacon, two volumes, !887, is a more lively 
but. carelessly written work, with good sketches of scenery, build 
ings, pageants, &«. The Hon. Mounrstuartr ELPHINSTONE (1778-_ 
1859), in 1842, gave an account of the kingdom of Cabul, and its de-- 
pendencies in Persia, Tartary, and India; and ‘A Narrative of 
Various Journeys in Beloochistan, Afghanistan, and the Punjaub,” 
by CHaries Masson, describes with considerable animation the- 
author's residence in those countries, the native chiefs, and personal” 


adventures with the various tribes from 1826 to 1838. Mr. C. R.- 


° os . . -\» 2 
Baynes, a gentleman in the Madras civil service, published in 1843 
‘Notes and Reflections during a Ramble in the East, an Overland 


Journey to India,’ &c. His remarks are just and spirited, and his — 
anecdotes and descriptions lively and entertaining. 


Remark by an’ Arab Chief. 

An Arab chieftain, one of the most powerful of the princes of the desert, had 
come to behold for the first time a steam-ship. _Much attentionavas paid to him, 
and every facility afforded for his inspection of every part of the vessel. What im- 
pression the sight made on him it was impossible to judge. No indications of sur. 
prise escaped him; every muscle preserved its wonted calmness of expression; and 
ary hin he merely observed, ‘It is weil; but you have not brought a man to life 
yet. 


4 


Legend of the Mosque of the Bloody Baptism at Cairo. : 


Sultan Hassan, wishing to see the world. and Jay aside for a time the anxieti 
and cares of royalty. committed the charge of his kingdom to his favourite minister 
and taking with him a large amount of treasure in money and jewels, visited several 
foreign countries in the character of a wealthy inerchant. Pleased with his tour,and 
becoming interested in the ocenpation he had assumed as a disguise. he was absen 
much longer than he originally intended. and in the-course of a few vears creatly in- 
creased his already large stock of wealth. His protracted absence, however, prov: 
a temptation too strong for the virtue of the viceroy, who, gradually forming for hi 


ge, 4 —_ 5 a ye ~ is = 4 F ; = 
" -BOWRING. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. "BRB: 


self a party among the leading men of the country, at length communicated to the com- 
mon people the intelligence that Sultan Hassan was no more, aud quiet!y seated him- 
self on the vacant throne. Sultan Hassan returning shortly afterwards from his pilgri- 
mage, and, fortunately for himself, still in disguise, learned, as he approached his capi- 
tal, the news of his own death and the usurpation of his minister. Finding. on further 
inquiry, the party of the usurper to be too strong to render an immediate disclosure 
rudent, he preserved his incognito, and scon became known in Cairo as the wealth=- 
lest of her merchants ; nor did it excite any surprise when he announced his pions in- 
tention of devoting a portion of bis gains to the erection of a spacious mosque. The 
work proceeded rapidiy under the spur of the great merchaut’s gold, and. on its com- 
retion, he solicited the honour of the sultan’s presence at the ceremony of naming 
it. Anticipating the gratification of hearing his own name bes.owed upon it. ihe 
usurper accepted the invitation, and at the appointed hour the building was filled-by 
him and his most attached adherents. The ceremonies had duly proceeded to the 
time when it became necessary to give the name. ‘The chief, Moolah, turuing to the 
_ Supposed merchant, inquired what should beitsname. ‘ Call it,’ he replied, * th » Mosque 
of Sultan Hassan,” Ali started at the mention of this name; and the questioner, as 
though not believing he could have heard aright, or to afford an opportunity of ‘cor- 
recting what might be a mistake, repeated his demand. ‘ Call it,’ ugain cried he, ‘the 
mosque of-me, Sultan Hassan !’ and throwing off his disguise, the legitimate sultan 
* stood revealed before his traitorous servant. He had no time for reflection : simulia- 
neousy with the discovery, numerous trap-doors, leading to extensive vaults, which had 
been prepared for the purpose, were flung open, and a multitude of armed men issuing 
from them, terminated at onee the reign and life of the usurper. His fo'lowers were 
mingled in the slaughter, and Sultan Hassan was once more in possession of the 
throne of his fathers. 


Str Jon Bowrine published an entertaining and instructive ac- 
- count of ‘The Kingdom and People of Siam,’ two volumes, 1807, 


State and Ceremonial of the Siamese. 


- _ April 16. 1855.—How can I describe the barbaric grandeur, the parade, the show, 
- the glitter, the real magnificence, the profuse decorations of to-day’s royal audience! 
We went, as usual. in the state barges: mine bad scarlet and gold curtains, the 
others had none. Parkes sent them back, and they all returned with the needful 
appendages: he understands the art of managing Orientals marvellously well. 
~ When we landed, chairs were brought, and multitudes of guards escorted us. 
~ From the moment we entered the precincts of the palace, an unbroken line of sol- 
diery, dressed in a great variety of costumes, and bearing every species of weapon 
—many singularly grotesque and rnde—spears. shields, swords, bucklers, battle-axes, 
bows. quivers, in every forrn, and nniforms of every colour and shape, fantastical, 
farcical. fierce, and amnsing; the rudest forms of ancient warfare. mingled with 
sepoy-dressed regulars—ancient European court costumes amidst the lightand golden 
garments, and sometimes the nakedness above the waist of nobles of the highest dis- 
tinction. Iwas carried in a gaudy gilded chair, with a scarlet umbrella over me, 
borne by eight bearers, with a crowd of attendants. My suite followed me in Jess 
decorated seats; but crowds of men, women. and children p'essed around ns, who 
were beaten away with canes b¥ the police. We psssed through rows of caparisoned 
‘ponies and elephants mounted for war. The ruder troops of the wilder countries 
- were broken by small bodies of soldiers dressed in European style, who * pre- 
sented arms,’ and bad fifes and drums: but ‘much of the music was of tom-toms 
~and Siamese instruments. We were all conducted to a building to await the royal 
suinmons, where coffee and cigars were brought in. and gold and silver vessels, con- 
‘taining pure water, covered the table. at the head of which I was placed, The spit- 
toon at my feet was of silver, inlaid with gold. and about fourteen inches in diameter. 
Soon a messenger came, and we proceeded on foot to the hall of reception. Soft and 
exceedingly pleasing music welcomed our arrival, and at it thundered forth a loud 
peal as we a proached the grand hall of audience. On entering the hall, we found it 
crowded with nobles. all prostrate, 2nd with their faces bent to the ground. L- 
walked forward through the centre of the hall to a cushion provided for me in a line 
"with the very highest nobles not of roy: blood; the prime-minister and his brother - 


924 x ae CYCLOPADIA: OF - [ro 1876, 


were close to me’on my right hand. The king came in and seated himself on an — 
e evated and gorgeous throne like the curtained box of a theatre. He was clad in 
golden garments, his crown at his side; but he wore on his head a‘cap decorated _ 
with large diamonds, and enormous diamond rings.were on his fingers. At my left, — 
nearer the throne, were the king’s brothers and his sons; @t the right, the princes of _ 
the blood, the Somdetches, and the higher nobles. ‘lhe nobility crowded the hall, all 
on their knees; and on the entrance of the king, his throne, being raised about ten 
feet from the floor, they all bent their foreheads to the ground, and we sat down as 
gracefully as we could, while the prostiations were repeated again and again. 


China has received a flood of new illustration, and the intercourse 
which has recently been opened up with that immense and mysterious 
empire will still further augment the amount of our knowledge. Mr. . 
JoHN Francis Davis, late chief superintendent in China, has pub- 
lished - two interesting works: ‘Sketches of China, partly during an 
Tnland Journey of Four Months between Pekin, Nankin, and Can- ~ 
ton; and ‘The Chinese, a General Description of the Empire of 
China and its Inhabitants.’ The latter work was published in 1836, - 
but has since been enlirged, and the history of British intercourse 
brought down to the events which produced the dissolution of 1857. — 
Mr. Davis resided twenty years at Canton, is -perfect in the peculiar — 
language of China, and has certainly seen more of its inhabitants 
than any other English author. ‘The Journal of Three Voyages 
along the Coast of China,’ in 1831, 1852, and 1833, by Mr. GurzLarr, 

a German, is also a valuable work. The contraband trade in opium ~ 
formed a memorable era in the history of Chinese commerce. It was 
carried on toa great €xtent with the Hong merchants; but in -18384, — 
after the monopoly of the East India Company had been abolished, 
our government appointed Lord Napier to proceed to Canton as spe- ~ 
cial superintendent, to adjust all disputed questions among the mer- ~ 
chants, and to form regulations with the provincial authorities. The 
Chinese, always jealous of foreigners, and looking upon mercantile 
employments as degrading, insulted our superintendent; hostilities 
took place, and the trade was suspended. Lord Napier took his de- 
parture amidst circumstances of insult and confusion, and died on 
the 11th of October, 1884. The functions of superintendent devolved — 
on Mr. Davis. ‘The Chinese, emboldened by the pacific temper — 
ament of our government, proceeded at length to the utmost extent; ~ 


-_ and not satisfied with imprisoning and threatening the lives of the ~ 


whole foreign community, laid also violent hands on the British re- 
presentative himself, claiming, as the purchase of his freedom, the. 
delivery of the whole of the opium then in the Chinese waters—pro- — 
perty to the amount of upwards of two millions sterling. After a 
close imprisonment of two months’ duration, during which period — 
our countrymen were deprived of many of the necessaries of life, — 
and exposed repeatedly, as in a pillory, to the gaze and abuse of the — 
mob, no resource was left but to yield to the bold demands of the 
Chinese, relying with confidence on their nation for support and re- — 
dress: nor did they rely in vain; for immediately the accounts of the — 


cours Se ie en oie St oie Se SIMS ES he RN Fae 
-BINGHAN.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 825 


— 


~ageression reached London, preparations commenced for the Chinese 
expedition.’* After two years of irregular warfare, a treaty of 
‘peace and friendship between the two empires was s gned on board 
_ Her Majesty’s ship Cornwallis on the 29th of August 1842. This ex- 
~ pedition gave rise to various publications. Lorp JocELYN wrote a 
“lively and interesting narrative, entitled ‘Six Months with the Chi- 
~ nese Expedition;’ and ComMANDER J. Exiror Brnenam, R.N., a 
- *Narrative of the Expedition to China... ‘Two Years in China,’ by 
~ D-Macrumrson, M.D., relates the events of the campaign from its 
~ formation in April 1840 to the triaty of peace in 1842. ‘Doings in 
China,’ by LrzurENANT ALEXANDER MURRAY, illustrates the social 
“habits of the Chinese. ‘The Last Year in China, to the Peace of 
“Nankin,’ by a Field Officer, consists of extracts from letters written 
‘to the author’s private friends. ‘The Closing Events of the Cam- 
~paign in China,’ by Caprarn G. G. Locu, R.N., is one of the best 
~ _)ooks which the expedition called forth. 


Chinese Ladies’ Feet.— From Commander Bingham’s ‘Narrative.’ 


During our stay we made constant trips to the swrounding islands. in one of 
which—at Tea Island—we had a good opportunity of minutely examining the far- 
famed little female feet. I had been purchasing a pretty little pair of satin shoes, 
for about balf a dollar, at one of the Chinese farmers’ houses, where we were sur- 
rounded by several men, women, and children. By signs we expressed a wish to 
see the pied mignon of a really good-looking woman of the party. Our signs were 
_ quickly understood, but, probably from her being a matron, it was not considered 

_ quite comme il faut for her to comply with our desire, as she would not consent to 
~ shew us her foot; but a very pretty interesting girl, of about sixteen, was placed on 
~a stool forthe purpose of g atifying our curiosity. At first she was very bashful, 
_ and appeared not to like exposing her Cinderella-like slipper, but the shine of a new 
a aud very bright “loopee’ soon overcame her delicacy, when she commenced un- 
- winding the upper bandage which passes round the leg, and over a tongue that 
~comes up from the heel. The shoe was then removed and the second bandage 
taken off, which did duty for a stocking; the turns round the toes and ankles being 
very tight, and keeping all in place. On the vaked foot being exposed to 
view, we were agreeably surprised by finding it delicately white and clean, for 
- ~we fully expected to have found it otherwise, from the known habits of 
‘most. of the Chinese. The leg from the knee downwards was much wasted 3 
.the foot a as if broken up at the instep. while the four small toes were bent flat 
and pressed down under the foot, the great toe only being allowed to retain its na- 
- tural position. By the breaking of the instep a high arch is formed between the heel 
and the toe, enabling the individual fo step with them on an even surface; in this re- 
spect macerially differing from the Canton and Macao ladies, for with them the in- 
- step is not interfere: with, but a very high heel is substituted, thus bringing the 
point of the great toe to the gronnd. When our Canton compradore was shewn a 
Chusau shoe, the exclamation was: ‘ He-yaw!. how can walkee so fashion?’ nor 
-would he be convinced that such was the case. The toes, doubled under the foot I 
have been describing, could only be moved by the hand sufficiently to shew that they 
were not actually grown into the foot. I have often been astonished at seeing how 
_well the women contrived to walk on their tiny pedestals. Their gait is not unlikethe 
‘little mincing walk of the French ladies; they were constantly to be seen going 
about without the aid of any stick, and I have often seen them at Macao contending 
against a fresh breeze with a tolerably good-sized umbrella spread. 'The little chil- 
dren, as they scrambled away before us, balanced themselves with their arms ex- 
- tended, and remind:d one much of au old hen between walking and flying. All the 


‘4 


. Soy * McPherson’s Zico Yearsin China, 


826 , - CYCLOPADIA OF fro 1876. 


bd > 
women I saw about Chusan had small feet, It is a general characteristic of true Chi- 
nese desccnt; and there cannot be a greater mistake than to suppose that it is con- — 
fined to the higher orders, though it maybe true titat they take more pains to com- 
press the foot to the simallest possible dimensions than the lower Classes do. High 


4 


a 


and low, rich and poor, all more or less follow the custom; and when you see a large | 


or natural-sized foot, you may depend upon it the possessor is not of trne Chinese 
biood, but is either of“latar extraction, or belongs to the tmbes that live and have 
their being on the waters. ‘Lhe Tutar ladies, however, ire falling into this Chinese habit 
of distortion, us the accompanying edict ot the emperor/proy. sz ‘Kor know, goou peo- 
ple, you must not dress as you ike in-China. You must follow the customs und. 
haoits of your ancestors, und wear your winter and summer clothing us the emperor 
or one of the six boards shull direct.’ 1f this were the custom in England, how pene- 
ficial it would be to our pockets, and detrimental to the tailors and milliners. Let us n0w 
see what tue emperor says about little feet, on finding they were couimeg into vogue 
anong the undeformed danghters of the Mantchows. Not oniy does he attack the 
little fect, but the large Chinese sleeves which were creeping imto fashion at court. 
‘Therefore, to check these misdemeanors, the usual Chimese remedy was resorted to, 
anda flaming edict launched, d nouncing them; threatening the * heads of the fami- 
lies with d-gradation and punishinent if they did not put astep to such gross ilegali- 
ties,’ ai.d his cel stial majesty further goes on and tells the fair ones. that by persisting 
in their vuigar iabits. they will debar themselves from the possibility of being sc lected 
as ladies of bonour for the inner palace at the approaciing presentation !’ How far 
this had the desired effect I ca:not say. When toe children begin to grow they suf- 
fer excruciating pain, but as they advance in years, their vanity is played upon by 
being assured that they would be exceedingly ugly with large feet. ‘hus they are 
persuaded to put up with what they consider-a necessary evil; but the children are 
remarkably patient under pain. A poor little child, about five years old, was brought 
, to our surgeon, having been most dreadfully scalded, part of its dress adhering to 
_ the skin. During the painful operation of removing the linen, it only now aud then 
said, ‘ie-yaw, he-yaw ?” ; 

Mr. Rosert Fortune, a botanist, was nearly nine years resident 
in China, employed on three separate missions by the Horticultural 
Society of London to collect specimens. In 1847 he published ‘ Tiree 
Years’ Wanderings in China ; in 1851, his ‘Two Visits to the Tea 
Countries of. China ;’ and in 1857, ‘A Residence among the Chinese, 
Inland, on the Coast, and at Sea.’ These works of Mr. Fortune are 


extremely valuable as affording information relative to the social — 
hahits-ot the Chinese, as well as the natural products of the country. — 


A French missionary, M. Huc, has also added fresh details in his 
work, ‘L’Empire Chinois,’ 1854, of which an English version has — 
had ggseat success in this country. In describing his personal adven- 
tures, the French ecclesiastic is supposed to have indulged in the pro- 


- verbial license of travellers ; but his account of Chinese customs is — 


said to be exact. 


Chinese Thieves.-From Fortunes ‘Restdence among the Chinese.’ 
About two in the morning T was awakened by aloud vell from one of my serv- 


ants, und Isnspected at once that we had had a visit from thieves. for I had freque™tly : 


heard the same sound before. Like the cry one hears at sea when a man has fallen 
Overboard. this alarm can never be mistaken when once it has been heard. Before 
I had time to inquire what was wrong. one of my servants and two of the hoatmen 
plunged into the canal and pursued the thieves. Thinking that we had only Tost — 
some cooking utensils. or things of little valne that might have been lying outside 
the boat, I gave myself no uneasiness about the matter. and felt much inclined to zo 
to sleep again. But my servant, who returned almost immediately. awoke me most. 
effectually, ‘T fear,’ said he, opening my door, ‘ the thieves havo been inale the boat, 


\ 


fi 


\ 


142 = ig yee te eT ees Oe m, rs 
Foie E ‘ 4 : 3 F o 7? “ + 


Lg 


ORTUNE.} ENGLISH LITERATURE, “B27 


Se 


me ce an 


eR 


and have taken away some of your property.’ ‘ Impossible,’ said I; * they cannot have~ 


> been here.’ ‘But look,’ he replied; ‘a portion of the side of your boat under the 


a Seay has peen lifted out.’ ‘lurning to the place indicated by my servant. 1 could 
, although it was quite dark, that there was a large hole in the side of the boat 


~. not more than three feet from where my head had been lying. At my right hand, 


god Just under the window, the trunk used to staud in which Iwas in the habit of 
eeping my papers, money, and other valuables. On the first suspicion that I was 


~ the vic im, I stretched ont my hand in the dark to feel if this was safe. Instead of 


at, 


> 


nd hand ape on the top of the trunk, as it had been accustomed to do, it went 
OWE Ry floor of ihe boat, and I then knew for the first time that the trunk was 
goue. Atthe same moment, my servant, Tung-a, came in with a candle. and con- 


firmed what I had just made out in the dark. he thieves had done their work. 


well—the boat was empty. My money, amounting to more than onehundred Shanghae 


dollars, my accounts, and other papers—all. all were gone. ‘The rascals had not even > 


left me the c.othes I had thrown off when I went to bed. But there was no time to lose ; 
and in order to make every effort. to catch the thieves, or at least get back a portion 
of my property, I jumped into the canal, and made for the bank. ‘The tide had now 


_ risen, and instead of finding only about two feet of water—the depth when we went 


to bed—I now sank up to the neck, and found the stream very rapid. A few strokes 
with my arms soon brought me into shallow water and to the shore. Here I found 
the boatmen rushing about in a frantic manner, examining with a lantern the bushes 
and indigo vats on the banksof the caval, but all they had found was afew Manilla 
cheroots which the thieves had dropped apparently in their hurry. A watchman 
with his lantern and two or three stragglers. hearing the noise we made, came up 
and inquired what was wrong; but when asked whether they had seen anything of 
the thieves, shook their heads, and professed the most profonnd ignorance. ‘he 
night was pitch dark, everything was perfectly still. and, with tbe exception of the 
few stragglers already mentioned, the whole town seemed sunk in deep slecp. We 
were therefore perfectly helpless and could do nothing further. I reiurned in no 
comfortable frame of mind to my boat. Dripping wiih wet, I lay down on my couch 
without any inclinaticn to sleep. It was a serious business for me to lose so much 


_ money. but that part of the matter gave me the least uneasiness. The loss of my 


\ 


2 


— 


oa 
- 


nese. But it is chiefly in their habits of life that they assume to be so much our 


accounts, journals, drawings, and numerous memoranda I had been making during 

three years of travel, wh ch it was impossible for any one to replace, was of far 
greater importance. ltried to reason philosophically upon the matter; to persuade 
myself that as the thing could not be helped now, it was no tse being vexed with it; 
that in afew yearsit would not signify much either to myself or any one else whether 
I had been robbed or not; but all this fine reasoning would not do. 


What the Chinese Think of the Euroz-7ms.—From Hue’s ‘L’ Empire 
Chinois.’ 


a are disposed to think the inhabitants of the 
the Chinese who visit Canton and Macao re- 


turn the compliment. hey exhanst their caustic and mocking vein upon the ap- 
pearance of the Western devils, express unutterab’e astonishment at the sight of 
their scanty garments. their close-fitting pantaloons, their prodigious round hats in 
the shane of a chimney, their shirt-collars. which appear devised to saw the cars, 
and which so gracefully surround their grotesque faces with the long nose and blue 
eyes, without beard or moustache, but which display in compens:tion on each jaw 
a havdfui of red and frizzled hair. They are puzz'ed, above all, br the shape of the 
dress-coat. They endeavour, without success. 10 account. for that strange habili- 
ment. which they cal! a half-garment. because if is impossible to make it meet on 
the chest, and hecanse the tails which hang down behind are entirely wanting in 


front. Thev admire the exquisite and refined taste of wearing at the back large buttons 
How much more beautiful do 


like coins without having anything to button to them. 

they think themselves, with their obliaue. narrow black eyes. high check-bones, bose 
the shape of 2 chestnut. and shaven head adorned witha magnificent tail which reaches 
to the heels! Add to this graceful and clegant type a conical bat covered with red 
frin re, an ample tunic with large sleeves, black satin boots, with white soles of an 
-enormons thickness. and it is beyond dispnte that a European can never rival a Chi- 


The Enropeans who go to Chin 
Celestial Empire odd and ridiculous ; 


. 


~ 


re ’ 7 - ee * tear Re ee es Soyer ima oe er aa 


x ~ r ‘ou Cea ~ 


328 ~ CYCLOPHDIA OF ~ fro 1876. 


ghee ~ eo 
superiors. When they see Europeans spending several hours in gymnastic prome< 4 
nades, they ask if it is not a more civilised mode of passing leisure time to sit qui- — 
etly drinking tea and smoking a pipe, or else to go at once to bed. The notiou of ~~ 
spending the larger portion of the night at balls and parties has never occurred to — 

“them. All the Chinese, even among the upper ranks, begin to sleep in time to be | 
able to rise with the sun, At the hours in which there is the greatest stir and tumult al 
in the principal cities of Europe, those of China enjoy the most profound repose. - 
Every one has gone home to his family, all the shops are shut, the boatmen, the 
mountebanks, the public readers have finished their labours, and there are no signs 
of activity except among the theatres for the working-classes, who have no leisure 
but at night to enjoy the sight of a play. ; . 


The hostilities—1857-58—ending in a treaty with China, have led =~ 
to various publications respecting the Celestial Empire, the most co- é 
pious and generally ‘nteresting being ‘China,’ or the Times’ spe- 
cial correspondence from China, by Mr. GEORGE WINGROVE CooKE 
(1814-1865), author of a ‘Life of Bolingbroke,’ ‘The State of Par- 
ties,” &c. We give a few extracts from Mr. Ccoke’s lively and ~— 
graphic narrative: gy 


The Chinese Lowiguage. : See et! 


In a country where che roses have no fragrance, and the women wear no petti. 
coats ; where the labourer has no Sabbath, and the magistrate no sense of honour ; 
where the roads bear no vehicles, and the ships no keels; where old men fly kites; 
where the needle points south, and the sign of being puzzled is to scratch the an- 
tipodes of your head; where the place of honour is on your left hand, and theseat, j 
of intellect isin the stomach; where to take off your hat is an insolent gesture, and 
to wear white garments is to put yourself in mourning—we ought not to be aston- 
ished to find a literature without an alphabet, and a language without a grammar, 
and we must not be startled to find that this Chinese language is the most intricate, 
cumbrous, unwieldy vehicle of thought that ever obtained among any people. ye oe 


The Execution-ground of Canton. ee 


Threading our way, under the guidance of some experienced friend, we come to 
a carpenter’s shop, fronting the entrance to a small potter’s field. It is not a rood in 
area, of an irregular shape, resembling most an oblong. -A row of cottages open 
into it on one side; there is a wall on the other. The ground is covered with half- 2 
haked pottery ; there are two wooden crosses formed of unbarked wood, standing 
in an angle, with a shred of rotting rope hanging from one of them. There is noth- — 
ing to fix the attention in this small inclosure, except that you stumble against a 
human skull now and then as you walk along it. This is the Aceldama, the field of 
blood, the execution-ground of Canton. The upper part of that carpenter’s shop is 
the place where nearly all the European residents have, at the price of a dollar each, 2a 
witnessed the wholesale massacres of which Eurcpe has heard with a hesitating 
scepticism. It was within this yard that that monster Yeh has withm two years 
destroyed the lives of seventy thousand fellow-beings ! These crosses arethe instrn- ~ 
ments to which those victims were tied who were condemned to the special torture q 
of being sliced to death. Upon one of these the wife of a rebel genezal was 
stretched, and by Yeh’s order her flesh was cut from her body. After the battle at — ~ 
Whampoa the rebel leader escaped, but his wife fell into the hands of Yeh; thiswas - 
how he treated his prisoner. Her breasts were first cut off, then her forehead was 
slashed and the skin torn down over the face, then the fleshy parts of the body 4% 
were sliced away. There are Englishinen yet alive who saw this done, but at what — 
part of the butchery sensation ceased and death came to this poor innocent woman 
none can tell. The fragment of rope which now hangs to one of the crosses 
was used to bind a8 woman who was cut up for murdering her husband. The 
sickening details of the massacres perpetrated on this spot have been related 
.to me by those who have seen them, and who take shame to themselves while — 


< 


2 


} 


- ‘ Srhe x 


cooxe.J- ~_ ENGLISH LITERATURE.. 829° 


they confess_that, after witnessing one execution by cutting on the cross, the 


rapidity and dexterity with which the mere beheading was done deprived the execu= 
tion of a hundred men of half its horror. The-criminals were brought down in 
gangs, if they could walk, or brought down in chairs and shot ont into the yard, ° 
Lhe executioners then arranged them in rows, giving them a blow behind which 
forced out the head and neck. and laid them convenient for the blow.’ Uhen came the: 
warrant of death. Itis a banner. As soon as it waved in sight, without verbal 
order given, the work began. There was a rapid succession of dull crunching 
sounds—choup, chop, chop, chop! No second blow was ever dealt, for the dexterous 
mutsiayers are educated to their work. Until they can with their heavy swords 
slice a great bulbous vegetable as thin as we slice a cucumber, they are not eligible 
for their office. Three seconds a head suffice. In one minute five executioners 
clear off one hundred lives. It takes rather longer for the assistants to cram the 


_ bodies into rough coffins, especially as you might see them cramming two into one 
~ shell that they might embezzlethe spare wooden box. The heads were carried off 


in boxes; the saturated earth was of value as manure. 


The Horrors of the Canton Prison. 


A Chinese jail is a group of small yards inclosed by no general outer wail, except 
in one instance. Around this yard are dens like the dens in which we confine wild 


beasts. ‘he bars are not of iron, but of double rows of very thick bamboo, so close 


together that the interior is too dark to be readily seex into from without. The ordi- 
nary prisoners are allowed to remain in the yard during the day. Their ankles are 
fettered together by heavy rings of iron and a short chain, and they generally also 
wear similar fetters on their wrists, The low-roofed dens are so easily climbed, that 
when the prisoners are Jet out into the yard, the jailers must trust to their fetters 
alone forsecurity. The places all stank like the monkey-house of a menagerie. 

We were examining one of the yards of the second prison, and Lord Elgin, wh® is 
-seldom absent when any work is doing, was one of the spectators. As it was broad 
daylight, the dens were supposed to be empty. Some one thought he heard alow 


_- moan in one of them, and advanced to the bars tc jisten. He recoiled as if a blast 


from a furnace had rushed out upon him. Never were human senses assailed by a 
more horrible stream of pestilenee. The jailers were ordered to open that place, and 
refusing, as a Chinaman always at first refuses, were given over to the rough hand- 
ling of the soldiers, who vere told to make them. No sooner were hands laid upon 


the jailers than the stifled moan became a wail, and the wail became a concourse of 


jJow, weakly muttered groans. So scon asthe double doors could be opened, several 
of us went into the place. The thick stench could only be endured for a moment, but 
the spectacle was not one to look long at. A corpse lay at the bottom of the den, 
the breasts, the only fleshy parts, gnawed and eaten away by rats. Around it and 


upon it was a festering mass of humanity still alive. The mandarin jailer, who 


seemed to wonder what all the excitement was about, was compelled to have the 
poor creatures drawn’ forth, and no man who saw that sight will ever forget 


it. They were skeletons, not men. You could only believe that there was 


blood in thei: bodies by seeing it clotted upon their undressed wounds. As 


_ they were borne out. one after the other, and laid upon the pavement of the yard, 


each seemed more horrible than the last. They were too far gone to shriek, although 


the agony must have been great, the heavy irons pressing upon their raw, lank shins 


a 


as the jailers Ingged them not too tenderly along. They had been beaten into this 
state, perhaps long ago, by the heavy bamboo, and had been thrown into this den to 
rot. Their crime was that they had attempted to escape. Hideous and loathsome, 
however, a8 wasthe sicht of their fon! wounds, their filthy rags, and their emaciated 
bodies, it was not so distressing as the indescribable expression of their eyes; the 
horror of that look of fierce agony fixed us like a fascination. As the dislocated 
wretches writhed upon the ground. tears rolled down the cheeks of the soldiers of 
the escort, who stood in rank near them. A gigantic French sergeant, who had the 
jittle mandarin in custody. gesticulated with his bayonet so fiercely, that we were 
afraid he would kill him. We did not then know that the single word which the 
oor creatures were trying to utter was ‘ hunger,’ or that dreadful starting of the eye- 

all was the look of famine. Some of them had been without food for four days. 

Yater they had, for there is a well in the yard, and’ their fellow-prisoners had sup- 


a 


880 i? CYCLOPADIA O = ORO 186 


J t * . ‘ . eS 


a 


3 


piied them; but cries for food were answered only by the bamboo. Alas! it was not till . 


the next mcrving thatywe found this out, for although we took some away, we left 
others there that night. Since the comm: ncement of this year, fifteen men have 


ever be able to tell this to the Euglish people?’ I believe that no description could 


_ lead the imagination to a full couception of what we saw in that Canton prison. I 


have not attempted to do more than dot au faint outline of the truih; and when I 


p° yer when compared with the scene upon my mewory. 


‘died in that cell. Soine of those who were standing by me asked: How will you - 


have read what I have written, I feel how feebie and forceless is the image upon — 


This was the worst of the dens we opened, but there were many-others which~ 


f ll but few degrees below it in their horrors. There was not one of the six thou- 
sand prisoners we saw whose appearance befgre any assemblage of Englishmen 
woukl vot. have aroused cries of indignation. “ It was not until our second day’s 
search that we were able to discover the prison in which Enropeans had been con- 
fined. Threats and a night in the guard-house at last forced the discovery from the 


mandarin, or jail-inspector, in our custody. It is called the Koon Khan, is in the _ 


eastern part of the city, aud is distinguishable from the others only that it is sur- 
rounded by a high brick-wall. Nearly the whole of our second day was passed in 
this place. It has only one yard, and in this the prisoners are not allowed to come. 
There is a joss-house ut one end of the court; for, of course, the Chinese mix up 


their religion with their tyranny. ‘lhe finest sentiments, such as *'the misery of _ 


to-day may be the happ-ness of to-morrow!’ ‘Confess your crimes, and thank the 
riagistrate who purges vou ofthem!’ * May we share in the mercy of the emperor 
are carved in faded golden characters over every den Of ever: prison. Opening from 
this yard are four rooms, each containing four dens. ‘The hardest and most malig- 
nant face I ever saw is that of the chief jailer of this prison. ‘The prisoners could — 
not be brought to look upon him, and when he was present could not be induced to 
saythat he was a jailer at all, or that they had ever seen him before. But when-he 
was removed they always reiterated their first story. ‘ ‘fhe other jailers only starve 
and ill-treat us, but that man eats our flesh.’ Many of the prisoners had been Inmates 
of the place for many years, and it appeared quite certain that, within a period dat- 
ing from the commencement of the present troubles, six Europeans—two Frenchmen 
and four Englishmen—had found their death in these drezdfuldens. Many different 


prisoucrs examined separately deposed to this fact, snd almost to the same details. | 


‘The European victims were kept here for several months, hercing with the Chinese, 
cating of that same black mess of rice, which looks and smells like a bucket of grains 
cast forth from a brewery. When their time tame—probably the time necessary for 
a reply from Pekin—the jailer held their heads back while poison was poured down 


_ their throats. The piisoners recollected two who threw up the poison, and they 


were strangled. The result of the investigation was, that the jailers were roughly 


tandled by the British soldiers in sight of the prisoners, and the lieutenant-governor _ 


taken into custody to give an account of his conduct. 


Russia has been visited by various Englishmen. Amongst the 
books thus produced, is ‘Recollections of a Tour in the North of 
Europe,’ 1888, by the Mareuts or LoNDONDERRY (1778—1t54), 
whose rank and political character were the means of introducing 


nt 


him-io many-circles closed to other tourists. He was the admirer ~ 


and champion of the Emperor Nicholas, and Miss Martineau has 


said that one who knew the marquis well, remarked on finishing his — 


book of travel, that “his heaven was paved with malachite.’ The — 


marquis was also author of ‘A Steam Voyage to Constantinople by 


the Rhine and the Danube in 1840-41, and to Portugal and Spain in © 


1839,’ two volumes, 1842. Mr. Jonn Barrow is the author, besides — 


works on Ireland and on Iceland, of ‘Excursions in the North of 


Europe, through parts of Russia, Finland, &c.,’ 1884, He is invari- 4 


bly found to be a cheerful and intelligent companion, without at 


s 


a 


q 


™ wes = Ds 


/ Xs 


a, oe _ Ls he z gy v 
0 ee ‘ .“~s a: Ph tea _ = ~ P= 


a 


“venaries.) + ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 88t 


~ 


“tempting to be very profound or elaborate on any subject.* ‘Do- 


mestic Scemes in kiussia,’ by the Rev. Mr. VENABLEs, 1839, is an 
unpretending but highly interesting view of the interior life of the 
country. Mr. Venables was married to a Russian lady, and he went 
to pass a winter with her relations, when he had an opportunity of 
seeing the daily life and social habits of the people. We give a few 
descriptive sentences. 
Russian Peasants’ Houses. 

These houses are in general extremely warm and substantial ; they are built, for 

the most part, of unsquared !ogs of deal, laid one wpon another, aud tirmly secured 


at the corners where the ends of the timbers cross, und are hoiluwed out so as to re- 
ceive and hold one another; they are also fastened together by wooden pius and 


- uprights in the interior. ‘he four corners are suported.upon large stones or roots of 


tree-. so that there is a current of air under the floor to preserve the timber from 
damp; in the winter, earth is piled up all round to exclude the cold; the interstices 
between the logs are stuffed with moss and clay, so that no air can enter. ‘The win- 
dows are very small, and are frequently cut out of the wooden wall after it is finished. 
In the centre of the house is a stove culled a peech [pechka], which heats the cottage 
to an almost unbearable degree ; the warmth, however, which a Russian peasant 
loves to’enjoy within doors, is proportioned to the cold which he is required to sup- 
port without; his-bed is the top of his peech ; and when he enters his house in the 
winter pierced with cold. he throws off his shecpskin coat, stretches himself on his 
stove, and is thoroughly warmed in a few miuutes. 


Employments of the People. 


The riches of the Russian gentlemen lie in the labour of his serfs, which it is his 


_ &tudy to turn to good account; and he is the more urged to this, since the law which 


compels the peasant to work for him, requires him to maintain the peasant; if the 
latter is found begging. the former is liable to a fine. He is therefore a master who 
must always keep a certain number of workmen, whether they are useful to him or 
not; and as every kind of agricultural and outdoor employment is at a stand-still 
during the winter, he naturally turns to the establishment of a manufactory.as a means 
of employing his peasants and as a source of profit to himself. In some cases the 
manuf ictory is at work only during the winter, and the people are employed in the 
summer in agriculture; though, beyond what is necessary for home consumption, 
this is but an unprofitable trade in most parts of this empire, from the badness of 
eed the paucity and distance of markets, and the consequent difficulty in selling 
produce. 


*This author is a son of Sir John ‘Barrow (1764-1848). the distinguished traveller, 


-and assistant seeretary of the Admiralty for upwards of forty years. Besides his 7'runets 


in China (antic). Six John wrote a Voyade to_ Cochin China, to which is aunexed 
an account of the Booshuana nation; also, Zravels into the Interior of Southern 


Africa, and various nautical memoirs. ; 


= : bs 3 P : 7 ~ 2 =X j = 


332 . Tw ee YCLORAEDIAT@r 3 [To 1876. 
‘Excursions in the Interior of Russia,> by RoBERT BREMNER, two 
volumes, 1839, is a narrative of a short visit to Russia during the au- 
tumn of 1836. The same author published ‘ Excursions’ in Den- 
mark, Norway, and Sweden,’ two volumes, 1840. Before parting 
from Russia, it may be observed that no English book upon that ~ 
country exceeds in interest ‘A Residence on the Shores of the Baltic, 
described in a Series of Letters,’ 1841, being more particularly an ac- 
count of the Esthonians, whose simple character and habits afford a 
charming picture. This delightful book was understood to. be from 


the pen of a lady, Miss Rigby, afterwards Lady Eastlake, author of — 


‘ Livonian Tales,’ 1846. B 


Se 


, Of Norway and Sweden we have accounts by Mr. Samurn LAIne, — 


of Papdale, Orkney, a younger brother of the author of the History — 


of Scotland during the seventeenth century. This gentleman did not - 


begin to publish till a mature period of life, his first work being a 
“Residence in Norway’ in 1834-36, and the second, a ‘ Tour in Swe- 


den in 1888,’ both of which abound in valuable statistical facts and — 


well-digested information. Mr. Laing resided for two years in dif- 
terent parts of Norway, and concluded that the Norwegians were the 


, 


happiest people in Europe. Their landed property is so.extensively 


diffused in small estates, that out of a population of a million there 
are about 41,656 proprietors. There is no law of primogeniture, yet 
the estates are not subdivided into minute possessions, but average 
from forty to sixty acres of arable land, with adjoining natural wood 
and pasturage. 


Agricultural Peasantry of Norway. — 


The Bonder, or agricultural peasantry (says Mr. Laing), each the proprietor 
of his own farm, occupy the country from the shore side to the hill foot, and up 
every valley or glen as far as corn can grow. ‘This class is the kernel of the nation. ~ 
They are in general fine athletic men, as their properties are not so Jarge as to ex- 
empt them from work, but large enough to afford them and their household abun- 
dance, und even superfluity of the best food. They farm not to raise produce for 
gale, so much as to grow everything they eat. drink, and wear in their families. They 
build their own houses, make their own chairs, tables, ploughs, carts, harness, iron- 
work, basket-work, and wood-work ; in short, except window-glass, cast-iron ware, 
and pottery, everything about their houses and furniture is of theirown fabrication, — 
There is not probably in Europe so great a population in*so happy a condition as 
these Norwegian yeomanry. <A body of small proprietors, each with his thirty or 
forty acres, scarcely exists elsewhere in Europe; or, if it can be found, it is under - 
the shadow of some more imposing body of wealthy proprietors or commercial men. 

. . . Here they are the highest men in the nation. The settlers in the newer states 
of America, and in our colonies, possess properties of probably about the same ex- 


tent; but they have roads to make. lands to clear, houses to build, and the work that : 


has been doing here for a thousand years to do, before they can be in the same con- 
dition, These Norwegian proprietors are in a happier condition than those in the older 
states of America, because they are not so much influenced by the spirit of gain. 
They farm their little estates, and consume the produce, without seeking to barter or 
sell, except what is necessary for paying their taxes and the few articles of luxury they - 
consume, ‘There is no money-getting spirit among them, and none of extravagaace. 


They enjoy the comforts of excellent houses, as good and large as those of the — 


wealthiest individuals; good furniture, bedding, linen, clothing, fuel, victuals, and. 
drink, all in abundance, and of their own providing ;. good horses, and a houseful of — 


. 


° 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 833° 


people who have more food than work. Food, furniture, and clothing. being all 
home-made, the difference in these matters between the family and the servants is 
very small; but there is a perfect distinction kept up. The servants invariably eat, 
_ »-sleep, and sit apart from the family, dnd have generally a distinct building adjoining 
_ _ to the family house. ; 
The neighbouring country of Sweden appears to be in a much worse 
condition, and the people are described as highly immoral and de- 
-praved. By the returns from 1830 to 1884, one person in every forty- 
nine of the inhabitants of the towns, and one in every hundred and 
_ seventy-six of the rural population, had been punished each year for 
criminal offences. ‘The state of female morals, particularly in the 
- capital of Stockholm, is worse than in any other European state. 
- Yet in Sweden education is widely diffused, and literature is not 
neglected. ‘lhe nobility are described by Mr. Laing as sunk in debt 
~ and poverty; yet the people are vain of idle distinctions, and the 
_— order of burgher nobility is as numerous as in some of the German 
- States. ; 
Society of Sweden. 
Every man (he says) belongs to a privileged or licensed class or corporation, of 
which every member is by law entitled to be secured and protected within his own 
' locality from such competition or mterference of others in the same calling as would 
injure his means of living. It is, consequently, not as with us, upon his industry, 
ability, character, and moral worth that the employment and daily bread of the 
tradesman, and the social influence and consideration of the individual, in every 
~ rank, even the highest, almost entirely depends ; it is here, in the middle and lower 
classes, upon corporate rights and privileges, or upon license obtained from govern- 
~* ment; and in the Pigher, upon birth and court or government favour. Public esti- 
mation, gained by character and conduct in the several relations of life, is not a 
necessary element in the social condition even of the working tradesman. Like 
soldiers in a regiment, a great proportion of the people under this social system de- 
rive their estimation among others, and consequently their own self-esteem, not 
from their moral worth, but from their professional standing and importance. This 
~~ evil is inherent in all privileged classes, but is concealed or compensated in the 
higher, the nobility, military, and clergy, by the sense of honour, of religian, and by 
education, In the middle and lower walks of life those influences are weaker, while 
’ the temptations to immorality are stronger; and the placing a man’s livelihood, 
prosperity and social consideration in his station upon other grounds than on his 
Own industry and moral worth, is a demoralising evil in the very structure of 
~ Swedish society. | 
-_ Mr. Laing has since published ‘ Notes of a Traveller in Europe,’ 
1854: ‘Observations on the Social and Political State of the Euro- 
ean People in 1848-49;’ and ‘Observations on the Social and Politi- 
cal State of Denmark and the Duchies in 1851.’ 
‘Travels in Circassia and Krim Tartary,’ by Mr. SpencErR, author 
of a work on * Germany and the Germans,’ two volumes, 1887, was 
> hailed with peculiar satisfaction, as affording information respecting 
~ 4 brave mountainous tribe who long warred with Russia to preserve 
their national independence. ‘They appear to bea simple people, with 
feudal laws and customs, never intermarrying with any race except 
~ their own. Further information was afforded of the habits of the Cir- 
~ cassians by the ‘ Journal of a Residence in Circassia’ during the years 
1837, 1838, and 1839, by Mr. J. 8S. Bety. This gentleman resided in 


- > 


834 ee - CYCLOPAIDIA OF [ro 1876. 


Cireassia in the character of agent or envoy from England, which, 
however, was partly assumed. He acted also as physician, and 


seems generally to have been received wi h kindness and confid: nce, . 


The population, according to Mr. Bell, is divided into fraternities, 
like the tithings or hundreds in England during the time -of the 
Saxons. Criminal offences are punished by fines levied on the fra- 
ternity, that for homicide being two hundred oxen. ‘The guerrilla 
warfare which the Circassians carried on against Russia, marked 


A oie 7. 
die tae ae 


their indomitable spirit and love of country, but it, of course, re-~ 


tarded their civilisation. 

‘A Winter in the Azores, and a Summer at the Baths of the Fur- 
nas,’ by JesepH BuLLAR, M.D., and Joun Bunuar of Lincoln’s Inn, 
two volumes, 1841, furnish some light agreeable notices of the islands 


of the Azores, under the dominion of Portugal, from which they are - 


distant about 800 miles. This archipelago contains about 250,000 
inhabitants. St. Michael’s is the largest town, and there is a considera- 
ble trade in oranges’ betwixt it and England. About 120,000 large 
and small chests of oranges were shipped for England in 1839, and 
515 boxes of lemons. These particulars will serve to introduce a 
passage respecting 


The Cultivation of the Orange, and Gathering the Fruit. 


March 26.—Accompanied Senhor B 
town. Many of the trees in one garden were a hundred years old, still bearing plen- 
tifully a highly prized thin-skinned orange, full of juice and free from pips. The 
thinness of the rind of a St. Michael’s orange, and its freedom from pips, depend on 
the age of the tree. The young trees, when 1n full vigour, bear fruit with a thick 
pulpy rind aud an abundance of seeds; but as the vigour of the plant declines, the 
peel becomes thinner, and the seeds gradually diminish in number, until they disap- 
pear altogether. hus, the oranges that we esteem the most are the produce of bar- 
ren trees, and those which we consider the least palatable come from plants in full 
vigour. 7 , 

Our friend was increasing the number of his trees by layers. These usually take 
root at the end of two years. They are then cut off from the parent stem, and are 


“vigorous young trees four feet high. ‘be process of raising from seed is seldom, if 
ever, adopied in the Azores, on account of.the very slow growth of the trees so 


o 


raised. Such plants, however, are far less liable to the inroads of a worm which at- 
tacks the roots of the trees raised from layers, and frequently proves very destructive 
to them. ‘the seed or *pip’ of the acid orange, which we call Seville, with the sweeter 
kind grafted upon it, is said to produce fruit of the finest flavour. In one small 
garden eight trees were pointed out which had borne for two successive years a crop 
of oranges which was sold for thirty pounds. .. . 

The treatment of orange-trees in Fayal differs from that in St. Michael’s, where, 
after they are planted out, they are allowed to grow as they please. In this orange 
garden the branches, by means of strings and pegs fixed in the ground, were strained 
away from the centre into the shape of acnup, or of the ribs of, an open umbrella 
turned upside down.- This allows the sun te penetrate, exposes the branches to a 
free cizculation of air, and is said to be of use in ripening the fruit. Certain it is 
that oranges are exported from Fayal several weeks earlier than they are from St. 


‘ 


to several of his orange-gardens in the 


Michael’s; and as this cannet be attributed to greater warmth of climate, it may pos-__ 


sibly be owing to the plan of spreading the trees to the sun. ‘The same precamons 
are taken here as in St. Michael’s to shield them from the winds ; high walls are buiit 
round all the gardens, and the trees themselves are planted among rows of fayas. firs, 


and camphor-trees. If it were not fot these precautions, the oranges would be biown - 


z0wn ia such numbers as to interfere with or swallow up the profits of the gardens; 


fh 


BUEDAR.| > °° - ENGLISH LITERATURE, ~~ 835 


- ~ 
» none of the windfalls or ‘ground fruit,’ as the merchants here ca!l them, being ex- 


ported to Wugtand. 
Suddenly we came upon merry groups of men and boys all bisily engaged in 


_ packing oranges, in a square aud open plot of ground. 1 hey were gathered round a 
~ goodly pile of the fresh fruit, siiting on heaps or the dry calyx-leaves of tie Indian 


corn. in which each or nye is wrapped before it is placed in the boxes Near these 


' circles of laughing Azoreans, who sat at their work and kept up a continual cross- 


fire of rapid r partee us. they quickly filled the orange-cases, were a party of children, 
whose business it was to prepare the husks for the m_n, who used thom in packing, 
These youngsters, who were playing at their work like the children of a larger 
growth that sat by their side. were with much difficulty kept in order by an elderly 
man, who shook his head and a long stick whenever they flagged or idled. ... 

A quantity of the leave: being heaped together near the-puckers, the operation 
began. A child handed'to a workman wiio squatted by the heap of fruit a prepared 
husk; this was rapidly snatched from the child, wrapped round the orange by an in- 
termediate workman passed*by the feeder to the next, who, sitting with the chest be- 


- tween his legs. placed it in the orange-box with amazing rapidity, took a second, and 


‘a third. and a fourth as fa-t as his hands could move and the feeders could supply 
him, until at length the chest was filled to overflowing, and was ready to be nailed 
up. ‘t'wo men then handed it to the carpenter, who bent over the orange-chest sey- 
eral thin boards. secured them with the willow-band, pressed it- with his naked foot 
as he sawed off the rigged ends of the boards, and finally despatched it. to the ass 
which stood ready for lading. ‘Two chests,were slung across iis back by means of 
cords crossed in a figure of eight; both were well secured by straps under his belly ; 
the driver took his goad, pricked his beast, and uttering the never-ending cry ‘ Sack-~ 
aaio,’ trudged off to the town. ‘ , 

‘The orange-trees in this garden cover the sides of a glen or ravine, like that of the 
Dargie, but somewhat less st-ep; they are of some age, and lave lost the stiff clumpy 
fori of the younger trees. Some idea of the rich beauty of the scene may be formed 
by imag ning the trees of the Dargle to be magnificent shrubs loaded with orange 
fruit, and mixed with lofty arbutuses— 


’ Groves whose rich fruit, burnished with golden rind, 
Hung amiable, and of delicious taste. 


In one part scores of children were scattered among the branches, gathering fruit 
into smail baskets, hallooing. Janghing. practically joking, and finally emptying their 


_ gatherings into the larger baskets underneath the trees, which. when filed, were 


slowly .orne away to the packing-piace, and bowled out upon the great heap. Many 
large orange-trees on the steep sides of the glen lay on the ground uprooted, either 
from their load of frrit, the high winds, or the weight of the boys, four. five, and 
even six of whom will climb the branches at the same time; and as the soil is very 
light, and the roots are superficial—and the fall of a tree perhaps not uvamusing— 
down the treescome. They are allowed to lie where they fall; and those which had 
evidently fall n many years ago were still alive, and bearing good crops. The oranges 
are not ripe until March or April, nor are they eaten generally by the people here until 
that time—the boys, however, that picked them are marked exceptions. The youn 
children of Villafranca are now almost universally of a yellow tint, as if saturated 
wita orange juice. 


‘Travels in New Zealand,’ by Earnest DrerreNBAcn, M.D., late 
naturalist to the New Zealand Company, 1843, is a valuable history 
of an interesting country, destined apparently to transmit the Eng- 
lish language, arts, and civilisation. Mr. Dieff-nbach gives a minute 
account of the language of New Zealand, of which he compiled a 


grammar and dictionary. He conceives the native population of 


ew Zealand to be fit to receive the benefits of civilisation, and to 


amalgamate with the Briti-h colonists. 


-Mr. AntrHony TROLLOPH’s ‘ Travels*in Australia and New Zea- 


Pe a: « *, at wea. . ~~ To , —_e, 


_~ oe Ces ie ee oe Bale aa” rs 
ig ‘ es < et son a ae 


336 | CYCLOPEDIA OF - 


[ro 1876, 
land,’ 1878, supply recent and minute information. ‘The vast im- 
provements of late years—the formation of railroads and general. 


progress in New Zealand—have been extraordinary. Of the squatters — 


-and free settlers, Mr. ‘Trollope says: 

. The first night we stayed at a squatter’s house, and I soon learned that the battle 
between the squatter and the free-selecter, of which I had heard so much in the 
Australian colonies, was being waged with the same internecine fury in New 
Zealand. ‘Indeed the New Zealand bitterness almost exceeded that of New South 
Wales—though I did not hear the complaint, so common in New South Wales, that 
the free-selecters were all cattle-stealers. he complaint made here was that the 
government, in dealing with the land, had continually favoured the free-selecter at 
the expense of the squatter—who having been the pioneer in taking up the Jand, 
deserved all good things from the country of his adoption. The squatter’s claim is 
in the main correct. He has deserved good things, and has generally got them. In 
all these colonies—in New Zealand as well as New South Wales and Victoria—the 
squatter is the aristocrat of the country. In wealth. position, and general influence 
he stands first. There are no doubt points as to which the squatters have been un- 
justly used—matters as to which the legislature have endeavoured to clip their wings 
at the expense of réal justice. But they have been too strong for the legislature, 
have driven coaches and horses through colonial acts of parliament, haye answered 
injustice by illegal proceeding, and have as a rule held their own and perhaps some- 
thing more. I soon found that in thisrespect the condition of New Zealand was 
very similar to that of the Australian colonies. The gentleman who accompanied us 
was the government land-commissioner of the province, and, as regarded private 
life, was hand and glove with our host; but the difference of their position gave me 
an opportunity of hearing the land question discussed as it regarded that province. 
I perceived that the New Zealand squatter regarded himself as a thrice-shorn lamb 
but was looked upon by anti-squatters as a very wolf. 2 


Of the Maoris he takes a less romantie or sympathetic view than 
some writers: 


They are certainly more highly gifted than other savage nations I have seen. 
They are as superior in intelligence aud courage to the Australian aboriginal as they 
are jn outward appearance. They are more pliable and nearer akin in their manners 
to civilised mankind than are the American Indians. They are more manly, more 
courteous, and also more sagacious than the African negro. One can understand the 
hope and the ambition of the first great old missionaries who had dealings with them. 
But contact with Europeans does not improve them. At the touch of the higher 
race they are poisoned and melt away. There is scope for poetry in their past 
history. There is room for philanthropy as to tzeir present condition. Butin regard 
to their future—thereis hardly a place for hope. ae 


‘ Life in Mexico, during a Residence of Two Years in that Country,’ 
by MapamMr CALDERON DE LA Barca, an English lady, is full of 
-sketches of domestic life, related with spirit and acuteness. In no 
other work are we presented with such agreeable glimpses of Mexican 
life and manners. ‘Letters on Paraguay, and ‘Letters on South 


‘ 


America,’ by J. P’ and W. P. Ropertson, are the works of two — 


brothers who resided twenty-five years in South America, 

The ‘Narrative of the Voyages of H.M.S, Adventure and 
Beagle, 1839, by Caprarns Kine and Firzroy, and C. DARWIN, 
Esq., naturalist of the Beagle, detail the various incidents which 
occurred during their examination of the southern shores of South 


America, and during the Beagle’s circumnavigation of the globe. ‘The ~ 


account of the Patagonians in this work, and that of the natives of 


Al 


—-CoMBE.} _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. re. 


‘Tierra del Fuego, are both novel and interesting, while the details 
‘supplied by Mr. Darwin possess a permanent value (see ante). 

- * Noteson the United States during a Phrenological Visit in 1839- 

40,’ have been published by Mr. GEorGE Come, in three volumes. 

Though attaching what is apt to appear an undue importance to his 
_ views of phrenology, Mr. Combe was a sensible traveller. He paid 
particular attention to schools and all benevolent institutions, which 
_ he has described with care and minuteness. Among the matter-of- 
~. fact details and sober disquisitions in this work, we meet with the 
‘following romantic story. The author had visited the lunatic asylum 
at Bloomingdale, where he learned this realisation of Cymon and Iphi- 
-genia—tiner even than the version of Dryden! 


An American Cymon and Iphigenia. 


In the course of conversation, a case was mentioned to me as having occurred in 
the experience of a highly respectable physician, and which was so fully authentica- 
ted, that I entertain no doubt ofits truth. The physician alluded to had a patient, a 
young man, who was almost idiotic from the suppression of all his faculties. He 
never spoke, and never moved voluntarily, but sat habitually with his hauds shading 
his eyes. The physician sent him to walk as a remedial measure. In the neighbour- 
hood, a beautiful young girl of sixteen lived with her parents, and used to see the 
young man in his walks, and speak kindly to him. For some time he took no notice of 
her ; but after meeting her for several months, he began to look for her, and to feel dis- 
appointed if she did not appear. He becameso much interested, that he directed his 
steps voluntarily to her father’s cottagé, and gave her bouquets of flowers. By de- 
grees he conversed with her through the window. His mental faculties were roused 5 
the dawn of convalescence appeared. The girl was virtuous, intelligent, and lovely, 
and encouraged his visits when she was told that she was benefiting his mental 
health. She asked him if he could read and write? He answered. No. She wrote 

‘some lines to hii to induce him to learn. This had the desired effect. He applied 
himself to study, and soon wrote good and sensible letters to her. He recovered his 
reason. She was married to a young man from the neighbouring*city. Great fears 
were entertained that this event would undo the good which she had accomplished. 
The young patient sustained a. severe shock, but his mind did notsink under it. He 
acquiesced in the propriety of her choice, continued to improve, and at last was re- 
stored’ to his family cured. Shehad a child, and was soon after brought to the same 
hospital perfectly insane. The young man heard of this event, and was exceedingly 
anxious tosee her; but an interview was denied to him, both on her account and his 

“own. Shedied. He continued well, and became an active member of society... What 
a beautiful romance might be founded on this narrative. 


‘America, Historical, Statistical, and Descriptive,’ by J. S. Buckrne- 
HAM, is a vast collection of facts and details, few of them novel or 
striking, but apparently written with truth and candour. ‘The work 
fatigues from the multiplicity of its small statements, and the want 

_ of general views or animated description. _In 1842 the author pub- 
lished two additional volumes, describing his tour in the slave-states. 
These are more interesting, because the ground is less hackneyed, 
and Mr. Buckingham felt strongly, as a benevolent and humane 
man, on the subject of slavery. Mr. Buckingham was an extensive 
traveller and writer. He published narratives of journeys in Pales- 
“tine, Assyria, Media, and Persia, and of various continental tours. 
_ He tried a number of literary schemes, establishing the ‘Oriental 


) ’ Py So GSE see 
F ‘ 7 > » ~ 


‘ qe ese ne eae 


Be SS CYCLOPDIA OF 


lecturer.. He had published two volumes of an autobiography, when 
he di: d somewhat suddenly in 1855, aged sixty-nine. 23 

Amorg other works on America we may mention the ‘ Western 
World, by ALEXANDER MAckKAy, three yolumes, 1849, a very com- 
. plete and able book up to the date of its publications ‘Loings asthey ~~ 
are in America,’ by Dr. WitLiam CHAmMBERs; and ‘Life and Lib-. 
erty in America,’ by Dr. CHARLES Mackay. ‘A visit to Ami rica,’ 
as Dr. Chambers has said, ‘is usually one of the early aspirations of 
the more impressionable youth of England. The stirring storiestold 
of Columbus, Sebastian Cabot, Raleigh, and Captain John Smith; ~~ 
the history of the Pilgrim Fathers fleeing from persecution; the de- ~~ 
scription of Penn’s transactions with the Indians; the narratives of 
the gallan’ achievemants of Wolfe and Washington, and the lament. 
able humiliations of Burgoyne and Cornwaliis; the exciting autobi- 
ography of the Philadelphian printer, who, from toiling at the press, | 
rose to be the companion of kings—all have their due effect on the | 
imagination.’ The facilities afforded by steam boat communication —_ 
also render a visit to America a matter of easy and pleasant accom- =~ 
plishment, and the United States are every season traversed by hosts» 
of British tourists—men of science, art, and literature, and pleasure 
seekers, while the international commerce and trading is proportion 
ally extended. . 

Two remarkable works on Spain have been published by Mr. ~ 
GrorGE Borrow, late agent of the British and Foreign Bible So. — 
ciety. The first of these, in two volumes, 1841, isentitled ‘ Zincali, or 
an Account of the Gipsies in Spain.’. Mr. Borrow calculates that 
there are about forty thousand gipsies in Spain, of which about one- 
third are to be found in Anda‘usia, The caste, he says, has dimin- 
ished of late years. The author’s adventures with this singular peo- 
ple are curioysly compounded of the ludicrous and romantic, and ~~ 
are related in the most vivid and dramatic manner. Mr. Borrow’s 
second work is named ‘ The Bible in Spain; or the. Journeys, Ad- | — 
ventures, and Imprisonments of an Englishman in an attempt to cir- 
culate the Scriptures in the Peninsula,’ 1844. There are many things 
in the book which, as the author acknowledges, have little connec- 
tion with religion or religious enterprise. It is indeed-a series of jer-~- 
sonal adventures, varied and interesting, with sketches of character, 
and romantic incidents drawn with more power and vivacity than is 
possessed by most novelists. Cah f 


Impressions of the City of Madrid.—Irom Borrow’s™' Bible in Spain.’ 


I have visited most of the principal capitals of the world. bnt upon the wiole none 
hag ever so jnterested me as this city of Madrid, in which I now found mys: lf. I will 
not dwell upon its streets, its edifices. its public squares, its fountains, thongh some 
of these are remarkable enough: but Petersburgh has finer streets, Paris and Edin- 
burgh more stately edifices, London far nobler squares, while Shiraz can boast of 


2 


BORROW.) | - 


Gipsy, the Priest,’ 1851; ‘Romany Rye,’ a sequel to ‘ Lavengro; 


‘ - ri “ 


— : . 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 889 


whe eal oan SE 
more costly fountains, though not cooler waters. But the population’ Within a 


qiud wail. scarce:y one ieague and a half in cirenit, are contained twa hardred thou- 
“sand human beings, certainly forming the most extraordinary vital mass to be found 


- in the entire wortd; and be it aiways remembered that this ass is strictiy Spanish, 


The population of Constantinople is extraordinary enough, but to forni it twety 
nations have contribuied—G-eeks, Armenians, Persians, Poles, Jews, the latter, by- 
the-bye, of Spanish origin, and spexkiny umongst themselves the old Spanish Jan- * 


_ guage; but the huge population of Madrid, with the excepiicn of a sprinkling of for- 


eigners, chiefly French tailors, glove-makers, aud perruquiers, is strictly Spanish, 
though a considerable portion are not natives of the piace. Here are no colonies of 
Germans as at St, Petersburgh; no inglish factories as at Lisbon: no multitudes of 
insolent Yankees lounging through the streets, as at the Havannah. with an air 
which seems to say, * Lhe land is our own whenever we choose to take it;? buta 


_ population which, however strange and wild, sid composed of various elements, is 


Spanish, and will remain so as long as the city itself shall exist. Hail, ye aguadores 
ot Asturia! who, in your dress of coarse duffel and leathern skuil-caps, are seen 
seated in hundreds by the fountain-sides. rpon your empty water-casks, or stagger- 
ing with them filled to the topmost stezies cf lofty hguses. Hail, ye caleseros of 
Valencia! who, lolling lazily against yoar vehicles, rasp tobacco for your paper cigars 
Whilst waiting for a fare. Hail to you, beggars of La Mancha! men and women, 
who, wrapped in coarse blankets, demand charity indifferently at the gute of the 
palace or the prison. Hail to you, valets from the mountains, mayordomos and 
secretaries from Biscay aud Guipnscoa, toreros from Andalusia, riposteros from 
Galicia, shopkeepers from Uatalonin! Hail to ye, Castilians, Estremenians, and 
Aragonese, of whatever calling! And, lastly, genuine sons of the capital, rabble of 
Madrid, ye twenty theusand manolos, whose terr.ble knives, on the second morning 
of May, worked such grim havoc amongst the legions of Murat! 

And the higher orders—the ladies and gentlemen, the cavaliers and sefioraz; shall 
I pass them by in silence? The truth is, T have little to say about them; I mingled 
but little in their society, and what I saw of them by no means tended to exalt them 
in my imagination. Iam not one of those who. wherever they go, make it a con- 
stant practice to disparage the higher orders, and to exa?: the populace at their ex- 
pense. There are many capitals in which the high aristocracy, the lords and ladies, 
the sons and daughters of nobility. constitute the most remarkable and the most 


interesting part of the population. This is the case at Vienna. and more especially at 


London. Who ¢an rivul the English aristocrat in lofty stature, in dignified bearing, 
in strength of hand. and valour of heart? Who rides a nobler horse?) Who has a 
firmer seat? And who more lovely than his wife, or sister. or diughter? But with 
respect i0 the Spanish aristocracy, I believe the less that is suid of them on the points 
te which I haye just alluded the better. I confess, however, that I know little about 
them. Le Sage has described them as they were nvarly two centuries ago. His de- 
scription is anything but captivating, and I do not think that they have improved 
since the period of the immortal Frenchman. I wou!d sooner talk of the lower class, 
not only of Madrid, but of all Spain. ‘The Spaniard of the Jower class has much 
more interest for me, whether manolo, labourer, or muleteer. He is not a common 
being; he is an extraordinary man. He has not, it is trne, the am/‘ability and gene- 
rosity of the Russian mujik, who will give his only rouble rather than the stranger 
shall want; por his placid courage. which renders him insensitle to fear, and at the 
command of his czar sends him singing to certain death. There is more hardness 
and less self-devotion in the disposition of the Spaniard: he possesses, however, a 
spirit of proud independence, which it is impossible but to admire. 


Mr. Borrow has since published ‘Lavengro—the Scholar, the 
and ‘ Wild Wales, its People, Language and Scenery,’ 1870. These 
works are inferior in interest to his former publications, but are still 
‘remarkable books, Mr. Borrow is a native of Norfolk, born at East 
Dereham in 1803. 


cad 
- 


340 ~ 3. <CYCLOT ADIA ‘OF 


RIJHARD FORD. Fe : 


One of the most vivid pictures of a great country and people ever 
drawn, is presentéd in the ‘Handbook for Travellers in Spain and 
Readers at Home,’ by Rrcuarp Forp (1796-1858). The first edition 
of this work appeared in 1845, in two volumes. In 1846 the author 
selected portions of it to form, with additions and corrections, a 
work suited to the library, and bearing the title of “Gatherings from 


Spain.’ A new edition, partly rewritten, was issued in 1855, as one © 


of the series of ‘Murray’s Hand-books.’ This interesting and valu- 
able work has elicited praise from all travellers in Spain and all- 
literary critics as the best book that has ever appeared for illustration 


of the national character and manners of the Spaniards, as wellas _ 


for its descriptions of the scenery, and topography of the country. 
Mr. Ford was the eldest son of Sir Richard Ford, at one time M.P. 
for East Grinstead, and chief police magistrate of London. He 
studied for the bar, but never practised, devoting himself to art and 
literature, and residing for many years in Spain. He was an occa- 
sional contributor to the ‘ Quarterly Review.’ 


Spain and Spaniards. 


Sirte Spain appears on the map to be a square and most compact kingdom, politi- 


cians and geographers have treated it and its inhabitants as one and the same}; prac- 
tically, however, this is almost a geographical expression, as the earth, air, and mor- 
tals of the different portions of this conventional whole are altogether heterogeneous. 
Peninsular man has followed the nature by which he is surrounded; mountains and 
rivers have wailed and moated the disiocated land ; mists and gleams have diversified 
the heaven; and differing like soil and sky, the people. in each of the once independ- 


ent provinces, now bound loosely together by one golden hoop, the crown, has its - 


own particular character. To hate his neighbor is a second nature to the Spaniard; 
no spick and span constitution, be it printed on parchment or calico, can at once ef- 
face traditions and antipathies of a thousand years; the accidents of localities and 
provincial nationalities, out of which they have sprung. remein too deeply dyed to be- 
forthwith discharged by theorists. The climate and productions vary no less than do 
Janguage, costume. and manners; and so division and localism have, from time im- 
memorial, formed a marked national feature. Spaniards may talk and boast of their 
Patria, as is done by the similarly circumstanced Italiavs, but like them and the Ger- 
mans, they have the fallacy, but no real Fatherland; itis an aggregation ratber than 
an amalgamation—every single individual in his heart really only loving his native 
province, and only considering as his fellow-countryman, su pasano—a most bindixrg 
and endearing word—one born in the same locality as himse:f: hence it is pot easy 
to predicate much in regard to ‘the Spains’ and Spaniards in general which will hold. 
quite good as to each particular portion ruled by the sovereign of Las Espanas, the 
plural title-given to the chief of the federal union of this really little united kingdom. 
Espanolismo may, however. be said to consist in alove for a common faith and king, 
and in a coincidence of resistance te all foreign dictation. The deep sentiments of 
religion, lcwalty and independence. noble characteristics indeed, have been sapped in. 
our times by the influence of Trans-Pyrenean revolutions. : 


Two general observations may be premised: First, The people of Spain, the so- | 


called lowcr orders, are superior to those who arrogafe to themselves the title of 
being their betters, and in most respects are more interesting. The masses, the least 
spoilt. and the most nationa’, stand like pillars amid ruins, and on them the edifice of ~ 
Spain’s greatness is. if ever, to be reconstructed. This may have arisen in this Jand 
of anomalies. from the peculiar policy of government in church and state, where the 
possessors of religious and civil monopolies, who dreaded knowledge as power, 


Y 
E 
= 
% 
iv 
4 

, 
wt 

1 
i 


* “ENGLISH LITERATURE, : 841 


pressed heavily on the noble and rich, dwarfing down their bodies by intermarriages, 
‘and all but extinguishing their minds by inquisitions; while the »eople, overlooked 
in the obscurity of poverty, were allowed to grow out to their full growth like wild 
- weeds of arich soil. They, in fact, have long enjoyed,.inder despotisms of church 
~ and state, a practical and personal independence, the good results of which are evi- 
~ dent in their stalwart frames and manly bearing. 
‘Secondly. A distinction must ever be made between the Spaniard in his individual 
and in his collective capacity, and still more in an oficial one: taken by himself, he is 
true and valiant ; the nicety of his Pwndonor, or point of personal honor, is proverbial; 
to him, as an individual, you may safcly trust your life, fair fame. and purse. Yet 
history, treating of these individuals in the collective, juatados, presents the foulest 
“examples of misbehavior in the field, of Punic bad faith in the cabinet, of bankruptcy 
‘and repudiation on the exchange. This may be also much ascribed to the deterior-- 
- ating influence of bad government, by which the individual Spaniard, like the monk 
-in a convent, becomes fused into the corporate. The atmosphere is too infectious 
“to avoid some corruption, and while the Spaniard feels that his character is ouly in 
safe keeping when in his own hands, and no man of any nation knows better then 
- how to uphold it, when linked with others, his self-pride, impatient of any superior, 
lends itself readily to feelings of mistrust, until self-interest and preservation become 
uppermost. From suspecting that he will be sold and sacrificed by others, he ends 
by floating down the turbid stream like the rest: yet even official employment does 
not quite destroy all private gocd qualities, and the empleado may be appealed to as 
an individual. 


The Spanish Muleteers. 


- The muleteer of Spain is justly renowned: his generic term is arriero, a gee-upper, 
for his arre arre is pure Arabic, as indeed are almost all the terms connected with his 
“craft, as the Moriscoes were long the great ¢xrriers of Sprin. To travel with the mule- 
-teer, when the party is small or a person alone, is both cheap and safe; indeed many 
of the most picturesque portions of Spain, Ronda and Gransda for instance, can 
scarcely be reached except by walking or riding. These men, who are constantly on 
‘the road, and goirg backwards and forwards, are the best persons to consult for 
~ details; their animals are generally to be hired, but a muleteer’s steed is not pleasant 
to ride, since their beasts always travel in single files. The leading animal is furnjshed 
with a copper bel with a wooden clapper (to give notice of their march), which is 
shaped like an ice-mould, sometimes two feet long, and hangs from the neck, being 
contrived, as it were, on purpose to kuock the animal’s knees as much as possible, 
- and toemit the greatest quantity of most melancholy sounds, which, according to the 
-_ pious origin of all bells, were meant to scare away the Evil One. The-bearer of All 
this tintinnabular clatter is chosen from its superior docility, and knack in picking 
outa way. The others follow their leader, and the noise he makes when they cannot 
see him, They are heavily but scientifically laden. These *sumpter’ mules are gaily 
- decorated with trappings full of coiour and tags. he bead-gear is-composed of 
different coloured worsteds, to which a multitude of small bells are affixed; hence 
the saying. “ Muger de mucha campanilla,’ a woman of many bells. of much show, 
much noise or pretension. The muleteer either walks by the side of his animal, cr 
sits aloft on the cargo, with his feet dangling on the neck, a seat which is by no means 
“so uncomfortable as it would appear. A rude gun, loaded with slugs, hangs by his 
side, and often also a guitar; these emblems of life and death paint the unchanged, 
reckless condition of Iberia, where extremes have ever met, where a man still goes 
out of the world, like a swan, with asong. ‘Thus accoutred, as Byron says, with 


all that cave 
Promise of pleasure or a grave, 


-the approach of the caravan is announced from afar by his cracked or guttural voice: 
‘How carols now the lusty muleteer!’ For when not engaged in swearing or smok- 
ing. the livelong day is passed in one monotonous high-pitched song. the tune of 
which is little in harmony with the import of the words of his cheerful humour, be= 
ing most wnmusical and melancholy ; but such is the true type of oriental melody, as 
itis called. ‘The same absence of thought which is shewn in Englund by whistling 
ig displayed in Spain by singing. .. - ee . 


- t <= tei 3 
: : < ‘ : us 


B42 : : - CYCLOPADIA OF 


fe 


[ro 1876, 


= 3 
F 


The Spanish muleteer is a-fine fellow: he is intelligent, active, and enduring; he — 


braves hunger and thirsi, heat and cold, mud and dust; he works as hard us his cat- 
tle, never robs or is robbed; and while his beiters put off everything till to-morrow 
except bankruptcy, be is punctual and honest; his frame is wiry and sinewy, his cos- 
tume peculiar. It must be admitted that these cayvalcades of mules are truly national 
ond picturesque ; mingled with mounted norsemcn, the zigzag lines come threading 
down the mountain defiles, now tracking through the aromatic brushwood, now 
concealed amid rocks and olive-trees, now emerging bright and glittering into the 
sunshine, giving life and movement to the lonely nature, and»breaking the usual still 
ness by the tinkle of the bell and the sad ditty of the muleteer—sounds which, 
though unmusical in theinseives, are in Keeping with the scene, and associated with 
wild Spanish rambles. just as in England the harsh whetting of the. scythe is mixed 
up with the sweet spring and newly-mowu weudow, % aR = 


A. H. LAYARD. 


Few modern books of travels or narratives of discovery have ex- 
cited greater interest in this country than the two volumes published 
in 1848, ‘Nineveh and its Remains,’ by Austin Henry Layarp. 
Mr. Layard (born in Paris in 1817) had travelled. extensively in the 
East, and was devoted to the study of Eastern antiquities and man- 
ners. |The vast mounds near Mosul, on the banks of the Tigris, were 
traditionally known as the site of the ancient Nineveh; the French 
consul at Mosul, M. Botta, had made interestine discoveries at Khor- 
sabad; and, stimulated by his example, Mr. Layard entered on a 


> 


~ 


4 


a 


5 


a 


course of excavations at the same spot. The generosity of Sir Strat-  _ 


ford Canning—now Lord Stratford de Redclifte—supplied funds for ~ 


the expedition. In October 1845, Mr. Layard reached Mosul, and 
commenced operations at Nimroud, about eighteen miles lower down 
the ‘Tigris. Hedescended the river on a raft. 


Appearance of Nimroud. . 
Tt was evening as we approached the spot. The spring rains had clothed the 


F 
. 


mound with the richest verdure. ane the fertile meadows which stretched around it © 


were covered with flower: of every hue. Amidst this luxuriant vegetation were 
partly concealed a few fragments of bricks. pottery. and alabaster. upon which 
might be traced the well-defined wedges of the cuneiform character. Did not these 
remains mark the nature of.the ruin, it might have been confounded with a natural 
eminence. <A long line of consecntive narrow mounds, still retaining the appearance 


5 
3 
; 


of walls or ramparts, stretched from its base, and formed a vast quadrangle. ‘The ~3 


river flowed at some distance from them: its waters, swollen by the melting of the 
snows on the Armenian hills, were broken into a thousand foaming whirlpools by 
an artificial barrier built across the stream. On the eastern bank the soil had been 
washed away by the current; but a solid mass of masonry still withstood its im- 
petuosity. ‘fhe Arab, who guided my small raft. gave himself up to religions 
eiscniations as we approached this formidable cataract. over which we were carried 
with some viclence. Once safely through the danger. my ecmpen‘on explained to 
me that this unu-aal change in the quiet face of the river was caused hy a great 
dam which had been built bv Nimrod, and that in the autumn. before the winter 


. 


4 


rains. the hnee stones of which it was constructed. squared, and united by cramps — 


of iron. were frequently visible above the surface of the stream. It was. in fact. one _ 


of those monuments of a creat people. to be found in all the rivers of Mesopotamia, 
which were undertaken to insure a constant supply of water to the innumerable 
canals, spreading like network over the surrounding country, and which. even im 
the days of Alexander. were looked upon as the works of en an@ent-nation. No 
wonder that the traditions of the present inhabitants of the land shou'd assign them 
to one of the founders of the human race! ‘Che Arab was telling me of the connecs 


; 
: 
ei 


4 


~ 


. twilight faded away, and I fell asleep as we glided onward to Baghdad. 


Jabourers. 


LayaRD.}) ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 843 


tion between the dam and the city built by Athur, the lieutenant of Nimrod, the 
vast ruins of which were now before us—of its purpose as a exuseway for the 
mighty hunter to cross to the opposite palace, now represented. by the mound of 
Hammum Ali—and of the histories and fate of the kings of a primitive race. stilt 
the favourite theme of the inhabitants of the plains of Shinar. when the last glow of 


~The ‘cuneiform character’ referred to is the arrow-headed alpha- 
bet, or signs and characters, found on bricks, on cylinders, on the re- 
mains of ancient buildings, and on the smooth surfac: s of rocks, from 
the Euphrates to the eastern boundary of Persia. Professor Groto- 

- fend deciphered certain names in these inscriptions, and his discovery 
has been followed up by Sir Henry Rawlinson, Dr. Hincks, and 
others, with distinguished success. Mr. Layard commenced his 
operations at Nimroud ona vast mound, 1800 feet long, 900 broad, and 
60 or 70 feet high. On digzing down into the rubbish, chambers of 
white marble were brought to light; then sculptures with cuneiform 
inscriptions, winged lions with human heads, sphinxes, bas-reliefs 
-representing hunting-pieces and battle-scenes, with illustrations of 
domestic life. One discovery caused great consternation among the 


Discovery of a Colossal Sculpture. 


* On the morning T rode to the encampment of Sheikh Abd-ur-rabman, and was re- 
turning to the mound, when I saw two Arabs of his tribe urging their mares to the 
top of their speed. On approaching me, they stopped. ‘Hasten. O Bey,’ exclaimed 
one of them— hasten to the diggers, for they have found Nimrod himself. Wallah, 
it is wonderful, but it is true! we have seen him with our eyes. There is no god but 
God’ and both joining in this pions exclamation, they galloped off, without further 
words, in the direction of their tents. 
On reaching the ruins I descended into the new trench, and found the workmen, 
‘who had already seen me as I approached, standing near a heap of baskets and 
cloaks, Whilst Awad advanced and asked fora present to celebrate the occasion, 
the Arabs withdrew the screen they had hastily constructed. and disclosed an enor- 
mons human head sculptured in full ont of the alabaster of the country. They had 
nncovered the upper part of a figure, the remainder of which was still buried in the 
earth. I sawat once that the head must belong to a winged lion or bull, similar to 
those of Khorsabad and Persepolis. It was in admirable preservation. The expres- 
sion was calm, yet majestic, and the ontline of the features shewed a freedom and 
knowledge of art scarcely to he looked for in the works of so remote a period. ‘Ihe 
cap had three horns. and. unlike that of the human-headed bulls hitherto found in 
Assyria, was roended and without ornament at the top. 
I was not surprised that the Arabs had been amazed and terrified at this apparition. 
It required no stretch of imagination to conjure up the most strange fancies. ‘This 
gigantic head. blanched with ge. thus rising from the bowels of the earth, might 
well have belonged to one of those fearful beings which are pictured in the traditions 
of the country as appeariny to mortals, slowly ascending from the regions below. 
One of the werkmen. on*catching the first glimpse of the monster, had thrown down 
his basket and run off towards Mosul as fast as his legs could carry him. T learned 
- this with regret. as I anticipated the consequences 
; Whilst lavas superintending the removal of the earth, which still clung to the 
sculpture. and giving directions for the continuation of the work, 9 noise of horse- 
men was heard, and presently Abd-ur-rahman, followed by half his tribe appeared 
on the edve-of the trench, As soon as the two Arabs had reached the tents, and 
published the wonders they had seen, every one mounted his mare and rode to tka 
mound, to satisfy himself of the truth of these inconceivable reports. When they 
‘beheld the head, they all cried together: ‘There is no god but God, and Mohammed 


a CY€LOPEDIA OF 23-7 = -= [ro 1876 


“ 
3 EF 8 = 
‘is his prophet!’ It was Some time before the sheikh could be prevailed upon tode- 
scend into the pit, and convince himself that the image he saw was.of stone. ‘This — 4 
isnot the work of men’s hands,’ exclaimed he, ‘but of those infidel giants of whom 
‘the prophet—peuce be with him !—has. said that they were higher thamthe tallest” — 
date-tree; this is one of the idols which Noah—peace be with him !—cursed before — , 
the flood.’ In this opinion, the result of a careful examination, ali the Dy-standers 
concurred. : ‘ 3 

_ 


The semi-barbarism of the people caused frequent difficulties; but 
the traveller's tact, liberality, and courage overcame them all. In — 
about twelve months, eight chambers were opened. Additional — 
funds for prosecuting researches were obtained through the trustees 
of the British Museum, and ultimately twenty-eight halls and gal- 
leries were laid open, and the most valuable of the exhumed treas- 

“ures transmitted to the British Museum. Mr. Layard afterwards - 
commenced excavations at Kouyunjik, on the plain beyond the ~ 
Tigris, opposite Mosul, and was there equally successful. In 1849, 
he undertook a second expedition, funds having. been supplied — : 
(though with a niggardly hand) by the trustees of the Museum and — 
the government. On this occasion, Mr. Layard extended his- re- 4 
” 
; 


y 
a 
q 


searches to Babylon and the confines of Persia, but the most valuable — 
results were obtained in the field of his former labours, at Nimroud 
and Kouyunjik. The sculptures were of all kinds, one of the most — 
remarkable being a figure of Dagon—a_ four-winged male divinity. — 
There were representations of almost every mode of life—banquets, — 
processions, sieges, forts, captives in fetters, criminals undergoing : 
punishment,.&c. The Assyrians appear to have been familiar with ~ 
the most cruel barbarities—flaying alive, impaling, and torturing 
their prisoners. In the mechanical arts they were inferior to the — 
Egyptians, and in moving those gigantic sculptures they had no 
motive-power but physical force—the captives, malefactors, and — 
slaves being employed. The well-known emblems of Egyptian art — 
appear on those Assyrian marbles, and Sir Gardiner Wilkinson con- ; 
.siders this as disproving their early date. They are all, he coneludes, — _ 
within the date 1000 B.c., illustrating the periods of Shalmaneserand — 
Sennacherib; and Mr, Layard is also of opinion that the Assyrian — 
palaces he explored were built by Sennacherib, who came to the _ 
throne at the end of the seventh century before Christ. The mounds — 
at Nimroud, Kouyunjik, and Khorasan would seem to be all parts ~ 
of one vast city and capital—the Nineveh of Jonah, which was a — 
three days’ journey, and contained one hundred thousand children, — 
or a population of half a million. The measurement of the space — 
within the ruins gives an area almost identical with that assigned by- 
the prophet. - 
The account of this second expedition was published by Mr. Lay- ~~ 
ard in 1853, under the title of ‘ Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh 
and Babylon.’ He afterwards entered into public life, was a short — 
time in 1852 Under-secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, and mem- — 


4 


vayarD] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 845 


ber of parliament for Aylesbury; he visited the Crimea during the 


_ war with Russia, and on his return was one of the most urgent in 


) 


demanding inquiry into the management of thearmy. . In December 
1860 he was returned one of the members for Southwark, and from 
1861 to 1866 was Under-secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. He 
was Chief Commissioner of Works from December 1868 to Novem- 
ber 1869, when he retired from parliament on being appointed the 
British envoy at Madrid. 


; Oty of Baghdad or Bagdat. 


We are now amid the date-groves. If it be autumn, clusters of golden frnit hang 
beneath the fan-like leaves; if spring, the odour of orange blossoms fills the air. ‘ihe 
cooing of the doves that flutter zmong the branches begets a pleasing melancholy, 
and a feeling of listlessness and repose. The raft creeps round a projecting bank, 
and two gilded domes and four stately minarets, all glittering-in the rays of an East- 
ern sun, rise suddenly high above the dense bed of palms. ‘hey are of the mosque 
of Kaithaman, which covers the tombs of two of the Imaums or holy saints of the 
Sheeah sect. The low banks swarm with Arabs—men, women, and naked children. 
Mud hovels screened by yellow mats, and gioaning water-wheels worked by the pa- 
tient ox, are seen beneath the palms. ‘The Tigris becomes wider and wider, and ihe 
stream is almost motionless. Circular boats of reeds, coated with bitumen, skim 
over the water. Horsemen and riders on white asses hurry along the river-side. 
Turks in flowing robes and broad turbans; Persians in high black caps and close- 
fitting tunics; the Bokhara pilgrim in his white head-dress and way-worn garments ; 


- the Bedouin chief in his tasselled kKeffiih and striped aba; Baghdad ladies with their 


f 


scarlet and white draperies, fretted with threads of gold, and their black horse-hair 
veils concealing even their wanton eyes; Persian women wrapped in their sightiess 
-garments ; and Arab girls in their simple blue shirts, are all mingied together In one 


_ motley crowd. <A busy stream of travellers flows without ceasing from the gates of 


the western suburb of Baghdad to the sacred precincts of Kaithaman. 


CAT account of the ‘ Highlands of Ethiopia,’ by Mason W. Corn- 
WALLIS Harris, H.E.1.C. Engineers, three volumes, 1844, also 


- abounds with novel and interesting information. The author was 


employed to conduct a mission which the British government sent to 
Sahela Selasse, the king of Shoa, in Southern Abyssinia, whose capi- 
tal, Ankober, was supposed to be about four hundred miles inland 


from the port of Tajura, on the African coast. The king consented 
to form a commercial treaty, and Major Harris conceived that a pro. 


on 


fitable intercourse might be maintained by Great Britain with this 
productive part of the world. 


SIR CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE—MR. J, F. CAMPBELL. 


‘In 1869 was published ‘Greater Britain, a Record of Travel in 
English-speaking Countries’ during 1866 and 1867. ‘The develop- 
ment of the England of Elizabeth is to be found, uot in the Britain 
of Victoria, but in half the habitable globe. If two small islands are 
by courtesy called ‘‘ Great,” America, Australia, India, must form a 
“ Greater Britain.”’ After this prefatory explanation of his quaint 
title, the author arranges his travelling experiences into four parts— 
America, Polynesia, Australia, and India. ‘The sketches are lively 

HLL. V.8—12 


\ 


346 CYCLOPASDIA OF fra 1876. = 


and spirited, and the work was well received by the public. The 
sixth edition (1872) is now before us. 


Influence of the English Race. 


The idea which in all the length of my travels has been at once my fellow and my 
guide—a key wherewith to wnlock the hidden things of strange new lands—is a 
conception, however imperfect, of the grandeur of our race, already girdling the 


earth, which it is destined, perhaps, eventually to overspread. In America, thepeoples 


of the world are being fused together, but they run into an English mould: Alfred’s 
laws and Chaucer’s tongue are theirs whether they would or no. ‘There are men 
who say that Britain in her age will claim the glory of having planted greater 
Englands across the seas. They fail to perceive that she has done more than found 
plantations of her own—that she has imposed her institutions upon the offshoots of 
Germany, of Ireland, of Scandinavia, aud of Spain. : 


Brigham Young. 


We posted off to a merchant*to whom we had fetters, that we might inquire when 
his spiritual chief and military ruler would be home again from his ‘ trip north.’ ‘The 
answer was, ‘ to-morrow.’ 

After watching the last gleams fade from the snow-fields upon the Wasatch, we - 
parted for the night, as I had to sleep in a- private house, the hotel being filled even ~ 
to the balcony. As I entered the drawing-room of my entertainer, I heard the 
voice of a lady reading, and caught enough of what she said to be aware that it 
was a defence of polygamy. She ceased when she saw the stranger; but I found 
that it was my host’s first wife reading Belinda Pratt’s book to her daughters—girls 
just blooming into womanhood. ; ~ 

After an agreeable chat with the ladies, doubly pleasant as it followed upon along 
absence from civilisation, I went to my room, which J afterwards found to be that of 
the eldest son, a youth of sixteen years. In one corner stood two Ballard rifles, and 
two revolvers and a military uniform hung from pegs upon the wall. When I laydown 
with my hands underneath the pillow—an attitude instinctively adopted to escape the 
gand-flies, I tonched something cold. I felt it—a full-sized Colt, and capped. Such: 
was my first introduction to Utah Mormonism. 3 é 

On the taorrow, we had the first and most formal.of our four intérviews with the 
Mormon president, the conversation lasting three hours, and all the leading men 


of the church being present. When we rose to leave, Brigham said: ‘Come to see. _ 


me here aguin: Brother Stenhouse will shew you everything ;’ and then blessed us in 
these words, ‘ Peace be with you, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.’ 

Elder Stenhouse followed us out of the presence, and somewhat anxiously put the 
odd question: ‘ Well, is he awhite man?’ “‘ White’ is used in Utah as ageneralterm ~ 
of praise; a white man is a man—to use our corresponding idiom—not so black as he 
is painted. A ‘white country’ isa country with grass and trees; just as. a white man 
means a man who is morally not a Ute, so a white country is a land in which others 
than Utes can dwell. 


We made some complimentary answer to Stenhouse’s question ; but it was im- a 


possible not to feel that the real point was, is Brigham sincere ? 

Brigham’s deeds have been those of a sincere man. His bitterest opponents can- 
not dispute the fact that in 1841, when Nauvoo was about to be deserted, owing to — 
the attacks of a ruffianly mob. Brigham rashed to the front, and-took the chief com- 
mand. To be a Mormon leader then was to be a leader of an outcast people, with a — 
price set on his head, in a Missourian county in which almost every man who was 
not a Mormon was by profession an assassin. In the sense, too, of believing that 
he is what he professes to be, Brigham is undoubtedly sincere. In the wider sense 
of being that which he professes to be, he comes off as well, if only we will read his 
words in the way he speaks them. He tells us that he is a prophet—God’s representative 
on earth; but when I asked him whether he was of a wholly different spiritual rank 
to that held by other devont men, he said: * By no means. I am a prophet—one of 


many. All good men are prophets; but God has blessed me with peculiar fayour in. 


revealing His will oftener and more clearly through me than through other men.’ 


... Those who would understand Brigham’s revelations just read Bentham. The lead- 3 


yee 


ee et ee gh ee 


a aes 


So 


: 
j 
q 


DILKE.)§ = - ENGLISH LITERATURE. 347 


ing Mormons are utilitarian deists. ‘God’s will be done,’ they like other deists say, is 
_ to be our ruJe: and God’s will they find in written revelation and in utility. God has 
given men, by the actual hand of angels, the Bible, the Book of Mormon, the Book of 
Covenants, the revelations upon Plural Marriage. When these are exhausted, man, 
seeking for God’s will, has to turn to the principle of utility: that which is for the 
ol een mankind—that is, of the church—is God’s will and must be done. 
While utility is their only index to God’s pleasure, they admit that the church must 
be ruled—that opinions may differ as to what is the good of the church, and there- 
fore the will of God. They meet, then, annually, in an assembly of the people, and 
electing church-officers by popular will and acclamation, they see God’s finger in the 
ballot-box. They say, like the Jews in the election of their judges, that the choice 
-of the people is the choice of God. This is what men like John Taylor or David 
Wells appear to feel ; the ignorant are permitted to look upon Brighain as something 
‘more than a man, and though Brigham himself docs nothing to confirm this view, 
the leaders foster the delusion. When I asked Stenhouse, ‘ Has Brigham’s re-elec- 
_ tion.as prophet ever been opposed?’ he answered sharply, ‘1 should like to see the 
man who’d do it.’ 
Brigham’s personal position is a strange one: he calls himself prophet, and de- 
clares that he has_revelations from God himself, but when You ask him quietly what 
_ all this means, you find that for prophet you should read political philosovher. He 
- Sees that a canal from Utah Lake to Salt Lake Valley would be of vast_utility to 
the church and the people—that a new settlement is urgently required. He thinks 
about these things till they dominate in his mind, and take in his brain in the shape 
of physical creations. He dreams of the canal, the city ; sees them before him in his 
waking moments. ‘hat which is so clearly for the good of God’s people becomes 
God’s will. Next Sunday at the tabernacle, he steps to the fromt and says: ‘ God has 
epoken; He has said unto his prophet: ‘‘ Get thee up, Brigham, and build Me a city 
in the fertile valley to the South, where there is water, where there are fish, where 
the sun is strong enough to ripen the cotton plants, and give raiment as well as food 
to my saints on earth.” Brethren willing to aid God’s work should come to me be- 
fore the bishops’ meeting.’ As the prophet takes his seat again, and puts cn his 
broad-brimmed hat, a hum of applause runs around the bowery, and teams and bar- 
- rows are freely promised. E 
Sometimes the caifal, the bridge. the city may prove a failure, but this is not con- 
cealed : the prophet’s human tongue may blunder even when he is communicating 
‘holy things. ‘After all,’ Brigham said to me the day before I left, ‘the highest in- 
‘spiration is good sense—the knowing what to do and how to do it.’ 


Srp CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE, author of ‘Greater Britain,’ is 
son of a baronet of the same name who was one of the Commis- 
sioners of the International Exhibitions of 1851 and 1862, and for 
his services in that capacity was rewarded with a baronetcy in 1862. 
The second baronet was born in 1848, studied law, and was called to 
- the bar in 1866. In. November 1867 he was elected to represent 
Chelsea in the House of Commons. Sir Charles has succeedcd his 
father and grandfather as proprietor of the ‘ Atheneum’ literary 
journal. : 

Another extensive traveller, Mr. J. F. CAMPBELL, has published 
two volumes of: extracts from journals sent home, geological and 
Dther notes written while travelling westwards round the world in 
1875. His work is entitled ‘My Circular Notes.’ The ‘ Notes’ are 
lively and graphic, especially as regards Japan and the Japanese, of 
which the accounts are highly favourable. 

‘Japan is fairly started with growing railroads and telegraphs, an 
ordnance survey, and an observatory; steamboats, a newspaper, and 

a national debt. A most ingenious set of mortals are planted in one 


348 | cS ACY CLOPADIA) OF 2 


of the best commercial situations in the whole world, watched ied 
all the great powers. They make one of the most interesting of po- ’ 
litical studies, and are the queerest. mixture of tragedy and ‘comedy Pe 
‘that a spectator can look at from outside.’ « 
_ Mr. Campbell is a Celtic scholar, and has published four volumes. 
Or Popular Tales of the West Highlands, orally collected, witha 
Translation,’ 1862. The work is a rich repertory of Celtic Fol love — 
and traditional liter ature, poetical and prosaic. : fs 


WILLIAM GIFFORD PALGRAVE. 


Two interesting volumes on Arabia were published in 1865, by 
Witnram GrrFrorD PALGRAVE, son of Sir Francis Palgrave, and — 
born in Westminster in 1826. An officer in the Indian. army, Mr. 
Palgrave travelled for nearly ten years (1853-1863) in Arabia and 4 
other parts of the Turkish empire. He has also ofliciated as consul » 
at Trebizond. His published travels are entitled ‘Narrative of a 
Year’s Journey through Central and Eastern Arabia,’ 1862-63. At  — 
the time of undertaking this journey, Mr.-Palgrave was in connection + ~ 
with the Order of the Jesuits, and the necessary funds were furnished 
by the liberality of the Emperor of the French (Napoleon III). The > 

narrative gives the most minute account we have of the Arab race— 


of their condition, intellectual and political, social and religious. om 
The Arab Character. Ais Sb me E 


Some authors, travelled or otherwise, have represented the Arabs of the interior 
4s a race absolutely incapable of any real attainment or progress in practical and ma- 
terial science, and have supposed that branch of knowledge to be the exclusive por- 
tion of Japhet, while Shem and his descendants, amongst whom the Arabs hold adis- ; 
tinguished place, are to be allowed neither part nor lot in this matter. My own experi- 
ence, if indeed it may bear the name of experience, would lead me to a very different 
conclusion ; and I am rather inclined to regard the Arabs, taken in themselves and : 
ind ividually, as endowed with a remarkable aptitude for those very pursuits, and ~ : 


7 
d 


hardly less adapted to the railroad, to the steam-ship. or any other nineteenth century — 
invention or natural research than the natives of Sheffield or Birmin gham themselves. — 
But lack of communication with other countries, and especially With those which 
were in former times, and yet are, the fountain-beads of that special activity ; and, 
in addition, the Mahometan drug which paralyses whatever it does not kill out - Ae 
right, have kept them back in the intellectual race, to be outrun by others more fa- _ 
voured by circumstances, though not perhaps by nature. When the Koran and 
Mecea shall have disappeared from Ar abia, then, and then only, can we seriously ex- 
pect to see the Arab assume that place in the ranks of civilisation from which Ma- ~ 
homet and his book have, more than any other individual cause, long held him back, 


The Simoon. 


Tt was about noon, and such anoon as a summer solstice can offer in the un-— 
clouded Arabian sky over a scorched desert, when abrupt and burning gusts of wind 
began to blow by fits from the south, while the oppressiveness of the air increased _ 
every moment till my companion and myself mutually asked each other what this — 
could mean, and what was to be its result. We turned to inquire of Salem, but he ~ 
had already wrapped up his face in his mantle, and, bowed down, and crouching on 
the neck of hiscamel, replied nota word. His comrades, the two Sherarat Bedouins, — 
had adopted a similar position, and were equally silent. At last, after repented interes re 
rogations, Salem, ‘sips of replying directly to our ane OnEaE) pointed to a small : 


~ 


| 


PALGRAVE}. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 349 


black tent, providentially at no great distance in front, and said, ‘Try to reach that ; 


if we can get there we are saved.’ He added, *Take care that your camels do not 
stop and lie down ;’ and then, giving his own several vigorous blows, relapsed into- 
muffled silence. 

We looked anxiously towards the tent; it was yet a hundred yards off or more. 
Meanwhile the gusts grew hotter and more violent, and it was only by repeated efforts 
that we could urge our beasts forward. The horizon rapidly darkened to a deep vio- 
let hue, and seemed to draw in like a curtain on every side; while, at the same time, 
a stifling blast, as though from some enormous oyen opening right on our path, 
blew steadily under the gloom ; our camels, too, began, in spite of all we could do, to 


—turn round and round, and bend their knees, preparing to lie down. The Simoon 


was fairly upon us. 

Of course, we had followed our Arab’s example by muffling our faces; and now, 
with blows and kicks, we foreed the staggering animals onwards to the only asylum 
within reach. So dark was the atmosphere, aud so burning the heat, that it seemed 

-that hell had risen from the earth, or descended from avove. But we were yet in 
‘time ; and atthe moment when the worst of the concentrated poison blast was coming 
around, we were already prostrate one and all within the tent, with our heads well 
“wrapped up, almost suffocated indeed, but safe; while our camels lay without like 
dead, their Jong necks stretched out on the sand awaiting the passing of the gale. 

On our first arrival the tent contained a solitary Bedouin woman, whose husband 
was away with his camels in the Wadi Sirham. When she saw five handsome men 
like us rush thus suddenly into her dwelling, without a word of leave or salutation, 
she very properly set up a scream to the tune of the four crown pleas, murder, 
arson, robbery, and I know not what else. Salem hastened to reassure her by 
calling out ‘ Friends,’ and without more words, threw himself flat on the ground. 
All followed his example in silence. 

We remained thus for about ten minutes, during which a still heat, like that of a 
red-hot iron slowly passing over us, was alo:.e to be felt. Then the tent walls began 
again to flap in the returning gusts, and announced that the worst of the Simoon 


- had gone by. Wegot up half dead with exhaustion, and unmuffled_our faces. My 


comrades appeared more like corpses than living men; and so, I suppose, did I. 
However, I could not forbear, in spite of warning, to step out and look at the camels : 
they were still lying flat as if they had been shot. ‘he air was yet darkish, but be- 
fore long it brightened up to its usual dazzling clearness. During the whole time 
that the Simoon lasted, the atmosphere was entirely free from sand or dust, so that 
I hardly know how to account for its singular obscurity. 


THE ARCTIC EXPEDITIONS. 


Expeditions to the arctic regions were continued after the fruit- 
less voyage of Sir John Ross, 1829-38. The interval of 160 miles 
between Point Barrow, and the farthest point to which Captain 
Franklin penetrated, was, in 1837, surveyed by Mr. THomas Simpson 
and the servants of the Hudson’s Bay Company. The latter had, 
with great generosity, lent their valuable as-istance to complete the 


- geography of that region, and Mr. Simpson was enthusiastically de- 


voted to the same object. In the summer of 1837, he, with his senior 
officer, Mr. Dease, started from the Great Slave Lake, following the 


~~ steps of Franklin_as far as the point called Franklin’s Farthest, 


whence they traced the remainder of the coast to the westward to 
Point Barrow, by which they completed our knowledge of this coast 
the whole way west of the Coppermine River, as far as Behring’s 


. Straits. Wintering at the north-east angle of the Great Bear Lake, 


the party descended the Coppermine River, and_ followed the coast 
eastwards as far as the mouth of the Great Fish River, discovered by 


4 
\ 


350 _ CYCLOPEDIA OF 


Back in 1834. The expedition comprised ‘the navigation of a tem-~ 
- pestuous ocean beset with ice, for a distance exceeding 1400 geo- 
graphical or 1800 statute miles, in open boats, together with all the 
fatigues of long land-journeys and the perils of the climate? In 1839 
the Geographical Society of London rewarded Mr. Simpson with a 
medal, for ‘advancing almost to completion the solution of the great 
problem of the configuration of the northern shore of the North — 
American continent.’ While returning to Europe in June 1840, 
‘Mr. Simpson died, it is supposed, by his own hand, in a par- 
oxysm of insanity, after shooting two of the four men who ac- 
companied him from the Red River colony. Mr. Simpson was 
a native of Dingwall, in Ross shire, and at the time of his melan- 
choly death was only in his thirty-second year. His ‘ Narrative of 
the Discoveries on the North Coast of America, effected by the Offi- 
cers of the Hudson’s Bay Company during the years’ 1886-39, was 
published in 1843. 

In 1845 the Admiralty commissioned two ships, the Hrebus and 
Terror, to prosecute the problem of the North-west Passage. Captain 
Sir John Franklin had returned from Tasmania, and the expedition — 
was placed under charge of that experienced and skilful commander, — 
Captain Crozier being the second in command. ‘The expedition was — 
seen for the last time by a whaler, July 26, 1845, making for Lancas- . 
ter Sound. At the close of 1847 the Admiralty despatched vessels 
with supplies; two were sent in 1848 on Franklin’s route, and Sir. 
John Richardson was despatched through Rupert’s Land to the coast 
of the Arctic Sea. These were the beginnings ofa series of search- 
ing expeditions persevered in year after year, until tidings were ob- 
tained. Of these we have interesting accounts in the ‘ Narrative of 
an Expedition to the Shores of the Arctic Sea in 1846 and 1847,’ by - 
JOHN Raz, 1850; ‘ Journal of a Voyage in 1850-51, performed by the 
Lady Franklin and Sophia under command of Mr. W. Penny,’ by P. 
©. SuTHERLAND, M.D., two volumes, 1852; ‘ Papers and Despatches 
relating to the Arctic searching Expeditions of 1850-1-2,’ by JAMES 
MaAnauss, R. N., 1852; ‘Second Voyage of the Prince Albert in Search 
of Sir John Franklin,’ by W. KENNEDy, 1853; ‘The Last of the Arc- 
tic Voyages, being a Narrative of the Expedition in H.M.8. Assést- 
ance,’ under the command of Str Epwarp BELCHER, C.B., in Search 
of Sir John Franklin, 1852-3-4,’ two volumes, 1855; ‘The Diseovery 
of the North-west Passage, by H.M.S8. Investigator, CAPTAIN R. 
M’Ciur#, 1850-54,’ published in 1856. The last of these voyages was 
the most important. Captain M’Clure was knighted, and par iament 
voted him a sum of £5000, with an-equal sum to his officers and 
crew. The gallantry and ability displayed’ by the- officers of — 
the various expeditions, and the additions made by them to the 
geography of the Polar Seas, render these voyages and land- 
journeys a source of national honour. though of deep and almost 
painful interest. 


“M'cLURE,] 


eC = =: ‘ ee tse 
- - : : S 


* 


~ ENGLISH LITERATURE, - 351 


‘The abundance of animal life in the polar regions is remarkable. 
Reindeer, hares, musk oxen, with salmon and other fish, were found, 
and furnished provisions to the exploring ice-parties. In 1854-Dr. 
Rae- learned from a party of Esquimaux that in the spring of 1850 
about forty white men were seen on the shore of King William’s 
Land. They-appeared thin, and intimated by signs that their ships 
had been lost in the ice, and that they were travelling to where they 
hoped to find deer to shoot. ‘They were dragging a boat and sledges. 
The Esquimaux further stated that later the same season, before the 
ice broke up, the bodies of thirty white men were discovered on the 
continent a day’s journey to the west of the Great Fish River, and five 
more bodies on an adjacent island. In 1857, Lady Franklin organized 
another searching expedition, and Captain M’Clintock, with a crew 
of twenty-four men sailed in the Hor yacht. They spent the winter 
of 1857-58 in the ice, drifting about twelve hundred miles. In the 
spring they resumed operations, and in August reached Brentford 
Bay, near which the ship was laid up for winter-quarters. In the’ 
spring of 1859, Captain M’Clintock and Lieutenant Hobson under- 
took sledge expeditions, embracing a complete survey of the coasts. 
At Point Victory, upon the north-west coast of King William’s Land, 
Lieutenant Hobson found under a cairn a record, dated April 25, 
1848, signed by Captains Crozier and Fitzjames, stating that the Hre- 
bus and Terror were abandoned on the 22d of April 1848, in the ice, 
and that the survivors, in all one hundred and five, under the com- 
mand of Captain Crozier, were proceeding to the Great Fish River. 
Sir John Franklin had died on the 11th of June 1847. The unfortunate 
party had expected to be able to penetrate on foot southwards to some 
of the most northerly settlements of the Hudson’s Bay Company. 
Traces of their progress were further found—a large boat fitted on a 
sledge, with quantities of clothing, cocoa, tea, tobacco, and fuel, with 
two guns and plenty of ammunition. Five watches, some plate, 
knives, a few religious books, and other relics were discovered, 
but no journals or pocket-books. The gallant band, enfeebled by three 
years’ residence in arctic latitudes, disappointment, and suifering, 
had no doubt succumbed to the cold and fatigue, sinking down by 
the way, as the Esquimaux had reported to Dr. Rae, and finding 
graves amidst the eternal frost and snow. The graves of three of the 
crew of the Hrebus and Terror are thus noticed in ‘ Stray Leaves from 
an Arctic Journal,’ by LIEUTENANT 8. OSBORN: 


Graves of the English Seamen in the Polar Regions. 


The graves, like all that Englishmen construct, were scrupulously neat. Go where 
you will over the globe’s surface—afar in the east. or afar in the west, down among 
the coral-girded fites of the South Sea. or here, where the grim North frowns on the 
gailor’s grave—you will always find it alike; it* is the monument raised by rough 
hands but affectionate hearts over the last home of their messmates ; it breathes of 
the quiet churchyard in some of England’s many nooks, where each had formed 
his idea of what was dne to departed worth ; and the ornaments that nature decks 
herself with, even in the desolation of the frozen zone, were carefully culled to 


— 


852 _ CYCLOPHDIA OF = fro 1876. 


Te 


- 
= 


mark the dead seaman’s home. The gooa faste of the officers had prevented the 


general simplicity of an oaken head and footboard to each of the graves bein 
marred by any long and childish epitaphs, or the doggrel of a lower-deck poet, an 
the three inscriptions were as follows: 
‘Sacred to the Memory of Wm. Braine, R.M., of H.M.S. Hrebus, died April 3, 
1846, aged 32 years. ‘* Choose you this day whom ye will serve.”—Josh. xxiv.15. — 
‘Sacred to the Memory of J. Torrington, who departed this life, January 1, 1846, 
on board of H.M.S8. Terror, aged 20 years. ’ : : 
: ‘Sacred to the Memory of J. Hartwell, A.B., of H.M.S. Hrebus, died January 4, 
1846, aged 25 years. ‘*‘hus saith the Lord of hosts: Consider your ways.”— 
Haggat i. 7.’ 


I thought I traced in the epitaphs over the grayes of the men from the Hrebus — 


the manly and Christian spirit of Franklin. In the true spirit of chivalry, he, their 

captain and leader, led them amidst dangers and unknown difficulties with iron will 

eeweDee upon his brow, but the words of meekness, gentleness, and truth were his 
evice. 

Some interesting and affecting details of these arctic explorations 
are given in the ‘Life of Sir John Richardson,’ by the Ray. J. 
MInrairn, 1868. Sir John was an intrepid exploier of the arctic 
regions, and. largely contributed to the knowledge of the physical 
geography, flora, and fauna of British North America. This excel- 
lent man was a native of Dumfries, born in 1787, died in.1865. ‘i 

We shall now advert to African discovery and adventure; and to 
the question of the source of the Nile, which, even from time imme- 
morial, has been a subject of mysterious interest and speculation. 


CAPTAIN BURTON. bs 


One of the most fearless and successful of modern explorers is 
Ricuarp Francis Burton, born at Tuam in Galway, Ireland, in 
1820. Entering the East India Company’s service, Lieutenant Bur- 
ton served some years in Sindh under Sir Charles Napier, and pub- 
lished an account of ‘Sindh and the Races that Inhabit the Valley of 
the Indus,’ 1851. _The same year he produced a volume entitled 
‘Goa and the Blue Mountains, or Six Months of Sick-Leave;’ and 
the next year, ‘Falconry in the Valley of the Indus.’ His remark- 
able talent for acquiring languages, and particularly his knowledge 
of Arabic, suggested a journey in the East through regions unex- 
plored or but partially known. Under the auspices of the English 
Geographical Society he proceeded to Arabia, adopting the hab- 
its of an Afghan .pilgrim. He penetrated to the two holy 
cities, accomplishing a safe return to Cairo, and the result was 
a most valuable and interesting book of travels, entitled a 
‘Personal Narrative of a Pilgrimage to El Medinah and Mec- 
cah,’ three volumes, 1855-57. The next expedition of the 
traveller. was. into the country of the Somaulis in Hastern 
Africa. He was accompanied by three brother-officers— Lieutenants 
 Stroyan, Speke and Hern. The first of these was killed, and Burton 
himself was much wounded, but he succeeded in reaching Harrar, 
and he published an account of the journey under the title of ‘First 
Footsteps in East Africa, or an Exploration of Harar,’ 1856. At the 


- 


@ 
= 


\S 


ED ee ee ee RTS a 


74 


roe yay é Lge : ee 
- . 


BURTON. ] ' ENGLISH LITERATURE. 358 


end of the year, Burton and Speke set out to the country of the Upper ~ 
Nile, to verify the existence of an inland sea announced by the Arabs 
and missionaries. ‘They started from the Zanzibar coast in 1857, and 
the result was the discovery of the vast lake of Tanganyika in lat. 5° 
S., long. 86° E., and a large crescent-shaped mass of mountains over- 
hanging the northern half of the lake, and ten thousand feet high, 
considered by Speke to be the true Mountains of the Moon. Captain 
Burton published an account of this expedition, entitled ‘The Lake 
Regions of Central Africa,’ two volumes, 1860.- His health having 
been impaired by his African travels, Captain Burton embarked for 


the United States, which he traversed, and published an account of 


the Mormons. In 1861 he was appointed consul for Fernando Po, 
and from thence he made exploring expeditions described in his works, 
‘Abeokuta and the Cameroons Mountains,’ two volumes, 18638 ; ‘ A- 
Mission to Gelele, King of Dahomey,’ two volumes, 1864; ‘ Wit and 
Wisdom from West Africa,’ 1865. He was next appointed consul in 
Brazil, where he resided above three years, and wrote ‘ Explorations 
of the Highlands of Brazil,’ two volumes, 1869 ; and ‘ Letters from 


the Battle-fields of Paraguay,’ 1870. A later work of the traveller’s 


isa description of ‘Zanzibar, City, Island, and Coast,’ 1872. In 1875, 
Captain Burton published * Ultima Thule, or a Summer in Iceland,’ 
in which we have not only the author’s personal adventures, but a 
narrative of the discovery, the history, and characteristics of the 


island. - 
CAPTAINS SPEKE AND GRANT. 


JoHN HANNING SPEKE was a native of Devonshire, born at Orleigh 
Court, near Bideford, in 1827. He obtained a commission in the 
Bengal Native Infantry, and served in the war of the Punjaub. In 
1854 he commenced his explorations in Hastern Africa, and in 1856, 
as already related, he joined Captain Burton in his expedition to as- 
certain the position of the great lakes of the interior, and their rela- 
tion to the Nile basin. In February 1858, Lake Tanganyika was dis- 
covered, and in July of the same year, Speke traversed the route run- 
ning north from Kazeh, and in August discovered the south end of 
the Victoria Nyanza lake, which he considered to be the source of the 
Nile. In his opinion he differed from Burton and other travellers, 


and in order to establish more firmly his theory on the subject, he 


undertook another expedition in 1860, accompanied by a brother offi- 
cer, Captain Grant. The result he published in a large volume, a 
‘Journal of the Discovery of the Source of the Nile,’ 1868. Captain 
Speke was engaged to address the British Association at Bath on the 
16th of September 1864, but was unfortunately killed on the day pre- 
ceding by the accidental discharge of his gun. The death of the 
brave traveller under circumstances so distressing may be said to 
have saddened all England. Subsequent explorations in Africa have 
proved the accuracy of Speke’s account of the Victoria Nyanza., 


| Se oe hee ae Beret at re oR Lk 
ase. a NS eg 

| = Bear's ee 

354 -CYCLOPADIA OF - fro 1876, 


_ First View of the Nile. 

Here at last I stood on the brink of the Nile; most beautiful was the scene— 
nothing could surpass it! It was the very perfection of the kind of effect aimed at 
in a highly-kept park; with a magnificent stream from six to seven hundred yards 
wide, dotted with islets and rocks, the former occupied by fishermen’s huts, the 
latter by sterns and crocodiles basking in the sun, fiowing between high grassy ~ 
banks, with rich trees and j lantains in the background, where herds of the nsunnu 
and hartebeest could be seen grazing, while the hippopotami were snorting in the 
water, and florikan and guinea-fowl rising at our feet: Unfortunately, the chicf 
district officer, Mlondo, was from home, but we took possession of his huts—clean, 
extensive, and tidily kept—faciug the river, and felt as if a residence here wouid do 
one good. ... ; 

I marched up the left bank of the Nile, at a considerable distance from the 
water, to the Isamba Rapids, passing through rich jungle and plantain gardens._ 
Nargo, an old friend, and district officer of the place, first refreshed us with a 
a dish of plantain squash and dried fish with pombé.* He told us he is often ; 
threatened: by elephants, but he sedulously keeps them off with charms; for 
if they ever tasted a plantain they would never leave the garden until they 
had cleared it out. He then took us to. see the nearest falls of the Nile  ~- 
—extremely beautiful, but very confined. ‘he water ran deep between its 
banks, which were covered with fine grass, soft cloudy acacias, and festoons of lilac 
couyolvuli ; whilst here and there, where the iand had slipped above the rapids, bared 
places of red earth could be seen like that of Devonshire: there, too, the waters, 
impeded by a naturul dam, looked like a huge mill-pond, sullen and dark, in which a 
two crocodiles, laving about, were looking out for prey. From the high banks we E 
looked down upon a line of sloping wooded islets lying across the stream, which eT 
divide its waters, and by interrupting them, cause at once both dam. and rapids. y 
The whole was more fairy-like, wild, and romantic than—I must confess that my — 
thoughts took that shape—anything I ever saw outside of a theatre. It-was exactly 
the sort of place, in fact, where, bridged across from one side-slip to the other, on a ; 
moonlight night, brigands would assemble to enact some dreadful tragedy. Even 
the Wanguana seemed spel!-bound at the novel beauty of the sight, and no one 
thought of moving till hunger warned us night was setting in, and we had better 
look out for lodgings. iy 


Htiquette at the Court of Uganda. — ; oy ‘ 

_ ie 

The mighty king was now reported to he sitting on his throne fn the state-hntof 
the third tier. T advanced hat in hand. with my guard of honour following. formed a 


in open ranks, who in their turn were followed by the bearers carrying the present. I 
did not walk straight up to him as if to shake hands, but went outside the ranks ofa ~~ 
three-sided square of squatting Wakuneu. all habited in skins, mostly cow-skins 3 g 
s0me few of them had, in addition, leopard-cat skins girt round the waist, the sign 
of royal blood. Here I was desired to halt and sit in the glaring sun; so I donned 
my hat, mounted my umbrella—a phenomenon which set them all a-wondering and ~ 
laughing—ordered the ovard to close ranks, and sat, gazing at the novel spectacle. 
A more theatrical sight Inever saw. The king, a good-looking. well-figured, tall 
young man of twenty-five, was sitting on a red blanket spread upon a square plat- 
form of royal grass. encased in tiger-erass reeds. scrupulously well-dressed mbugu. 
The hair of his head was cut short, excepting on the top, where it was combed up to _ 
ahigh ridge. running from stem to stern like a cock’s comb: On his neck was a 
very neat ornament—a large ring of beautifully worked small beads. forming elegant . 
patterns by their various colours. On one arm was another bead ornament. prettily © 
devised ; and on the other a wooden charm. tied by a string covered with snake-skin. 
On every finger and every toe he had alternate brass and copper-rings; and above — 
the ankles, half-way up to the calf, a stocking of very pretty beads. Everything was 
light. neat, and elegant in its way: not a fault could be found with the taste of his p 
getting-up.’ Fora handkerchief he held a well-folded piece of bark, anda piece 
- Of gold-embroidered silk, which he constantly employed to hide his large mouth — 


tn 
* A fermented liquor made from grains, roots, or fruits. 


‘ENGLISH LITERATURE. ® 355 


a” : ah < 
| SPEKE. j 


when laughing, or to wipe it after a drink of plantain wine, of which he took con- 
stant and copious draughts from neat little gourd-cups, administered by his ladies- 
in-waiting, who were at once his sisters and wives. A white dog, spear, shield, and 
woiman—the Uganda cognisance—were by his side, us.also a knot of staff-officers, 
with whom he kept up a brisk conversation on one side, and on the other was a band 
of Wachwézi, or lady-sorcerers, 

I was now asked to draw nearer within the hollow square of squatters, there 
leopard skins were strewed upon the ground, and a large copper kcttle-drum, sur- 
mounted with brass bells on arching wires, along with two other smaller drums coy- 

— ered with cowrie-shells, and beads of colour worked into patterns, were placed. I 
now longed to open conversation, but knew not the language, and no one near me 
dared speak, or even lift his head from fear of being accused of eyeing the women ; 
so the king and myself sat staring at one another for full an honr—I mute, but he 
pointing and remarking with those around him on the novelty of my guard and 
~general appearance, and even requiring to see my hat lifted, the umbrella shut and 

~ opened, and the guards face about and shew off their red cloaks—for such wonders 
had never been seen in Uganda. 

. Then finding the day wauing, he sent Maula on an embassy to ask me if I had 
seen him; and on receiving my reply, ‘ Yes, for full one hour,’ I was glad to find him 
rise, spear in hand, lead his dog, and walk unceremoniously away through the in- 
closure into the the fourth tier of huts; for this being a pure levée day, no business 
was transacted. ‘The king’s gait in retiring was intended to be very majestic, but did 
not succeed in conveying 10 me that impression, It was the traditional walk of his 
race. founded on the step of the lion, but the outward sweep of the legs, intended to 
represent the stride of the noble beast, appeared to me only to realise a very ludicrous 
kind of waddle. 


The Source of the Nie—A Summary. 


The expedition had now performed its functions. I saw that old Father Nile, 
without any doubt, rises in the Victoria Nyanza, ard. as I had foretold, that Jake is 
the great source of the holy river which cradled the first expounder of our religious 
belief. I mourned, however, when I thought how much I had lost by the delays in 
the journey having deprived me of the pleasure of going to look at the north-east cor- 

_ ner of the Nyanza to see what connection there was, by the strait so often spoken of, 
’ with it and the other lake where the Waganda went to get their salt, and from which a 
_another river flowed to the north, making ‘ Usoga an island.’ But I felt I ought to 
be content with what I had been spared to accomplish ; for I bad seen full half of the 
- Jake, and had information given me of the other half, by means of which i, knew all 
about the lake, as far, at least, as the chief objects of geographical importance were 
concerned. ~ ce, = aa 
_ Let us now sum up the whole and see what it is worth. Comparative informa- 
tion assured me that there was as much water on the eastern side of the lake as 
there is on the western—if enything, rather more. The most remote waters, or 
top head of the Nile, is the southern end of the lake,, situated close on_ the third 
degree of south latitude, which gives to the Nile the surprising length, in direct 
measurement, rolling over thirty-four degrees of latitude, of above two thousand 
three hundred miles. or more than one-eleventh of the circumference of our globe. 
Now from this southern point. round by the west. to where the great Nile stream 
issnes, there 1s only one feeder of any importance, and that is the Kitangile river ; 
whilst from the southernmost point, round by the east. to the strait, there are no 
rivers at all of any importance; for the travelled Arabs one _and all aver, that from 
the west of the snow-clad Kilimandjaro to the lake where it is cut by the second de- 
gree, and also the first degree of south latitude, there are salt lakes and salt plains, 
and the country is hilly, not unlike Unyamfiézi; but they said there were no great 
rivers, and the country was so scantily watered, having only occasional runnels and 
rivulets, that they always had to make long marches in order to find water when they ~ = 
went on their trading journeys: and further, those Arabs who crossed the strait when 
they reached Usoga, as mentioned before, during the late interregnum, crossed no 


~ river either. 


} 


~ .  ) 


bg GYCLOPEDIA OF= =7— -= (ro. 1876, 
% a 


< 


806 


There remains to be disposed of the‘ Salt Lake,’ which-I believe is not a sal 
_ but a fresh-water lake ;, and my reasons are, as before stated, thut the natives call a ‘ 
‘Jakes s.lt, if they find salt beds or salt islands in such piaces. Dr. Krapf, when he ~~ 
obtained a sight of the Kenia mountain, heard from the natives theré that there was 2 
a salt fake to its northward, and he also heard that a_river ran from Kenia towards ; 
the Nile. If his information was true on this latter point, then, without doubt, 
there must exist some connection between his river and the salt lake I have heard of, 
‘and this in all probability would also establish a connection between my salt lake and 
his salt lake which he heard was called Baringo. In no view that can be taken of it, 
however, does this unsettled matter touch the established fact that the head of the 
Nile is in three degrees south latitude, where, in the year 1858, I discovered the hea} 


of the Victoria Nyanza to be. s) “al 


JAMES AUGUSTUS GRANT, associated with Captain Speke in Afri- 
can travel and discovery, is a native of Nairn, of which town his ~ 
father was minister. He was born in 1827, and in his eighteenth ~ 

~_ year entered the Indian army; served under Lord Gough; and did 
duty with the 78th Highlanders, under General Havelock, at the re- 
lief of Lucknow in 1857. On this occasion he was wounded in the 
right hand. From April 1860 till June 1863 he was engaged in the 
African expedition... In the preface to his work, ‘A Walk Across 
Africa, or Domestic Scenes irom my Nile Journal,’ 1864, Captain 
Grant says: er 

‘My acquaintance with Captain Speke commenced as far back as ~ 
1847, when he was serving in*India with his regiment. We were 
both Indian offieers, of the same age, and equally fond of field-sports, ~~ 
and our friendship continued unbroken. After his return from.dis- —  — 
covering the Victoria Nyanza, he was, as is well known, commission- 
ed by the Royal Geographical Society to prosecute his discovery, and > ~ 
to ascertain, if possible, the truth of his conjecture—that the Nile had ~ 
its source in that gigantic lake, the Nyanza. I volunteered to ac- 
company him; my offer was at once accepted; and it isnow a melan- 
choly satisfaction to think that not a shade of jealousy or distrust, or 
even iil-temper, ever came between us during our wanderings and 
intercourse.’ 

Captain, now Colonel Grant was made a C.B. in 1866; and in 1868, 
when the Abyssinian expedition was organised, he was appointed ~~ 
head of the Intelligenct Department, and for his services in Abyssi- 3 
nia was nominated a Companion of the Order of the Star of India. . 
His volume of travels is a pleasing and interesting narrative. Its » 
title is thus explained: ‘Last season Sir Roderick Murchison did me 
the honour to introduce me to Her Majesty’s First Minister, Viscount 
Palmerston, and on that occasion his Lordship good-humouredly 
remarked, ‘ You have had a long walk, Captain Grant!’ The saying 
was one well fitted to be remembered and to be told again; and my 
friendly publishers and others recommended that it should form the ~~ 
leading title of my book.’ We subjoin one extract: : 


GRANT.) * +. ENGLISH LITERATURE. © 857 
| Life in Unyanyembe.* 


_ This province of Unyanyembe has nearly fourmonths of rain, commencing in the 
end of November, and winding up with the greatest fall in February. As soon as 
the soil of sand, or black spongy mould, has sofiened, the seed is dropped, and by 
_ the ist of February all is as green as an emerald. ‘The young rice has to struggle for 
fifteen days against the depredations of a small black caterpillar, green underneath. 
It is a precarious time for the agriculturist ; for, if rain does not fall, the crop is 
lost, being eaten close by this insect. Women walk in the fields, with hand-picks, 
loosening the soil, clearing it of weeds and worms. There is only one crop in the 
year, and all the cereals known in Zanzibar are grown here. Cotton was considered 
by an Indian resident to be as fine as that grown in Kutch, but be said they had no 
use for it, merely burning it as wicks. As the previous year’s corn had been con- 
~sumed, the poorer classes gathered the heads of a wild grass (Dactyloswm Egyptia- 
cum), and prepared it for stirabout by sun-drying, beating on the rocks, and 
. rubbing it into flour on their flag-stones. They also fed on mushrooms, grow- 
ing amongst the rank ‘dub’ grass, after drying, roasting, and- peeling them. 
They were five inches in diameter, and sienna-coloured. ‘Another variety was 
white, and half the size. All the cattle and goats in the country seemed to 
have found their way into the folds of the Arabs, and had been captured in a war 
—~ still going on between them and the native population. Thesurrounding country is 
~ devoid of game, but Within a long day’s march a forest was visited, where various 
antelopes, giraffes, lions, and a few elephants might be met with aiong the valiey of 
the Wallah River. The scales of an armadillo were seen worn as acharm, three inches 
~ across, and striated or lined at one end. Our men hada superstition that the person 
who found an armadillo alive would become a king—meaning, [ imagine, that it was 
so rare. However, we came upon a pet one at three degrees north Jatitude. About 
the cultivations near the village no singing-birds are ever heard, but the plumage of 
those seen is often very brilliant. Flocks of beautiful little birds, with black bodics, 
golden-tinted scarlet heads and backs, pecked at the ears of corn; or in the rice 
fields the favourite of the Cape farmers, the locust-bird, black, and looking like a 
- curlew when walking, went tamely about. Crows, with a ring of white about the 
neck, were seen in twos and threes. The matting in the house was full of bugs, oF 

- ticks, which pestered one while sested at night, causing considerable irritation. 
It is‘not a country for ivory, the natives seldom. if ever, bringing any for sale. 
Grain was so scarce that slaves could be purchased for two fathoms-of calico. One 
-day a naked native passed us in charge of three Seedees (negroes) armed with spears, 
They had found:him stealing, and offered him for sale. No one would purchase him, 
-and he was taken to the sultan, who would, as Moozah said, either spear him, keep 
him as a slave, or allow him to be sold. Slaves from the northern kingdom of 
Uganda, &c., were considered the most valuable. They were held to be more trust- 
worthy than men from the coast, made excellent servants, and were famous at 


*The following notice of African localities (from an article in the Zines) will assist 
the reader: *The Island of Zanzibar is cut by the sixth parallel of south latitude, and 
from Bagamoyo, on the mainland, starts a well-known caravan route, Which leads ia 
the first place to Unyanyembe, a central trading station and settlement of the Arab ivory 
and slave merchants, lying in five degrees south latitude, and three hundred and sixty 
miles west of Bagamoyo in a.direct line. The nextand farthest depot of the Arab mer= 
chants is Ujiji,one hundred and eighty miles due west of Unyanyembe, on the shores of 
the great lakeof Tanganyika. When the native tribes and their petty sultans are not 
at war between themselves or with the Arabs, the road to Ujiji. from Unyanyembe is 
pretty straight and safe fora well-organized caravan. The district between Tanganyika 
and the coast is well travelled by caravans: thetribute system with the different tribes 
is almost as organised as a customs tariff. and the drunken village chiefs and sultans, 
‘svho depend upon traders for all their finery, are quite wise enough to know thatif they 
rob and murder one caravan, another is not likely to come their way. Neither do the 
Arabs dare to kidnap along the route. Theirslave-hunting grounds are in the distant 
interior, and it is quite an error to suppose that the country is desolated and uninhabited 
for several hundred miles from the coast inwards. A great part of the way from Baga- 
moyo to Ujiji. it is populous and prosperous. the natives are well armed with flint guos 
as farand farther than Unyanyembe, and it is to tha interest of both the tribes and the 
(raders to keep the peace. 


858 CYCLOPADIA OF - » {50 1876, 


killing or capturing wild animals. The most esteemed women were of the Wanumah 
tribe from Karague; they resembled the Abyssinians. “i ETS 

Let me give the reader some idea of our life here. Moosah, an Indian in whose _ 
house we resided, was a fine benevolent old man, with an establishment of three hun- —_~ 
dred native men and wouien around him. His abode had, three years. ago, taken two 
months to build, and it was surrounded by a circular wall which inclosed his houses,’ ~ 
fruit and vegetable gardens, and his stock of cattle. ‘Che lady who presided overthe ~~ 
whole was of most portly dimensions, and her word was Jaw. Moosahb sat from morn 
till night with his ‘fondee’ or chief manager, and other head servants within sight, 
receiving salutes and compliments from the rich and poor at the front or gent:emen’s 
side of tie house, while the lady presided over the domestic arrangements of the in- 
tericr. We had full access to both, und no house could be corducted with greater 
regularity. At three o’clock m the morning, Moosah, who had led @ hard life in his 
day, would call out for his little pill of opium, which he had never missed for forty ~~ 
years. ‘his would brighten him up til noon.. He wou'd then transact business, 
chat, and give you the gossip at any hour you might sit by him on his carpet. Tous ~~ 
it seemed strange that he never stopped talking when prayers from the Koran were - ~ 
being read to hiin by a ‘ Bookeen,’ or Madagascar man. Perhaps he had little respeet ~~ 
for the officiating priest, as the same reverend and learned gentleman was accustomed 
_to make him his shirts! After a midday sleep, he would refresh himself with a sec- 

ond but larger pill, transact business, and_so end the day. : 

The harem department presented a more domestic scene. At dawn, women in 
robes of coloured chintz, their hair neatly plaited, gave fresh milk to the swarm of | 
black cats, or churned butter in gourds by rocking it to and fro on theirlaps. By 
seven o’clock the whole place was swept clean. Some of the household fed the game- 
fowls, or looked after the ducks and pigeons; two women chained by the neck 
fetched firewood, or ground corn at a stone; children would eat together without 
dispute, because a matron presided over them; all were quiet, industrious being>, 
never idle, and as happy as the day was long. When any of Moosah’s wives gave 
birth to a child, there was universal rejoicing, and when one died, the shrill laments 
of the women were heard all night Jong. When a child misbehaved, we white men — 
were pointed at to frighten it, as nurses at home too often do with ghost stories. 
* The most important functionary about this court was the head keeper or ‘ fondee,’ 
who had been a slave ail his life, and now possessed a village with a farm and cattle, 
His daily duty was to sit within sight of his master. On Speke calling to see his col- ~ 
lection of horns and extract a bullet from the leg of one of his slaves, the fondee © 
made us heartily welcome. Stools were placed, and he preduced some ripe plantain, 
and shewed us about his premises. He also took us to one of his favourite shooting- 


-. 


grounds, where he certainly knew how to make himself comfortable. 


SIR SAMUEL BAKER. 


In 1854 and 1855 appeared ‘ The Rifle and the Houn1 in Ceylon,’ 
and ‘Eight Years’ Wanderings in Ceylon.’’ These works evinced a 
love of travel and adventure, an intelligence and power of descrip- 
tion, that marked the writer as one eminently fitted for the explora- 
tion of Eastern countries. Their author was an English engineer, _ 
SAMUEL WHITE Baker, born at Thorngrove in Worcestershire, in 
1821. About the year 1847 he had gone to Ceylon, and was popularly 
known as the elephant hunter. His residence was fitted up with  ~ 
great taste and neatness, as both Mr. Baker and his wife hada fine 
taste for art. Mrs. Baker died, but in 1860 he married again, the — 
lady being a young Hungarian, Florence von Saas, who shared in her 
husband’s love of wild nature, and who accompanied him on a 
journey of exploration ‘to the Upper Nile. In 1861 they sailed up 
the Nile from Cairo. They reached Khartoum in June 1862, com- — 
paréd the Blue Nile with the White Nile at or near the point of _ 


4, 


CONE eg ey 


“ BAKER.] =~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 259 


junction, and proceeded up the latter to Gondokcro. Baker had a 
good escort—ninety persons, twenty-nine camels and asses, and 
- three boats. _Gondokoro is a mission station and place of trade, 
and can be reached from Cairo in a Ssailing-boat, with a north wind, 
in about three months. At Gondokoro, Baker met Captains 
“Speke and Grant, who had just arrived from their expedition to 
the south, and he led the way-worn travellers to his diabeah, or Nile 
pleasure-boat, where they itound the comforts of civilised life, so 
long denied them. These southern explorers told Baker of their 
discovery of the Lake Victoria Nyanza, and of another great lake 
~ which the natives had described to them, but which they had been 


~~ unable to visit. Baker at once undertook to trace this unknown 
water, which he conceived must have an important position in the 
basin of the Nile. He set off on the journey, and arrived in the 
_~Latooka country, 110 miles east of Gondokoro, in March 1863. 
After innumerable difficulties and hardships, the traveller and his 
heroic wife succeeded, in March 1864, in obtaining {rom the top of 
a range of lofty cliffs a view of the mysterious lake. | 


First Sight of the Albert Nyanza. 


The glory of our prize suddenly burst upon me! There, like a sea of quicksilver, 
lay far beneath the grand expanse of water—a boundless sea horizon on the south and 
south-west, glittering in the noonday sun; and on the west, at fifty or sixty miles’ 
distance, blue mountains rose from the bosom of the lake to a height of about seven 
thousand feet above its level. 

It is impossible to describe the triumph of that moment; here was the reward 
for all our labour —for the years of tenacity with which we had toiled through 
Africa. England had won the sources of the Nile! .... I sincerely thanked God 
for having guided and supported us through all dangers to the good end. I was 
about one thousand five hundred feet above the laké, and I looked down from the 
steep granite cliff upon those welcome waters—upon that vast reservoir which 
nour.shed Egypt and brought fertility where all was wilderness—upon that great 
source so long hidden from mankind; that source of bounty and blessings to mil- 
lions of human beings; and as one of the greatest objects in nature, I determined 
to honour it with a great name. As an imperishable memorial of one loved and 

> mourned by our gracious Queen, and deplored by every Englishman, I called the 
great lake *the Albert Nyanza.’ The Victoria and the Albert lakes are the two 
~ sources of the Nile. 

The zigzag path to descend to the lake was so steep and dangerous, that we 
were forced to leave our oxen with a guide, who was to take them to Magungo and 
wait for our arrival. We commenced the descent of the steep pass on foot. I led 
the way, grasping a stout bamboo. My wife, in extreme weakness, tottered down 
the pass, supporting herself upon my shoulder, and stopping to rest every twenty 
paces... After a toilsome descent of about two hours, weak with years of fever, but 

-for the moment strengthened by success, we gained the level plain below the cliff. 
A walk of about’a mile through flat sandy meadows of fine turf, interspersed with 
trees and bush, brought us to the water’s edge. The waves were rolling upon @ 
white pebbly beach: I rushed into the lake, and thirsty with heat and fatigue, with 
a heart full of gratitude, I drank deeply from the sources of the Nile. Within a 
quarter of a mile of the lake was a fishing village named Vacovi:, in which we now 
established ourselves. ... ‘ 

The beach was perfectly clean sand,upon which the waves rolled like those of the 

. gea, throwing up weeds precisely as sea-weed may be seen upon the English shore. 

-It was a grand sight to look upon this vast reservoir of the mighty Nile, and to 
watch the,heavy swell tumbling upon tke beach, while far to the south-west the ee | 


9 a) 


$60 CYCLOP:2DIA OF [ro 1876. 


searched as vainly for a bound as though upon the Atlantic. Ii was with extreme 
emotion that I-enjoyed this glorious scene. My wife, who had followed me so de- 
votedly, stood by my side pale and exhausted—a wreck upon the shores of the greet 

Albert Lake that we had so long striven to reach. No European foot had ever tiod 

upon its sand, nor had the eyes of a white man scanzed its vast expanse of water. - 
Wee were the first: and this was the key to the great seeret that even Jalius. Cesar 

yearned to unravel, but in vain. Here was the great basm of the Nile that received. 

every drop of water, even from the passing shower to the roaring mountain torrent 

that drained from Central Africa towards the north. This was the great reservoir 

of the Nile! : 

‘The first coup oil from the summit of the cliff, one thousand five hundred feet 
above the level, had suggested what a closer examination confirmed. The lake was: 
a vast depressicn far beiow the general level uf the country, surrounded by precipi-” 
tous cliffs, and bounded on the west and south-west by great ranges of mountains 
froin five to seven thousand feet above the level of its waters—thus it was the one 
reat reservoir into which everything mest drain; and from this vast rocky cistern 


£ 3 . . . 
the Nile made its exit, a giant in its birth. 


This result of nearly five years passed in Africa might well form a 
subject of triumph to Baker. ‘Bruce,’ he said, ‘ won the source of 


the Blue Nile, Speke and Grant won the Victoria source of the great — 


White Nile; and I have been permitted to succeed in completing the 


Nile‘sources by the discovery of the great reservoir of the equatorial 


waters, the Albert Nyanza, fronY which the river issues as the entire 
White Nile.’ For the discovery, and for his relief of Speke and 


Grant, the Royal Geographical Society awarded the gold medal, and | 


Her Majesty conferred upon Baker the honour of knighthood. In 
1866 he published, in two volumes, his interesting narrative, ‘The 
Albert Nyanza, Great Basin of the Nile;’ and in 1867, ‘ The Nile Tri- 
butaries of A-byssinia.’ 


A-greater expedition was afterwards organised under the auspices ~ 


of the Khedive or Viceroy of Egypt, who furnished a force of one 
thousand soldiers. Sir Samuel and Lady Baker left Cairo in Decem- 
ber 1869, having besides the troops, Nile boats, stores, instruments, 
and other appliances either for war or peace. The grand object of 
the expedition was to suppress, if possible, the slave-trade, and pro- 
mote commerce and agriculture. On the 8th of January 1870 Sir 


Samuel was again at Khartoum, and had succeeded in partially sup-~ - 
pressing the slave-trade of the White Nile. The expedition, how- - 


ever, did not realise the expectations so sanguinely entertained at its 
commencement, , 


DAVID LIVINGSTONH—HENRY M. STANLEY. 


Since the period of Mungo Park’s travels and melancholy fate, no 


explorer of Africa has excited so strong a personal interest as DAviD_ 
Livinestoneg, a Scottish missionary, whose ‘Researches in South 


Africa’ were published in 1857. Mr. Livingstone had then returned ~ 


to England, where his arrival was celebrated as a national event, after — 
completing a series of expeditions, commenced sixteen years before, 
for the purpose of exploring the interior of Africa, and spreading re- 
ligious knowledge and commerse The narrative describes long and 


x ay, Sled eS ey 
3 - 4< ~~ 5 - 


tivinestonr.]. ENGLISH LITERATURE.  ——_—o86 1. 


perilous journeys in a country, the greater part of which had never 
before been visited by a European, and contains a great amount of | 
information respecting the natives, the geography, botany, and na- 
tural products of Africa. In the belief that Christianity can only be 
effectually extended by being united to commerce, Dr! Livingstone 
endeavoured to point out. and develop the.capabilities of the new re- 
gion for mercantile intercourse. The missionary, he argues,.should 
be a trader—a fact known to the Jesuits in Africa, and also to the 
Dutch clergy, but neglected by our Protestant missionary societies. _ 
‘By the introduction of the raw material of our manufactures, Afri- — 
cau and English interests will be more closely linked than hereto- 
fore; both countries will be eventually benefited, and the cause of 
freedom throughout the world will be promoted.’ 'To these patriotic 
-and national advantages indicated by Dr. Livingstone, his work pos- 
sesses the interest springing from a personal narrative of difficulties 
overcome and dangers encountered, pictures of new and strange 
modes of life, with descriptions of natural objects and magnificent 
scenery. The volume fills 687 pages, and is illustrated with maps by 
Arrowsmith, and a number of lithographs. The style is simple and 
“clear. Dr. Livingstone was admirably fitted for his mission. He 
was early inured to hardship. He was born of poor but honest and 
pious parents at Blantyre in 1817. At ten years of age he was sent 
into the factory to work asa ‘ piecer,’ and fiom his wages he put him- 
self to college, and studied medicine. His ambition was to be- 
come a missionary to China, but the opium war was unfavor- 
able, and he proceeded, under the auspices of the London Mis- >» 
sionary Soicety, to Africa. The most remote station from the 
Cape then oceupied by our missionaries was Kuruman or Lata- 
koo.  Thither our author repaired, and excluding himself for six 
months from all European society, he gained a knowledge of the lan- 
guage of the Bechuanas, their habits, laws, &c., which proved of in- 
calculable advantage to him, The Bechuana people were ruled over 
by a chief named Sechele. who was converted to Christianity. The ~ 
people are social and kindly, and Dr. Livingstone and his wife set 
about-instructing them, using only mild persuasion. Their teaching 
did good in preventing wars and calling the better feelings into play, 
but polygamy was firmly established amongst them: they considered 
it highly cruel to turn off their wives. They excused themselves by 
thinking they were an inferior race. . In a strain of natural pathos 
they used to say, ‘God made black men first, and did not love us as 
he did the white men. _He made you beautiful, and gave you cloth- 
ing, and guns, and gunpowder, and horses, and wagons, and many 
other things about which we know nothing. But towards us he had 
no heart. He gave us nothing except the assegai (with which they 
kill game), and cattle, and rain-making, and he did not give us hearts 
like yours.’ The rain-making is a sort of charm—an incantation by 
which the rain-doctors, in seasons of drought, imagine they can pro- 


ey ’ 7 * y ee Be, eet Se Ot ae ae 
: = SES oe ee <P 


A 


$62 | CYCLOPADIA OF ° [10 1876. 


duce moisture. The station ultimately chosen by Dr. Livingstone as 
the centre of operauions was about three hundred miles north of 
Kuruman. In oue or his expeditions he was accompanied by two 
English travellers, Major Vardon, and Mr. Oswell;* and the party 
discovered the great lake Ngami, about seventy miles*in circumfer- 
ence, till then unknown except to the natives. About one hundred — 
and thirty miles northeast from this point the travellers came upon 
the river Zambesi, a noble stream in the centre of the continent. In = 
June, 1852, he commenced another expedition , the greatest he had yet 
attempted, which lasted four years. In six months he reached the 
capital of the Makololo territory, Linyanti, which is twelve hundred — 
miles above the latitude of Cape lown. ‘The people were desirous of —_ 
obtaining a direct trade with the sea-coast, and with an escort ef 
twenty-seven men he set out to discover the route thither. The trav- 
eller’s outfit was small enough: ‘ 


An African Explorer's Outfit. s e 


Wecarried one small tin canister, about fifteen inches square, filled with spare 
shirting, trousers, and shoes, to be used when we reached civilised life, and others 
in a bag, which were expected to wear out on the way; another of the same size 
for medicines; and a third for books, my stock being a Nautical Almanac, Thom= ; 
son’s Logarithm ables, and a_ Bible; a fourth box contained a magic lantern, 
which we found of much use. The sextant and artificial horizon, thermometer and ce 
compasses, were carried apart. My ammuuition was distributed in portions through 
the whole Juggage, so that, if an accident should befall one part, we could still  — 
have others to fall back upon. Our chief hopes for food were upon that, butin — 
case of failure I took about twenty pounds of beads, worth forty shillings, which 
still remained of the stock I brought from Cape Town; a small gipsy tent, just  ~ 
sufficient to sleep in; a sheepskin mantle as a blanket, and a horse-rug as abed. 
AsIhad always found that the art of successful travel consisted in taking as few ~~ 
‘impediments’ as possible, and not forgetting to carry my wits about me, the out- 2 
fit was rather spare, and intended to be still more s0 when we should come toleaye  _— 
the canoes. Some would consider it injudicious to adopt this plan, but I hada — S 
secret conviction that if I did not succeed it would not be for lack of the ‘knick= 
knacks’ advertised as indispensable for travellers, but from want of ‘pluck,’ or bes 
cause a Jarge array of baggage excited the cupidity of the tribes through whose 
country we wished to pass. ‘ 


They ascended the rivers Chobe and Leeambye, and stopped at 
the town of Shesheke, where Dr. Livingstone preached to audiences 
of five and six hundred. After reaching a point eight hundred 
miles north of Linyanti, he turned to the west, and finally reached 
Loanda, on the shores of the Atlantic. The incidents of this long 
journey are, of course, varied. The fertility of the country—the 

arotze district, and the valley of the Quango, with grass reaching — 
two feet above the traveller’s head, the forests, &c., are described at 
length. There appeared to be no want of food, although the ~~ 
amount of cultivated land is ‘as nothing with what might be brought _ 
under the plough.’ In this central region the people are not all 


*Another English traveller. Mr. RouALEYN Gorpon CummINne (1820-1866) pees, ae 
ears 


ts 


t-ated into this region, following a wild sporting career, and published ‘ Five 2 
of a Hunter’s Life in the Far Interior of, South Africa,’ two volumes, 1850, a 


ae 


LIVINGSTONE. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 363 - 


: 


quite-black, some inclining to bronze—the dialects spoken glide into 
one another. Dr. Livingstone confirms the statements by Mr. 
Roualeyn Gordon Cumming with respect to the vast amount of same 
and the exciting hunting scenes in that African territory. The fol- 
lowing is a wholesale mode of destroying game practised by the 
Bechuanas: 


Hunting on a Great Scale. 


Very great numbers of the large game—bnffaloes, zebras, giraffes, tsessébes, 
Kamas or hartebeests, kokongs, or gnus, pallas, rhinoceroses, &¢.—congregated at 
some fountains near Kolobeng, and the trap called hopo was constructed in the lands 

adjacent for their destruction. The hopo consists of two hedges in the form of the 
letter V, which are very high and thick near the angle. Instead of the hedges being 
joined there, they are made to form a lane.of abont fifty yards in length, at the ex- 
tremity of which a pit is formed, six or eight feet deep, and about twelve or fifteen 
in breadth and length. ‘Trunks of trees are laid across the margins of the pit, and 
more especially over that nearest the lane where the animals are expected to leap in, 
and over that farthest from the lane where it is supposed they will attempt to escape 
after they arein. The trees form an overlapping border, and render escape almost 
impossible. The whole is carefully decked with short green rushes, making the pit 
like a concealed pitfall. As the hedges are frequently about amile long and about.as 

* much apart at their extremities, atribe making a circle three or four miles round the 
country adjacent to the opening, and gradually closing up, are almost sure to inclose 

- alarge body of game. wWriving it up with shouts to the narrow part of the hopo, 
men secreted there throw their javelins into the affrighted herds, and on the animals 
rush to the opening presented at the converging hedges, and into the pit that is fuil 
of aliving mass. Some escape by running over the others, as a Smithfield market 
dog does over the sheep’s backs. It isa frightful scene. he men, wild with excite= 
ment, spear the lovely animals with mad delight: others of the poor creatures, borne 
down by the weight of their dead and dying companions, every now and then make 
the whole mass heave in their smothering agonies. 


Dr. Livingstone left Loanda on 20th September 1854, and returned 

to Linyanti, which was reached in the autumn of 1855. Excited by 

. the account of what wonders they had seen, as told by the men who 

accompanied Dr. Livingstone to the shores of the Atlantic, the Ma- 

kololo people flocked to his standard in great numbers when he an- 

' nounced an expedition to the east coast of Africa, With a party of 

one hundred and fourteen picked men of the tribe, he started for the 

Portuguese colony of Killimane, on the east coast, in November 

1855. The chief supplied oxen, and there was always abundance of 

_ game. He found that British manufactures penetrate into all re- 

- gions. 

nee: English Manufactures in the Interior of South Africa. 


When crossing at the confluence of the Leeba and Makondo, one of my men 
picked up a bit of astcel watch-chain of English manufacture, and we were in- 
formed that this was the spot where the Mambari cross in coming to Masiko. Their 

visits explain why Sekelenke kept. his tusks so carefully. These Mambari are very 

. enterprising merchants ; when they mean to trade with a town, they deliberately be- 
gin the affair by building huts, as if they knew that little business could be trans- 
acted without a liberal allowance of time for palaver. They bring Manchester goods 
into the heart of Africa: these cotton prints look so wonderful that the Makololo 
— could not believe them to be the work of mortal hands. Qn auestioning the Mam- 


ke te “ of Ate AH, AIP oe ey Nek ey he, i ee RET Zehr Seana se Unie 
pre” : % oo Bee e +7 hee 


- h ~ 
- 


864 ~ .. C¥CLOPEDIA OF ~~. [ro 1876... 


: a ~ 
bari, they were answered that English manufactures came out of the sea, and beads 
were gathered on its shore. ‘i'o Africans our cotton-mills are fairy dreams. ‘How — 

can the irous spin, weave, and print so beautifully?’ Our country is like what — 
’ ‘Vaprobane was to our ancestors—a strange realm of light, whence came the dia- 
mond, muslin, and peacocks. An attempt at explanation of our manufactures usu- 
ally elicits the expression, ‘ Truly, ye are gods!’ ES 


After a journey of six months the party reached Killimane, where 
Dr. Livingstone remained till July, and then sailed for England. ~ 
One of the Makololo people would not leave him ; ‘Let me die at ~ 
your feet,’ he said ; but the various objects on board the ship, and — 
the excitement of the voyage, proved too much for the reason of the — 
peor savage ; he leaped overboard, and was drowned. ‘The greatob- ~ 
ject of Dr. Livingstone was to turn the interior of this fertile country — 
and the river Zambesi, which he discovered, into a scene of British / 
commerce. The Portuguese are near the main entrance tothe new ~ 
central rezion, but they evince a liberal and enlightened spirit, and 
are likely to invite mercantile enterprise up the Zambesi, by offering — 
facilities to those who may push commerce into the regions lying far 
beyond their territory. The ‘white men’ are welcomed by the na- 
tives, who are anxious to engage incommerce. Theircountry is well — 
adapted for cotton, and there are Hundreds of miles of fertile land 
_ unoccupied. The region near the coast is unhealthy, and the first ob- 
ject must be to secure means of ready transit to the high lands in the 
borders of the central basin, which are comparatively healthy. The — 
river Zambesi has not been surveyed, but during four or five months 
there is abundance of water for a large vessel. There are three hun- — 
dred miles of navigable river, then a rapid intervenes, after which — 
there is another reach of three hundred miles. sey SA \ 

A second expedition was fitted out, and early in 1858 Dr. Living- _ 
stone, accompanied by his brother, Charles Livingstone, and a party — 
of scientific friends, set out on his important mission. In May they 
had reached the mouth of the Zambesi; in the January following they _ 
explored the River and valley of Shiré, where a white man had never- — 
before been seen, and they proceeded up the Shiré about two hun- — 
dred miles, till stopped by the Murchison Falls. The valley of the — 
Shiré they found fertile and cultivated. In September 1860 the — 
great Lake Nyassa was discovered. This he reached by an overland ~ 
march of twenty days from the Shiré. He subsequently revisited it, — 
and judged the lake to be about two hundred miles long and fifty — 
broad. The country was studded with villages, and formed the — 
centre of a district which supplies the markets of the coast with — 
slaves. The natives of the Shiré and Nyassa valleys possess excel: — 
lent ‘iron, and are manufacturers as well as agriculturists. _In Febru: — 
ary 1864 Livingstone left Africa for England, and he recorded his ex- 
plorations in a ‘ Narrative of an Expedition to the Zambesi and itg — 
Tributaries, and of the Discovery of the lakes Shirwa and Nyassa. Ma 

In 1866 a third expedition was undertaken. In March of that — 


iF 


¥ 


= IT > age Sara Roe : ‘ 
SS, 4 eras . ‘ 
re 


STANLEY.|  ° ENGLISH LITERATURE. Syee 2 508 


vear Livingstone left Zanzibar, and struck up the country towards 
Lake Nyassa. There-he remained during the autumn. In March 
1867 a painful rumor reached England that Livingstone had been 
assassinated. The story was disbelieved by Sir Roderick Murchison . 
and others, and it turned out, as conjectured by Sir Roderick, to be 
an invention of some Johanna men, who had deserted when near Lake 
Nyassa, and brought back with them to the coast the fictitious story of - 
the assassination.. After many hardships and dangers, the intrepid 
traveller reached Ujiji, on Lake Tanganyika, in March 1869, and hav- 
ing written from thence to England,.a small expedition was fitted 
out under the command of an old friend of Livingstone’s, Mr. E. D. 
Young, which sailed from Plymouth in June, and in September 
reached Lake Nyassa. There the falsehood of the report of the tra- 
Veller’s death was clearly ascertained,and Mr. Young and his com- 
panions returned home. It appears that in June 1869 Livingstone 
had quitted Ujiji, in company with some Arab traders, to explore the 
far Manyema country on the west side of Tanganyika. ‘It was in 
this journey,’ says a summary in the Zvmes, ‘that he (Livingstone) 
reached his farthest point north, and traced the watershed as far as 
the unknown lake. He was obliged to halt at last because his men 
refused to go any further, and in bitter disappointment he turned his 
back upon the great problem he was on the eve of solving, and set 
out upon the long and weary return journey of between four and 
five hundred miles to Ujiji, thence intending to make another start 
with new men and fresh supplies. ‘I thought,” wrote Livingstone 
to the editor of the New York Herald, ‘that I was dying on my 
feet. It is not too much to say that almost every step of the weary, 
‘sultry way was in pain, and I reached Ujiji a mere ruckle of bones.” 
This was in October 1870. The poor traveller was more dead than 
alive, and had to brook the bitter disappointment of ‘finding the 
goods and men of Dr. Kirk’s 1869 expedition, to which he was 
trusting implicitly, gone to the four winds. In the first place, this 
expedition had been delayed months and months by the cholera, 
which had killed many of its men, and when finally such of the 
goods as had not been plundered arrived at Ujiji, they were sold off 
and the proceeds dissipated by ‘‘the drunken half-caste Moslem tail- 
or” to whom they had been intrusted. The traveller had nothing 
left but ‘‘a few barter cloths and beads,” beggary was staring him in 
the face, when, three weeks after his arrival at Ujiji, the New York 
Herald expedition appeared on the scene, ‘and all was well.’ 

Mr. Henry M. Sranuey, the young and gallant correspondent of 
the New York Herald*had been commissioned by the proprietor of 
that journal, Mr. Bennett, to go and find Livingstone, offering carte 
blanche in the way of expenses. With dauntless courage and dexter- 
ous management he fought his way to Ujiji, and thus describes the 
meeting: 


l 


\ 


366 _ -CYCLOPADIA OF > ~ [ro 1876, 


The Meeting with Livingstone at Ujiji * : 

Something like an hour before noon we have gained the thick matete brake, which | 
grows on both banks of the river; we wade through the clear stream, arrive on the ~ 
other side, emerge out of the brake, and the gardens of Wajiji are around us—a perfec 
marvel ot vegetable wealth. Details escape my hasty and partial observation. Iam — 
almost overpowered with my own emotions. I notice the graceful palms, neat plots, — 
green with vegetable plants, and small villages aircrppideds with frail fences of the det 
matete cane. : 

We push on rapidly, lest the news of our coming might reach the people of Bun- — 
der Uji rf before we come in sight, and are ready for them. We halt ata little brook, — 
then ascend the long slope of a naked ridge, the-very last of the myriads we have ‘3 
crossed. ‘This alone prevents us from seeing the lake (Tanganyika) in all its vast- — 
ness. We arrive at the summit, travel across and arrive at its western rim, and— - 
pause reader—the port of Ujiji is below us, embowered in the palms—only five hun- 
dred yards from us. At this grand moment.we do not think of the hundreds of miles — 
we have marched, of the hundreds of hills that we have ascended and descended, of 
the many forests we have traversed, of the jungles and thickets that annoyed us, of — 
the fervid salt plains that blistered our feet, of the hot suns that scorched us, nor 
the dangers and difficulties now happily surmounted. 

‘Unfurl the flags and load your guns!’ ‘Ay wallab, ay wallah bana!? respond 
the men eagerly. “One, two, three—fire!’ A volley from nearly fifty guns roars 
like a salute from a battery of artillery. ‘Now, Kirangozi (guide), hold the white ~ 
man’s flag up high, and let the Zanzibar flag bring up the rear, And you must keep 
close together, and keep firing until we halt in the mar ket-place, or before the white 
man’s house. You have said to me often that you could smell the fish of the Tan- ~ 
ganyika—I can smell the fish of the Tanganyika now. There are fish, and beer, and 
a long rest waiting for you. MarcH!?’ s 

Before we had { gone a hundred yards, our repeated volleys had the effect desired. — 
We had awakened Ujiji to the knowledge that a caravan was coming, and the people | 
were rushing up in hundreds to meet us. The mere sight of the flags informed 
every one immediately that we were a caravan, but the American flag borne aloft by — 

gigantic Asmani (one of the porters or carriers), whose face was one vast smile on ~ 
this day, rather staggered them at first. However, many of the people who now ap- 
proached us remembered the flag. They had seen it float above the American con- ~ 
sulate, and from the mast-head of many a-ship in the harbour of Zanzibar, and they 
were soon heard welcoming the beautiful flag with cries of ‘ Bindera, Kisungu !’— 

a white man’s flag. ‘ Bindera Merikani!’—the American flag. 

‘Then we were surrounded by them: by Wajiji, Wanyamwezi, Wangwana, - 
Warundi, Waguhha, Wamanyema, and Arabs, and were almost deafened withthe — 
shouts of ‘ Yambo, yambo, bana! Yambo bana! -Yambo bana!’ To all and each 
of my men the welcome was given. We were now about three hundred yards from ~ 
the village of Ujiji, and the crowds are dense about me. Suddenly I hear a voice on — 
my right say, ‘Good morning, sir!’ Started at hearing this greeting in the midst of ~ 
such a crowd of black people, “T turn sharply around in search of the man, and see 
hiin.at my side, with the blackest of faces, but animated and joyous—a man dressed 
in along white shirt, with a turban of American sheeting around his woolly head, 
and I ask, ‘Who the mischief are you?’ ‘I am Susi, the servant of Dr. Lives 
stone,’ said he, smiling, and shewing a gleaming row of teeth. ‘What! Is Dr. 
Livingstone here? ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘In this village?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Are you sure?’ 
3 Sure, sure, sir. Why, Ileave him just now.’ ‘Good morning sir,’ said another. 
voice. ‘Hallo,’ said I. ‘is this another one?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘ Well, what is your — 
name ?’? ‘My name is Chumah, sir.’ ‘And is the doctor well?’ ‘Not very well, . 
sir.’ -‘ Where has he been so long? 32 ‘Tn Manyuema.’ ‘Now, you Susi, run and 
tell the doctor I amcoming.’ ‘Yes, sir,’ and off he darted like a madman... . a 

Soon Susi came running back, and asked me my name; he had told the doctor * 
I was coming, but the doctor was too surprised to believe him, and when the 
doctor asked him my name, Susi was rather staggered. 

But, during Susi’s absence, the news had been conveyed to the doctor that it 


AX 


* Uis a prefix to denote the country: thus Ujiji signifies the country of Jiji. 


“sTANLEY.} - ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~~ 367 


was surely a white man that was coming, whose guns were firing and whose flag 

_ could be seen: and the great_ Arab magnates of UjijimMohammed bin Sali, Sayd 

~bin Majid, Abid bin Suliman, Mohammed bin Gharib, and others—had gathered to- 
‘gether before the doctor’s house, and the doctor had come out from his verandah 

_-to discuss the matter and await ny arrival. 

In the meantime, the head of the expedition had halted, and the Kirangozi was ont 
of the ranks, holding his flag aloft, aid Selim (the interpreter) said to me: ‘I see the 

_ doctor, sir. Oh, what an oldiman! He has got a white beard.’ And I—what would 

_ I not have given for a bit of friendly wilderness, where, unseen, I might vent my 
joy in some mad freak, such as idiotically biting my band, turning a somersault, 

or slashing at trees, in order to allay those exciting feelings that were well nigh uncon- 
trollable. My heart beats fast, but I must not let my face betray my emotions lest it 

- should detract from the dignity of a white man appearing u:.der such extraordinary 
circumstances. 

- + $o I did that which I thought was most dignified. I pushed back the crowds, and 
passipg from the rear, walked down a living avenue of people, until I came in front 
of the semicircle of Arabs, in the front of which stood the white man with the gray 
beard. As I advanced slowly towards him I noticed he was pale. looked wearied, 
wore a bluish cap with a faded gold band round it, had on a red-sleeved waistcoat, 
and a pair of gray tweed trousers. I would have run to him, only I was a coward in 
the presence of such a mob—would have embraced him, only, he being an English- 
man, I did not know how he would receive me; so I did what cowardice and false pride 

- suggested was the best thing—walked deliberately to him, took off my hat and said : 

‘Dr. Livingstone, I presume?’ ‘ Yes,’ said he, with a kind smile, lifting his hat slightly. 
I replace my hat on my head. and he puts on his cap, and we both grasp hands, and 
then I say aloud: ‘I thank God, doctor, I have been permitted to see you.’ He an- 
swered: ‘I feel thankful that Iam here to welcome you.’ I turn to the Arabs, take 
‘off my hat to them in response to the saluting chorus of ‘ Yambos’ I receive, and 
the doctor introduces them to me by name. Then, oblivious of the crowds, oblivi- 
ous of the men who shared with me my dangers, we—Livingstone and I—turn our 
faces towards his tembe (or hut). He. points to the verandah, or rather mud plat- 
form under the broad overhanging eaves; he points to his own particular seat, 
which I see his age and experience in Africa has suggested—namely, a straw mat, 

_ with a goatskin over it, and another skin nailed against the wall to protect his back 

- from contact with the cold mud. I protest against taking this seat, which so much 

more befits him than me, but the doctor will not yield—I must take it. 

. Weare seated, the doctor and J, with our backs to the wall. The Arabs take 

seats on our left. More than a thousand natives are in our front, filling the whole 

square densely. indulging their ctiriosity. and discussing the fact of two white men 
meeting at Ujiji—one just come from Manyuema, in the west; the other from 

Unyanyembe, in the east. 


Mr. Stanley left Ujijiin March 1871, and next year Livingstone, 
With an expedition numbering about eighty souls, with stores suffi- 
cient to last him three years, left Unyanyembe for Lunda in a south- 
south-westerly direction, this new expedition being the ‘fourtains of 
Herodotus.’ He marched through a beautiful country, abounding 
with game along the eastern borders of the lake Tanganyika. He 
was in weak health. When the Bangweolo Lake was approached, 
the character of the country changed, and Livingstone descended 
into a chaos of swamps intersected by innumerable streams. The 
party were rarely upon dry land, and Livingstone was afilicted with 
chronic dysentery. On the 21st of April 1863, he writes in his Jour- 
nal: ‘Knocked up quite, and remain—recover—sent to buy milch 

goats. We are on the banks of the Molilamo.’ These were the last 
words written by the indefatigable traveller; he died on the Ist of 
May. He was found dead by his negro attendants, having died 


s 


“ 


368 - -- CYCLOPADIA OF 


kneeling by his bed apparently in prayer. Some five years earlier he 
had written in his journal: ‘ This is the sort of grave 1 should prefer: 
to lie in the still, still forest, and no hand ever disturb my bones. ~ 
The graves at home always seemed to me to be miserable, especially — 
those in the cold damp clay, and without elbow room; but I have — 
nothing to do but wait till He who is over all decides. where I have: 
to lay me down and die. Poor Mary (his wife) lies on Sheepanga — 
brae.’ | SS 
Livingstone, however, was not destined to lie in the forest. Hig — 
body was rudeiy embaimed by his faithful followers, and ‘carried by — 
them hundreds of miles to Zanzibar, whence it was conveyed to _ 
England, and interred in Westminster Abbey, 18th April, 1874, His — 
‘Last Journals,’ including his wanderings and discoveries in Eastern- — 
Africa, from 1865 to within a few days of hisdeath, were published in 
1865, edited by the Rev. Horace Waller. ‘ Livingstone,’ as Sir Samuel 
Baker has said, ‘ gave the first grand impulse to African exploration ;— 
it was he who first directed public attention to the miseries and hor- — 
rors of the East African slave-trade, which he has. persistently ex-_ 
posed throughout his life. Had he lived for another ten years, he — 
would have witnessed some fruits as the result of his example.’ 
Mr. Henry M. Stanley is again in Africa on another exploring ex- 
pedition, the cost of which is to be defrayed partly by his American 
friend and patron, Mr, Bennett of the New York Herald, and partly — 
by the proprietors of the Dadly Telegraph London journal. ae, 
The gallant Livingstone has found a worthy English successor in 
African exploration in LizurENANT VEeRNEY LOVETT CAMBRON, ~ 
whose labours possess great value alike in the interests of science 
and of civilisation. His work, ‘Across Africa,’ is announced for 
publication, but will not be ready until after this volume has gone to 
press. Mr, Cameron traversed on foot about three thousand miles, 
exposed for the greater part of the time to all the vicissitudes of 
climate, wandering through forests, marshes, and jungles; fording ~ 
broad rivers, and coasting round large lakes, but his courage seems _ 
never to have given way. ‘To determine the latitude and longitude’ — 
of certain positions, he took as many asa hundred and forty lunar— 
observations at a single spot, and his registered observations altogether 
number no less than five thousand. He has added immensely to our 
knowledge of the geography of Africa; he has ascertained the 
political condition of the interior of the country; he has discovered — 
the leading trade routes; and he has unfortunately furnished fresh, 
proofs of the horrors of the slave-trade, which flourishes beyond the 
reach of European authority. About six degrees south-of the 
eguator he two points which form a basis for exploration—namely, 
Zanzibar Island on the east coast, and the mouth of the Congo ~ 
{iver on the west coast. In this latitude the continent is about eigh- 
tcen hundred miles wide. Towards the east coast there is a great lake — 


wa ee | es i, aia ee ei) > haw er itil 
Hi “y 2 ‘oa a c ote hy Ser - 
ae Ve <b Sir SS 2 


a, 
¢ 


— as 
— 


cAmrron.|. - - ENGLISH LITERATURE. 369 


system, which lies chiefly between three degrees north and ten degrees. 
south of the equator, and forms the watershed of Africa, from which 
~ rivers flow north tothe Mediterranean, east to the Indian Ocean, and 
west to the Atiantic. -Of this system three lakes are now well known 
by name. ‘I'wo, the Albert Nyanza and the Victoria Nyanza, are cut 
through by the equatorial line ; and some two hundred miles to the 
~ north-west is the head of Lake Tavganyika, a sheet of water three 
hundred miles in length, and only twenty in mean breadth. To the 
west of Lake Tanganyika there is another system of smaller lakes 
and rivers, called the Lualaba. The first question to be solved was’ 
- whether Tanganyika and the Lualaba had any connection with the 
Nyanza and the Nile ; and next, if they had not, whether they were 
feeders of the Congo. Lieutenant Cameron has determined that these 
southern lakes and rivers have no connection with the Nile basin. 
They lie at a considerably lower level, and therefore to reach the 
Nile they would require to flow up-hill. The traveller coasted Lake 
- Tanganyika, and found ninety-six rivers falling into it, besides tor- 
rents and springs, and only one sluggish river, the Lakuga, flowing 
out.. The balance is maintained by evaporation. 

The original intention of Lieutenant Cameron was to follow the 
river-system to the sea, so as to prove the identity of the Lualaba 
and Congo. ‘This design was frustrated by the hostility of a chief, 
but there is little or no doubt of the identity of the rivers. According 

to the report of the natives, the Lualaba fallsinto a great lake, from 
which in all probability the Congo emerges. Forced to quit this 
track, Cameron took a more southerly course. He experienced the 
hospitality of Kasenga, the great potentate of that part of Africa ; 
and he struggled towards the west coast through a country of extra- 
ordinary fertility and mineral wealth, and possessing a remarkable 
system of internal water communication. Not only are there cereals 
of all sorts, but metallic treasures, gums, and other valuable products, 
of which the traveller brought home specimens. The town of Ny- 
angwe on the Lualaba, situated half-way between the east and west 
_coasts, is an important mart where the trade routes unite. There 
Cameron met Arabs from the east, and traders from the west, and the 
lake which he was not permitted to reach, is visited, he was told, by 
-merchants in large boats, who wear trousers and hats! Lieutenant, 
Camercn’s journey has thus revealed a splendid country with which 
commercial relations may be readily formed, and it is admitted that 
the operations of commerce afford the only hope of putting an end to 
the brutalities of the slave-trade. At present, villages are system- 
-atically attacked and plundered, and the men who escape are. 
themselves driven by necessity to prey upon their neighbours. The 
-traveller’s indignation was specially aroused by the conduct of one 
Portuguese trader, who led off a string of fifty or sixty women, 
_ representing all that remained of five hundred people who had fled 
to the jungle on the sacking of their village. ‘These poor women 


370 CYCLOPADIA OF 


were tied together by thick knotted ropes, and were unmercifully - 
beaten if they shewed any symptoms of fatigue. Such exposures of — 
the detestable traffic will surely lead to active measures for its sup- — 
pression. A~ Geographical Conference has recently (September — 
1876) been held at Brussels under the auspices of King Leopold, for ~ 
the purpose of considering the best means of developing Africa and — 
suppressing slavery. . It was attended by some of the most eminent — 
travellers, geographers, and philanthropists of the age, and a sub- — 
scriptions was commenced for constructing roads and stations from ~ 
the coast opposite Zanzibar to the west coast at the mouth of the ~ 
Congo. The accomplishment of such an enterprise would indeed — 
be one of the crowning glories of the nineteenth century. — a 


ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS. 3 


Since much of the earlier portion of this work was sent to press, S.. 


reprints and illustrations of many of the old poets and dramatists — 
have appeared, and valuable contributions have been made to our — 
biographical literature. A few may be here noticed, as far as our — 
space will permit. Some slips of the pen (not of the press) also re- ~ 


quire to be corrected. ; 


THOMAS OF ERCILDOUN (p. 14, vol. i).—The early English Text Society has pub- 
lished (1875) ‘The Romance and Prophecies of Thomas of Erceldoune,’ edited with in- 
troduction and notes, by James A. H. Murray, LL.D. To assist in fixing the age of 
the Border prophet (commonly called ‘Thomas the Rhymer’), we have two docu-— 
ments. He was a contemporary of one who was himself at Jeast old enough to wit- ~ 
ness a deed in 1189, and in 1294 Thomas de Frcildoun filius et heres Thomce Rymour de — 
Ercildoun, conveyed by charter, to the Trinity House of Soltra, all the lands which ~ 
he held by inheritance in the village of Ercildoun. The prima facie purport of this — 


* 
is 
a 

f 
Fr 
a 
3 


charter of 1294 is, as Dr. Murray says, ‘ that Thomas is already dead and his son in™ 
a Salee of the paternal property, which he in his turn gives away.’ Nothing new has 
een discovered respecting the authorship of ‘Sir Tristrem.’ Of the ‘Romance and ~ 
Prophecies,’ Dr. Murray publishes the text of five existing manuscripts, the earliest _ 
of which appears to he of date 1430-1440. The poem, in its present form, bears evi- — 
dence of being later than 1401, the date of the invasion of Scotland by Henry IV., or in 
at least 1388, the date of the battle of Otterbourne, thelast of the historical events a 
‘hid under obscure words’ in the prophecies ascribed to Thomas the Rhymer. The ; 


: 
‘ 
3 
j 
: 


poem represents Thomas as lying on a morning in May under atree on Huntly 
banks, while all the shaws about him rung with the songs of the merle, the jay, the 
mavis, and woodwale (woodlark). <A lady gay—a fairy queen—came riding over the — 
lea, and by her magic power transported him to her own country, where he dwelt for ~ 
three years and more. He asked of her to shew him some jferly (wonder), and she 
related the series of prophecies. long regarded with awe.which foretold the wars be~ — 
tween England and Scotland till the death of Robert III. (1406). Thomas was at ~ 
length restored to ‘ middle earth :’ , - é 
She blew her horn on her palfrey, 
And left Thomas at Eldon tree 3 
Till Helmesdale she took the way ; 
Thus departed that Jady and he! — 
Dr. Murray’s editorial labours give the reader a great amount of curious and valuable © 
information, historical and philological. 


oe nS” » St Ae ae. a5 . = 


a8 : = 
; * ie : : BT goa 7 - 


iy | 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~~ 87t 


CHAUCER (p. 24, vol. i).—The dates of events in Chaucer’s life included in Mr. 
Furnival!l’s ‘ Trial-Forewords,’ first appeared in the ‘ Atheneeum.’ In our first volume, 


the name of Mr. Furnivall was inadvertently curtailed of its fair proportions, being 
misspelt ‘ Furnival.’ 


BaRcuay (p. 63, vol. i).—The late Mr. T. H. Jamieson of the Advocates’ Library, 
published in 1874 what may be called a superb edition of Barclay’s ‘Ship of Fools,’ 
including fac-similes of the original woodcuts, and an account of the life and writ- 
ings of Barclay, drawn up from materials in the British Museum and elsewhere. A 
copy of \the will of Barclay is also given, extracted from the registry of the Court of 
‘Probate. It is dated July 25, 1551, and was proved on the 10th of June 1552. Mr. 
Jamieson seems to establish the fact, that the old poet was born ‘beyond the cold 
river of Tweed,’ as one of his contemporaries expresses it, about the year 1476, but 
~ in what town or county is unknown. He crossed the horder very early in life, 
studied, there is reason to believe, at Cambridge University, travelled abroad, and 

afterwards entered the Church. His first preferment was a chaplainship in St. Mary 
Ottery. Devonshire (the birthplace, it will be recollected, of Samuel Taylor Coleridge); 

and from 1490 to 1511, he was warden of the college. He was some time a monk in 
Ely, and after the dissolution of the monasteries he obtained in 1546 two livings—the 
vicarages of Much-Badew in Essex, and Wokey in Somersetshire—and in 1552 (a 
few.weeks before his death) the rectory of All Hallows, London. He died at Croy- 
_ don, with which he seems to have been early connected : 


While I in youth in Croidon towne did dwell. 


His ‘Ship of Fools’ was printed by Pynson in 1509. The ‘ Eclogues,’ five in number, 
were the first attempts of the kind in English. The first three are paraphrases or 
adaptations from Atneas Sylvius (Pope Pius II., who died in 1464), and the fourth 
and fifth are imitations of Jo Baptist Mentuan. Barclay’s rural pictures are of the 
style of Crabbe. The following description of a village Sunday We give in the 
original orthography : 

What man is faultlesse: remember the village, 

Howe men yplondish on holy dayes rage. 

Nought can them tame, they be a beastly sort, 

In sweate and labour hauing most chiefe comfort : 

On the holy day as soon as morne is past, 

When all men resteth while all the day doth last, 

They drinke, they banket, they reuell, and they iest, 

They leape, they daunce, despising ease and rest. 

If they ounce heare a bagpipe or a drone, 

Anone to the elme or oKe they be gone. 

There vse they to daunce, to gambolde, and to rage— 

Such is the custome and yse of the village. 
Nee When the ground resteth from rake, plough, and wheles, 

Then moste they it trouble with burthen of their heles. 


Many of the popniar proverbs and expressions still in use amongst us, were com, 

mon in the reign of Henry VIII. Mr. Jamieson cites the following from Barclay: 
Better is afrende in courte than a peny in purse. 

Whan the stede is stolyn to shyt the stable dore. 
It goeth through as water through a syue (sieve). 

And he that alway thretenyth for to fyght 

Oft at the profe is skantly worth a hen, 

For greattest crakers ar not ay boldest men. 
oF - I fynde four thynges whiche by no meanes can 

Be kept close, in secrete, or longe in preuetee ; 

The firste is the coungell of a wytles man; 

The seconde is a cyte whiche byldyd is a hye 
Upon a montayne; the thyrde we often se— 
That to hyde his dedes a loner hath no skyll; 

The fourth is strawe or fethers on a wyndy hylL. 


$72) |  C¥CLOPARDIA- OF #25 


“A crowe to pull. 


For it is a proucrbe, and an olde sayd sawe 
That in euery place lyke to lyke wyll drawe. 


\ 


Better haue one birde sure within thy wall,” ae 
Or fast in a cage, thantwenty score without. : 


Pryde sholde haue a fall. 


For wyse men sayth.... 
One myshap fortuneth neuer alone. 


"They robbe Saint Peter therwith to clothe Saint Powle. 


For children brent still after drede the fire. . > Sea 

‘The Complaynt of Scotland’ (p. 144, vol. 1).—A new edition of th's rare work has” 
been published by the Early English Text Society, edited from the originals, with in- 
troduction and glossary by James A. H. Murray, L:L.D. ‘The full title of the work | 
is. ‘The Complaynt of Scotlande, with ane Exhortatione to the Thre Estaits to be Vi-- 
gilant in the Deffens of their Public Veil’ (Weal), a. D. 1549.. The object of the un- — 
known author was to rouse the nation in support of the Queen Dowager, Mary of — 
Guise, and the French interest, in opposition to the English faction in Scotland ori-— 
ginated by Henry VIII., and continued by tbe Protector Somerset and the Protestant — 
Reformers. There is no contemporary notice of the ‘Complaynt’ or its author. The : 
language of the work is what»Dr. Murray calls the Middle Scotch of the sixteenth ~ 
century—the same as the works of Bellenden, Gawain Douglas, and Lyndsay, but — 
with a larger infusion of French words. The author himself says he used ‘domes= — 
tic Scottish language most intelligible for the vulgar people.’ Dr. Murray concludes 
that the only things certain as to the author are, that he wasa thorough partisan of — 
the French side—that he was a churchman attached to the Roman Catholic faith— — 
-and that he was a native of the Southern, not improbably of the Border counces, — 
On the subject of the Scottish language we quote a brief summary by the learned — 
editor: 5 “tc 
‘The language of Lowland Scotland was originally identical with that of England — 
north of the Humber. The political and purely artificial division which was after-_ 
wards made between the two countries, unsanctioned by any facts of language of ~ 
race. had no existence while the territory from the Humber to the Forth constituted 
the North Anglian kingdom or earldom of Northumbria. The centre of this state, 
and probably of the earliest Angle settlement, was at Bamborough, a few miles from 

the Tweed mouth, round which the common language wes spoken north of the 
. Tweed and Cheviots as well as south. This unity of language continued down tothe 
Scottish War of Independence at the beginning of the fourteenth century, and eyen 
after that war had made a complete severance between the two countries. down to 
the second half of the fifteenth century. In England, previous to this period, three - 
great English dialects, the Northern, Midland, and Southern, had stood on an equal 
footing as literary languages, none of which could claim pre-eminence over the others 
as English par eacellence. But after the Wars of the Roses, the invention of print- 
ing, and more compact welding of England into a national unity, the Midland dialect 
—the tongue of London, Oxford, and Cambridge, of the court and culture of the 
country—assumed a commanding position as the language of books. and the North- 
ern and Southern English sank in consequence into the position of local patois, heard 
at the fireside, the plough, the loom, but no longer used as the vehicles of general 
literature. But while this was the fate of the Northern dialect in the English portion 
“of its domain, on Scottish ground it was destined to prolongits literary career for two 
centuries more, and indeed to receive an independent culture almost justifying us In” 
regarding it, from the literary side, as a distinct lancuage.’ ae. 


. > Le 


Loves (p. 210, vol. i).—The ‘ Fig for Momus’ is misprinted ‘Comus’ ~~ ‘ a. 
SHAKSPEARR (p. 308, vol. {).—Mr. J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps, author of an excel=_ 
lent ‘ Life of Shakgpeare,’ 1848, founded chiefly on papers in the Council Chamber 
of Stratford-on-Avon, and on the results of searches in the Record Offices of Lon 


\ 


$ he” BNCTISH LITERATURE, 373 


don and other depositaries, commenced in 1874 ‘Illustrations of the Life of Shaks- 
eare.’ He confines himself to facts connected with the personal and literary history 
of the poet, and does not enter on questions of style, or metre, or esthetic criticism. 
These Illustrations,’ of which only oue part is yet published, promise to be valuable. 
We learn from them that when Shakspexre came to London some few years before 
the notice of him by Greene in 1592, there were at the time of his arrival only two 
theatres in the metropolis, both of them on the north of the Thames, in the parish 
_of Shoreditch. James Burbage, by trade a joiner, but afterwards-a leading member 
of the Earl of Leicester’s Company of Players in 1576, obtained from one Giles 
Allen a lease of houses and Jand on which he built his theatre. It was the earliest 
fabric Gf the kind ever built in this country and emphatically designated ‘The 
Theatre.’ It was practically in the fields. ‘Che other theatre (which was in the same 
locality) was named ‘The Curtain.’ Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps adds: ‘The earliest 


_ authentic notice of Shakspeare asa member of the Lord Chamberlain’s Company 


which has hitherto been published, is that which occurs in the list of the actors who 
erformed in the comedy of ‘ Every Man in his Humour’ in 1598; but that he was a 
eading member of that company four years previously, and acted in two plays before 
Queen Elizabeth in December 1594, appears from the following interesting memo- 
randum which I had the pleasure of discovering in the accounts of the Treasurer of 
the Chamber: ‘‘ lo William Kempe, William Shakespeare, and Richarde Burbage, 
servauntes to the Lord Chamberleyne, upon the Councelles warrant dated at White- 
hall xv. to Marcij. 1594, for twoe severall comedies or enterludes shewed by them 
~ before her Majestie in Chrismas tyme laste paste, viz., upon St. Stephens daye, and 
Tnnocentes daye xiij %. vj 8. viij d., and by waye of her Majesties rewarde, vj 7. xiij 
§. iiij d.. in all xx UW.” This evidence is decisive. and its great importance ii several 
of the discussions respecting Shakspeare’s early literary and theatrical career will 


hereafter be seen.’ 


When Shakspeare acted before-Queen Elizabeth in December 1594, the court was 


~ at Greenwich. ‘The poet was then in his thirtieth year, and had published his ‘ Ve- 


‘pus and Adonis’ and ‘ Lucrece.’ 
The ‘Illustrations’ contain a petition from the Burbage family to the Lord Cham- 


~ berlain in 1635, from which we Jearn some particulars Concerning Shakspeare and 


the theatres of his day. 

‘The father of us. Cutbert and Richard Burbage, was-the first builder of play- 
howses. and was himseif in his younger yeeresa player. The Theater [in Shore- 
ditch] hee built with many hundred poundes taken up at interest. The players that 
‘lived in those first. times had onely the profitts arising from the dores, but now the 
layers receave all the commings in at the dores to themselves, and halfe the gal- 
-jeries from the housckeepers [owners or lessees?], He built his house upon leased 
round, by which means the landlord and hee had a great suite In law, and. by his 
eath, the like troubles fell on us, his sonnes ; we then bethought us of altering from 
thence, and at like expence built the Globe, with more summes of money taken up 
at interest, which lay heavy on us many yeeres; and to ourselves wee joyned those 
deserveing men, Shakspeare, Hemings. Condall, Philips, and others, partners in the 
profittes of that they call the House; but making the leases for twenty-one yeeres 
hath been the destruction of ourselves and others. for they dyeing at the expiration 
- of three or four yeeres of their lease, the subsequent yeeres became dissolved to 

strangers as by marrying with their widdowes and the like by their children. 
‘Thus, Right Honorable, as concerning the Globe, where wee ourselves are’but 
lessees.. Now for the Blackfriars, that is our inheritance ; our father purchased it at 
-extreame rates, and made it into a playhouse with great charge and trouble; which 
after was leased out to one Evans that first sett up the boyes commonly caHed the 
Queenes Majesties Children of the Chappell. In processe of time, the boyes growing 
up to bee men. which were Underwood, Field, Ostler, and were taken to strengthen 
the king’s service; and the more to strengthen the service. the boyes dayly wearing 
out. it was considered that house would be fitt for ourselves, and soe purchased 


the lease remaining from Evans with our money, and placed men players, which 


were Hemings, Condall. Shakspeare, &c.’ 
The Globe Theatre, in Sonthwark, was erected in 1599 (not in 1594 or 1595, as all 
~ the biographers, from Maione to Dyce, have stated), the timber and other materials 
-of the Shoreditch Theatre being used in its construction. It was burned down in 
-1613. Shakspeare was one of the partners in the ‘profits of the house meaning, 


hs 


374 . — CYCLOPADIA OF 


probably, the profits of the establishment after all expenses were paid, and he would 
also have his emoluments as actor and author. With respect to the Blackfriars 
Theatre, the reference in the above petition to the king’s service, shews that the 
Burbages became*lessees after the accession of James in 1603. Shakspeare was <= 
‘placed’ there, along with others; by the Burbages but whether as actor only, or as 


sharer in the profits, as before, is not stated. His dramas were most likely the chief 
source of his income as of his fame. . yi Fie 
Another of Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps’s discoveries is the existence of 4 third John 


But there was also an agriculturist of the name, who in 1570 was in the occupation — 4 
of asmallfarm of fourteen acres, situated in the parish of Hampton Lucy, near 
Stratford. His farm was called Ingon or Ington Meadow. This John Shakspeare,  — 
the farmer, has always been considered to be the poet’s father, but it appearsfrom _ 
the Hampton Lucy register that the tenant of Ingon Meadow was buried in Septem- _ 
ber 1589. whereas the alderman, the poet’s father, survived till 1601. oe 
‘Chronology of Shakspeare’s-Plays’ (p. 303, vol. i).—Metrical tests have lately been 2 
applied to the text of Shakspeare, with a view to ascertain the probable dates of the 
plays. In the transactions of the ‘New Shakspeare Society’ we find observationson  ~ 
this subject from Mr. Spedding, Mr. Fleay, Mr. Furnivall, and others. It is also 
taken up by Mr. Ward in his able ‘ History of English Dramatic Literature to the — - 
Death of Queen Anne,’ two volumes, 1875. Mr. Ward thus notices whatare called _ 
‘ stopped lines’ and ‘ feminine endings of lines :’ ; eRe a 
‘A stopped line is one in which the sentence or clause of the sentence concludes — 
with the line: but it isnot always possible to determine what is tobe regarded asthe 
clause of a sentence; whether, for example, and is to be regarded (in strict syntax of . 
7 


course it is not) as beginning a new clause. The “ stopping” of the sense is, in short, 
often of more importance than the stopping of the sentence, with which itby no 
means always coincides. " Ca 
‘lhe number of feminine endings of lines, or of lines ending with a redundant 4 
syllable: the application of this test cannot be regarded as establishing more than 
general conclusions. While it is certain that Shakspeare employed the feminine 
endings sparingly in many of his plays which on other grounds may be regarded as ~ = 
early, it is certain that in those plays which on other. grounds may be regarded as- 
belonging to a late period of his dramatic productivity he employed these endings 
largely.’ 5 ~ 
Mr. Ward then takes up. the question as to the authorship of ‘Henry VIII.,’ the = 
style of which in many parts resembles that of Fletcher, as had been pointed out 
thirty years ago to Mr. Spedding by Mr. Alfred Tennyson: The resemblance con-__ q 
sists chiefly in the abundance of feminine endings, and in certain characteristic tricks ~ 
of Fietcher’s style, which are of frequent occurrence in ‘ Henry VIII.’ This theory, a 
if correct, would assign to Fletcher some of the finest passages in the play—as Wol- 
sey’s affecting soliloquy and Cranmer’s prophecy. Mr. Ward regards these testsas 
pnly extreme developments of tendencies which indisputably became stronger in — 
Shakspeare’s versification with the progress of time, and as ‘Henry VIII.’ was one 
pf the latest, if not the very latest of Shakspeare’s dramatic works, they would in 
that play reach their highest point. 
Dodsley’s ‘Select Collection of Old English Plays’ was originally published in 
1744; a second edition, corrected, and possessing explanatory notes by IsAAc REED, 
wasissuedin 1780. In1814Mr. CHarnLES WENTWORTH DILKE edited a continuation — 
pf Dodsley. or at least a collection of old plays, in six volumes. A third edition of — 
Dodsley, with additional notes and corrections by Reed, by Octavius GILCHRIST 
and JOHN PAYNE COLLIER, appeared in 1826. Anda fourth edition. enlarged from ~~ 
twelve to fifteen volumes. has been published (1874) by WitniaAmM CAREW HazuitrT. 
Besides this vastly improved edition of Dodsley, Mr. Hazlitt has edited the werks of 
Gascoigne, Carew, Browne, Suckling, Lovelace, Herrick, &c. He has also given the 
ublic new editions of Brande’s ‘Popular Antiquities’ and’ Warton’s ‘History of — 
oetry.’. Mr. Hazlitt is a grandson of the critic and essayist (ante); he was bornin — 
1834, and called to the bar in 1861. ae 
Mr. John Payne Collier, referred to above, was early in the field as an editor of 
Elizabethan poets and dramatists. He was born in London, 1789. In 1820 he pub= 
lished ‘The Political Decameron,’ and in 1831, his ‘ History of Dramatic Poetry — 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. Tees cas 


both works of merit which gratified the lovers of our old literature, and tended con- 
» siderably to increase the number of such students. 

Another meritorious labourer in the same field, is the Rev. ALEXANDER GROSART 
of St. George’s, Blackburn, Lancashire. Mr. Grosart has edited the poems of Giles 
Fletcher, Crashaw, Lord Brooke, Southwell, Vaughan, Marvell, &c. ; and is now en- 
gaged on the works in verse and prose of Spenser and Daniel. He has also edited 

-- editions of the Scottish poets Michae} Bruce, Ferguson, and Alexander Wilson, and 
the prose works of Wordsworth ; the latter in three volumes, undertaken by ‘request 
and appointment of the family.’ 


SELDEN (p. 269, vol. ii.)—The birthplace of the learned John Selden was Salving- 
ton, near West Tarring in Sussex. 


_ 


SWIFT (p. 158, vol. iii.)—‘ His grandfather was vicar of Goodrich in Hereford- 
- shire. . . . Three of the vicar’s sons settled in Ireland.’ Swift in his autobiography 
says four, but the exact number seems to have been five. The eldest, Godwin, was 
the uncle to whom the dean owed his education. The autobiography has a remark- 
‘able passage concerning the infancy of Swift: ‘ When he was a year old, an event 
happened to him that seems very unusual; for his nurse, who was a woman of 
Whitehaven, being under an absolute necessity of seeing one of her relations, who 
was then extremely sick, and from whom she expected a legacy, and being at the 
same time extremely fond of the infant, she stole him on shipboard unknown 
to his mother and uncle, and carried him with her to Whitehaven, where he con- 
tinued for almost three years.. For, when the matter was discovered, his mother 
sent orders by all means not to hazard a second voyage, till he could be better able to 
bear it. The nurse was so careful of him, that before he returned he had learned to 
spell; and by the time that he was three years old he could read any chapter in the 
Bible.’ With the single exception, perhaps, of Lord Macaulay, we have no other 
instance of such infantile precocity. It appears from Forster’s ‘ Life of Swift’ that 
_the dean had first written ‘two years,’ then altered it to ‘almost three,’ and finally 
struck out ‘almost.’ Hawkesworth altered the word to ‘five,’ and was copied by 
Scott. P.159.—The statement that Sir William Temple left Stella a sum of £1000 is 
incorrect. In Temple’s will the legacy is thus given: ‘1 leave a lease of some lands 
I have in Monistown, in the county of Wicklow in Ireland, to Esther Johnson, ser- 
vaat to my sister Giffard’ (Lady Giffard). Mr. Forster has shewn that the account 
waich Swift has given in his autobiography of his college career is too unfavourable. 
Tne dean says he was ‘stopped of his degree for dullness and insufliciency ; and at 
last hardly admitted in a manner little to his credit, which is called in that college 
_speciali gratia.’ Mr. Forster obtained part of a college roll indicating Swift’s place 
at the quarterly examination in Eastern term 1685, and of the twenty-one names 
therein enumerated none of them stand really higher in the examination than 
Jonathan Swift. He was careless in attending the college chapel; in the classes he 
was ‘ill in philosophy, good in Greek and Latin, and negligent in theology.’ Mr. _ 
Forster says: ‘ The specialis gratia took its origin from the necessity of providing, 
that what was substantially merited should not be refused because of a failure in 
some requirement of the statutes; upon that abuses crept in; but enough has been 
said to shew that Swift’s case could not have been one of those in which it was used 
to give semblance of worth to the unworthy. 


* Mason (p. 154. vol. iv).—It should have been mentioned that the last four lines*of 
the ‘Epitaph on. Mrs. Mason in the Cathedral of Bristol’ were written by GRay. 
~ They are immeasurably superior to all the others, and, indeed, are among the finest of 
the kind in the language: 
Tell them though ’tis an awful thing to die— 
Twas e’en to thee—yet the dread path once trod, 
Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high, 
And bids the pure in heart behold their God. 


» SHELLEY (p. 271, vol. v).—Shelley’s first wife, Harriet Westbrook, ‘committed 
suicide by drowning herself in the Serpentine River in December 1816, and Shelley 
married Miss Godwin a few weeks afterwards (December 30). In justice to the poet, 
we copy a statement on this distressing subject from Mr. C. Kegan Paul’s ‘ Life of 


, ~ a 2 r ‘ “. ’ 
876 CYCLOPAIDIA OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, 
/ i x - 
Godwin,’ 1876: ‘Whatever view may be taken of the breach between husband and _ 
wifc, itis absolutely certain that Harriet’s suicide was not direttly cansed by her — % 
husband’s treatment. However his desertion of her»contributed, or-did not con- ; 
iribute, to the life sue afterwards led, the immediate cause of her death was thather 
father’s door was shut against her, though he had at first sheltered ker and’ her chile * 
dren, This was done by order of her sister, who would not aliow Harriet accessto ~ 
the bedside of her dying father,’ pie 
The ‘ Lite of Godwin,’ referred to above, is a work of great interest and impor-, 
tance. Godwin never willingly destroyed a written line, and his biographer found e- 
“a vast quantity of letters and manuscripts, some of which had never been opened . 
from the time they were laid aside by Godwin’s own band many years before his 4 
death in 1836. - Ali were handed overto Mr. Kegan Paul by Sir Percy Shelley, the 
poct’s son, and the cofrespoudence includes letters from Charles Lamb, Coleridge, 
Shelley, Wordsworth, Sectt; Mackintosh, Lady Careline Lamb, Mrs. Jnchbald, and 
others, besides the letters which passed between Godwin and Mary Wolistonecraft . _ 
during their brief married lite. Perhaps nothing in literary history or biography was — 
sa so painful, and in some aspects revolting, as this Godwin-Wollstonecraft-Shel- 
ey story. . 


~ 


ey 


° 


Mrs. IncHBALD (p. 119, vol. vi).—Of this remarkable woman many particu- ag 
lars are related in the * Life of Godwin,’ by Mr. C. Kegan Paul. Mrs. Shelley (God- 
win’s daughter) says of her: ‘Living in mean lodgings, dressed with an economy — 
allied to penury, without connections, and alone, her beauty, her talents, and the — 
charm of her manners gave her entrance into a delightful circle of society. Apttofall 
in love, and desirous to marry, she continued single, because the men who loved and ~ 
admired her were too worldly to take an actress and a poor author, however lovely . 
and charming, for a wife. Her life was thus spent in an interchange of hardship and 


4s 


arr, 
ow ed 


A a 


amusement, privation and luxury. Her character partook of the same contrasts 
fond of pleasure, she was prudent in her conduct; penurious in her Ads expendi- 
ture, she was generous to others. Vain of her beauty, we are told that the gown she 
wore was not worth a shilling, it was so coarse and shabby. Very susceptible 1o the 
softer feelings, she could yet guard herself against passion ; and though she might 
have been called a flirt, her character was unimpeached. I have heard that a rival beauty _ 
-of her day pettishly complained that when Mrs. Inchbald came into a room, and sat 

in a chair in the middle of it, as was her wont, every man gathered round it, and it 
was in vain for any other woman to attempt to gain attention. Godwin could nos 
fail to admire her; she became and continued to be a favourite. Her talents, her 
beauty, her manners were ail delightful to him. He used to describe her as a piquante 
mixture between a lady anda milkmaid, and added that Sheridan declared she was 
the only authoress whose society pleased him.’ ak 


x 


vy 


eA 


' 
he 7 . 
See Pi 
-_ eee he ef 


END OF VOLUME VIII 


i 


Absentee, by Maria Edgeworth, vi. 


GENERAL INDEX. 


ff 

- PAGE. 

A Brcxett, GILBERT dramatist, vii 198 
ciph iat patel DR. JOHN, psycholo- 

REIT Roane tes Ole giors's diva wor S's w-ae's 324 

Absalom and Achitophel, by Dry- 

Ot OMUEROIS 6 Wea, cts Ge vs oo 


pees oom expedition, History of, 


ham, Viii........... 43 
Ke a Dine specimen, ii......5.... 65 
Actor, the, by Lloyd; extracts, iv.... 108 
Ad Amicos, by Richard West, iv. 193 
_ Adam Bove, by George Eliot; ex- 
LUBG Ree Vibe sa ecn ciate de! Sore: 8 pus ees 175 
_ Adam Blair, by J. G. Lockhart. vi... 204 
-Adamnan’s Life of St. Columba, ed- - 
ited by Dr. W. Reeves, viii........ 70 
Adams and Jefferson, by D oe 
AV GUAGE S Vile. d:asutg cis ones cc-eie bales co 
_ADAMs, JOHN CovuUcH, paeonotnel= 
oo gt en Ma ie Pee 63 
ADDISON, JOSEPH, as poet, iii. 187; as 
nL NPE! at as ee Se ee 280 
_ Addison, Life of, by Lucy Aikin, iii. 141 
‘Address to the Mummy, parody by 
Re PAGTAGCE SUNIL, Vilw oars Saino ctecp gle oe eis 337 
Adventure and Beagle, Narrative of 
_ the Voyage of the, viil............. 336 
PROVEMEUECT MiGs LY Uva Bio's aise vines see 236 
Adventures of a Guinea, iv.......... 280 
Adversaria, by Porson, vi...........-. 337 
_ Ae Fond Kiss, by Robert Burns, Vv... 402 
Aflla, tragedy by Chatterton, iv..... 96 
~ Aneid, translation by Caxton. i. 113; 
by Rev. C. Pitt, iv.192 ; into Scoich, 
*~ by Gavin Douglas, 1 See Sern 
Adschylus, edited by. T. Stanley. ii... 136 


4aschylus, translation by Blackie, vii 175 
Aisop’s Fables, translated by Sir Ro- 


Bie Er Lr MeirANe, TW. 6. 5 cys atte soo 122 
i ak History of the War in, 
by J. . Kaye, viii. 81, by 
Nash, viii-...2.. RO Oe eee 31 
Africa, Across, by Cameron. viii. 368 


African Discovery and Adventure, 
and the Source of the Nile, viii. 

African Sketches, by Pringle ; ex- 
tract, v 


. 360 
370 


ee ey 


= Agres, by Mrs. Oliphant ; extract, 


: Kon 
Aids to Faith. edited by Arehbishop 


Walls eaten ote vn Oe 
ecable Surprise, by O’Keefe, vi. 


PLUOMEOVS Vill. 22s sevecce:->+ 149 
AIKIN, Lucy, biographer, viii....... - 22 

pRERSW ORTH. W. “HARRISON, noyel- 
DeGr NIISens Min ban S bsie wd’ oe dene 35 oe 231 


: 


PAGE. 
AIRD, THOMAS, poet; setae: vii.. 63 


Arry, SIR G, BIDDELL, astronomer, 


Aitkin’s Biograpical Dictionary, vi 
AKENSIDE, MARK, poet, iv.:.. 
Alastor, by Shelley, passage from, v. 283 
Albania, edited by J. Leyden, LVR 52 ee 


Albert Nyanza. Lake, discovery of, 

by Sir S. W. Baker, viii........2-. 259 
Albigenses, the, by Rev. C.R. Ma--. - 

TCI CxLTAG lois chee sia arenes oe 173 
Albion’s England, by Warner, i..... 178 
seit Verses, by Lamb, specimens ; 

SS inv gritg SE Te RE aoe OO 92 
Alchemist, the, by Ben Jonson, i.... 129 
PRRGUIN A ae cot Pans eee Dae ees sie «craw 
ALDRICH, Dr. HENRY, theologian, 

Sit ee ae ee CMP LS ees eer 4 
Alexander and Campaspe, by Lyly, i, 266 
Alexander, King, Romance of, f..... 15 
ALEXANDER, SIR JAMES, African 

TER MONGOL. CVE cc oaxsigah ans letra a eae 320 
Alexander the Great, by N. Lee ii... 263 
Alexander’s Feast, by Dryden, il, 215; 

ERUPACT Gls days oR ax ital ois co iaisie~ Sioa 215 
ALFORD, Dr. HENRY, theologian ; 

OXtHACta. o Wilk Ge osc ecibes ae See, 36 
Alfred, a Mask, by David Mallet, iv.. 36 
ALFRED THE GREAT, specimens of 

BIS AI CUAPC Vo oire creak sins as, t105 Tete 7 
ALFRIC (Anglo-Saxon writer). i..... 7 
Alhambra, by Washington Irving, vi. 360 
ALISON, Rev. ARCHIBALD, as t 1e0- 

Jogian, vi. 308; as essayist, vi. 347 ; 

Essays on Taste ; OxtTacty Views. <-!- 347 
ca oan Sir ARCHIBALD, historian ; . 

ORITHCTOss VLEs ves op caves wile oratory 843 
All Fools, by George Chapman, i.... 352 
All for Love, play by Dryden, ii..... 243 


All the Year Round, by Dickens, Vii. 252 
ALLINGHAM. WILLIAM, poet, vil. 111 
Alliterative Poetry of the Anglo- 
Saxons, i. 
Alma, by "Matthew ‘Pryor: “extr act, iti 157 
Alonzo the Braye, by M. G. Lewis, Vv 234 
Alton Locke, by Charles Kinggley, vii 266 
Amadis de Gaul, translated by Wil- 
liam Stewart Rose. .v....<.-.06.2.- 
cietiniees Ire, by Richard Edw ards, 


ee ee ee ee 


Ose 


eS wane Ce pee epenee ps SOO Onis ves: @ 


Aeeelig. Dy Wieldin Se 1y 20. p21 oeanter = 257 
America, History “of, by Hobe pena: 
extract JY,e a. -h 


(377). 


378 
; “% PAGE. 
America, Southern States, History of, 
by E. King, vii 
America, Things as they are in, by 
Dr. William Chambers, viii....... 
American Notes by Dickens; ex- 
tracts, vii 
American Ornithology, by A. Wilson ; 
EX ATAED Whe oe at ele ete biutee. cxtraatgties 
American Revolution, History of, by 
Bancroft, vil... 36 
AMORY, THOMAS, Memoirs ; 
iv 
Anacreon, translated by Fawkes, iv. 1 5 
Anacreontics, by Abraham Cowley, ii 129 


875 


338 


ee ee ry 


extract, 


ee ce a 


CYCLOPADIA OF 


}. 


PAGE. 
ARBUTHNOT, DR. JOHN, iii......... B5T _ 
Arcades, by Milton. Tip woot e Fivsaicts =5LGO* oe 


Arcadia, by Sir P. Sidney, Lge ao 5 POs ~ 
Architecture, The Seven Fea as of, | 


by J. Ruskin, wii) 2 oe soe pee 
Arctic Expedition, Cit. oe eens apt fie OH ie 
Arden of Feversham, anonymous te 

OPA AG Tease es . 2940 0% 
Arden of Feversham, drama, by Lil- 

lO, itis 3 gape cae eae tae Oe ee 251 


Areopagitica, by Milton ; : “extract, ii. 275 

Ariosto, translated by Sir J. Harring- 
ton, i, 1903 by W. Stewart Rose. v. 387. > 

Aristophanes, trans. by I’. Mitchell, v 359 _ 


Anastasius, by T. Hope; extract, vi. 200 | ARMSTRONG, JOHN, poet ; extracts, iv. 59 se 
Anatomy of Character, by ‘ARNOLD, Dr. THOMAS, historian, vii 352 3" 
SHCTIGAN, Vis cece ee ao oes oes 41) Arnold, Life of, by Dean Stanley ; = 
Anatomy of Melancholy, by Burton ; extracts, Viliv. dose ee ac pre anete * 
Crirpors se Hos ce yess ee ee 9 | ARNOLD, MATTHEW, as ‘poet, vii, 1555 : 
Ancients Castles, by Edward King, iv 404 as critic, and theologian, viii...... 249 - 
Ancient Mariner, the, by Coleridge, v v 153; Art of Preserving Health, by Arm- 
Ancren Bi Me PA ae cate eGR Care Rar as 12; strong; passages from, iv. 08 =e 
ANCRUM, HARL OF. poet. i>.......... 29° Arthur, Ke ng, and his Knights, i. 20 ~s 
ANDREWS, LANCELOT, BISHOP ; ex-: Arthur, King (his Actes, &¢.), by Sir . 
CLACE UNG wee Sew ns caine ein es Ie ae 345 | Thomas Malory, i os iat nies neti sere es 09S cre ; 
Angels’ Whisper, the, by Lover, vii.. 281; Arthur, (La Morte Arthur), i.. .. 4-4 
Anglo-Norman, or Semi-Saxon Writ- | Arundel, by Richard Cumberland, vi io re: 
Tesh pies oat eee eat nee aii 9 ASCHAM, RogErR, prose writer. i..... 13 
Anglo-Saxon Writers, i.......--.... 3 | >SUMOLE, ELI4s, antiquary, ii...... 3a | i 
Anglo-Saxons, History of the, by | Atalanta in Calydon, by A. C. Swin- NS 
Sharon MURDET, Vida sdeagies Pak Bee 252 | _ burne, passage from, vil...... ea eh OD- ae 
Annals of the Parish, by John Gait, Athvist’s Tragedy, the, i..........-.. 366. = 
passage Irom, Vi. sue ee. +o Mek 195 | Athenw Oxonienses, by Anthony a - ie 
Annual Register, Dodsley’s, iv...... 18 Wood tices sx. 2h ee ae 344 i 
Annuity, the, by George Outram, vii i79 | Atheneeum, the, journal, established 3 
ANSTED, Davin T., scientific writer, by J. S. Buckingham, viii, 838; — z 
VI ss os se oe ha ete ahs Me eewie PAIS, Mr. Dixon becomes editor, viii, S: 
Anster Fair, by Tennant: extracts, vi 29 73; C. W. Duke, editor, viii......< 98 4 
ANSTEY, CHRISTOPHER, port.iv..+.. 188 Athenaid, by Glover, passages from x 
Anti-Jacobin Newspaper, the, v..... 44 V3 NE Se ag ee “449 4 
Anti-Jacobin Poetry, specimens of, v 47} ATHERSTONE, EDWARD, V........- os ae 
Antinomians, the doctrines of, com- ATTERBURY, DR., theologian, iii....- 295 
bated by Cudworth, ii. .... 0.25.2. 54 | Attila, by Her bert, passage from, v.. 373 
Antiquary, the, by Sir Wait er Scott, AUBREY, JOHN. antiquary, Detyen es $44 ¢ 
passages from, Viv...2.2...2. 6 186-189 | Auburn. ‘Description Of, TY 22 Sieh ear Oe S 


Antiquities of Great Britain, by W. 
Stukeley, iv 
Aatiquities, Popular (Brand’s), edited 
by Sir Henry Ellis, vi Tet OOr 


ee ec 


Antoinette, Marie, from Burke, iv... 378 
Antonio and Mellida, by Marston ; 

RIF SCTO GA iy eeieee cls 6 acebe ase eiets 363 
ADOLOC WYSE DBI CHV Ss Ill sic cs. s gierstels serials 13 
Apology for his Life, by Colley Cib- 

DEE Pilse scasie See ke ae oe thee ok 272 
Arabia, by W. G. Palgrave ; extracts, 

g ANS mE MOU OORT See nee A eare ty 348 


Arabic- English Lexicon, by Lane, viii 235 
Arago’s Astronomy, translated by 
Robert Grant and Admiral Smyth, 

5 pbs Wenner 


weeene eeeee 


AUDUBON, JOHN Tae The Birds + 
of America. extracts, 35T 
Cra ceiaa of; by 


Augustine, St., 


Dean Stanley, Vilin..+ aol 
Augustus Ceesar characterized, by C. a 
Merivale,: -Vilv'c<. eect peters one Ne ; 


ee rar | 
en oar 


ee i ay 


Auld oie Gray, by Lady Anne Bar- 
nard, i 209 
Aurora Floyd, by Miss Braddon, ‘Vii. 309 


mf Ste + SS , or” 


-INDEX.]> ) - ENGLISH LITERATURE. 879 

: ¢ . PAGE. PAGE. 
Aurora Leigh, by Elizabeth B. Barchester Towers, by Anthony 

‘Browning, passage from, Vii....... 129 Trollope, passage from, vii........ 825 

. AUSTIN, JANE, novelist, vi.......... 155 | BARCLAY, ALEXANDER, poet, i..... 63 


< 


., Oliver Wendell Holmes, vii........ 


AvstTin, Mrs. Saray, translator, vii 177 
Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, by 


Avarice. by Rev. C. C. Colton, vi.... 
Away ! Let Nought to Love displeas- 


MIE egh 95 Bek PVs Senile See terse 192 

AYTON, SiR ROBERT, poet,i........ 254 

AYTOUN, PROFESSOR W1LLIAM EpD- 
MONDSTOUNE, poet; extracts, vii.. 73 


BABBAGE, CHARLES, mathematician, 


Ce ee res 


eee che ee OO 

and H. 
tearke BS 
Bacon, Ligut. T., traveller, viii.... 322 
Bacon, Lorp, ii 
Bacon, Lord, Letters and Life, by 

James Spedding, ii 
Badajos, Assault of, from Napier, vi. 271 
Bagdad, the City of, by Gibbon,..... 315 
BAGE, ROBERT, novelist, vi.......... 
Baghdad, described by Layard, viii.. 
BaILey, Joun E.. biographer, viii... 
BAILEY, Puinip JAMES, poet, vii.... 
BAILLIE, JOANNA, as poctess, v, 366; 

MUO ASD Sn. SO ce otk ct ss fe 2 
Baiuture, Lapy GRISELL, poet, iv.... 
Baillie of Jerviswood and Lady Gri- 


Ce ee 


ee ed 


ee) 


sell Baillie, Memoirs of, vi......... 288 
Barn, ALEx., Pror., psychologist, 
MA 1b A ge RY ep it eee OR as ae - 282 
BAKER, Sir RicHaARD—his Chroni- 
DM As ot 5 00d gs 0 00 55y 35 90%. 343 
BAKER, SIR SAMUEL WHITE, Afri- . 
can traveller; extract, viii..... 358 
Balaklava, Battle of. by Russell, viii. 34 
Bald Eagle, the, by A. Wilson, v..... 339 
Baez, BisHor, as chronicler, i. 134; 
APOMBMALISt let fs.  e batetoys 258 
Ball. the, by Shirley, i..:...2......... 386 
PAM AOC OCE Vali Os a % dese iste ov clea 103 
Ballads by the Hon. W. Spencer, v.. 315 
- BALLANTINE, JAMES. poet. vii...... 180 
Bampton Lectures, the, viili......... 114 
BaNorRoFT, GEORGE, historian; ex- 
Bie eee ING save bie <9... Lic ces. cat's 871 
Bangorian Controversy, iii.......... 303 
BANIM, JOUN, novelist, vi........... 931 
Bannatyne Manuscript, the; i........ 103 


Bannockburn, Battle of, by R.White, 
ear ole Seta 55 a eferele sig he's » 3's; « 
Barbara Fritchie, by J. G. Whittier vii 147 
Barbarossa, trageay by Dr. Brown, iv 217 
BARBAULD, Mrs. ANNA LETITIA, v. 65 


~ Baxsour, JOBN, poct, i....,.... 49, 142 


* < 


BaRcuay, ROBERT, his Apology, iii. 13 

Bard, the, a Pindaric Ode, by Gray, iv 54 

BARHAM, RicHarD HARRIS (pseu- 
donym, Thomas Ingoldsby), vii... 204 


BARNARD, Lapy ANNE, poet, iv..... 209 
Barneveld, Life of, by Motley, vii... 366 
BARNFIELD, RICHARD, poet, i.-.... 210 
BaRRow, Dr. Isaac, Theological 
Works; extracts, ii..i0... 6.45 385—393 
BARROW, JOHN, traveller, viii-...... 330 
Barrow’s Dictionary of Arts and Sci- 
CHEERY. 226 Ge PA ae cto oat 359 


Barrow’s, Sir John, Travels in China 


Vike A eerste ty wea eee eee QT 
BARTON, BERNARD; extracts, v.... 347 
Bastard, the, by Savage; extract, iii. 201 
Bath, the Wife of, from Chaucer’s 

‘Canterbury Tales,’ extract, i..... 31 
Battle of Blenheim, by Southey, v... 179 
Battle of the Baltic, by Campbell, v.. 219 
Battle of the Books, by Swift, jii.... 537 
Baucis and Philemon, by Swift, ex- 

POLS IIT. eres bocs cain faba teers a canoe 165 
Baviad, by W. Gifford, extracts, v... 41 
BAXTER, RICHARD, divine; extracts 

A actiish nh gah wake er Ee eat, eke are 15 
Bayty, THomaAs H., song-writer, v. 378 
BAyNEs, C. R., traveller; extracts, 

Wales: Sat csararb o's, 31 tb labret Ieee otek 322 
BEATTIE, DR. JAMES, as poet, iv. 

176; as th« ologian, iv. 3.0; Life of 

by Sir William Forbes, iv. 177; 

NRC y WE AE aera ee SLT Pe eer 486 
BEAUMONT and FLETCHER, drama- 

PBtF 1. 3oiss) CXALACTR Slit. 5 bie ates 338—341 
BEAUMONT, FRANCIS, poems, i. 230 ; 

EITATTAB ads Ae cute vertebteters Sots <a hha 33T 
BEAUMONT, SIR JOHN, poet, i....2-. 229 
Beaux’ Stratagem, the, by Farquhar, 

ITLL ae ea ee. aS nie eee 267 
BECKFORD, WILLIAM, novelist, vi... 96 
BEDDOES, Dr THOMAS, physician, vi 82 
BEDDOES, THOMAS LOVELL, drama- 

tist, passages from, Vi.........-... 80 
Bede, «the Venerable,’ i.........%... 3 
Bee, the, a periodical, iv............ » 237 
BEECHEY, Caprt., Arctic traveller, vii 28 


Beggar and his Dog, from ‘'The Man 
of Feeling,’ by Henry Mackenzie, 


VVs Seton arom his eer othe Sp ele ian) 285 
Beggar of Bethnal Green, by John : 
Day, abc, Fels aie ys ee ae _-. 368 
Beggar, the, by the Rey. T. Moss, iv. 197 
Beggars’ Opera, the, by Gay, iii..... 215 
= | Me = 5, fe . = ee 2°66 
BEHN, Mrs. APHRA, dramatist, h... 2 


BELCHER, SIR Epwaprp, Arctic ex- 
plorer, Viii.. 


wore eeteeer esos eee ces 


ss a Var >> is 


a 


iy 4 >i? ES 
. ’ < 


. 5 oe 
380 CYCLOPAEDIA OFM =24 | (eevee ae 
é a Y hog 2a 
“. PAGE. PAGE, og 
Belford Regis, by Mary. R. Mitford, Biology, Principles of, by H. Spen- Pe 
Me aE EPA ES Sry as ESR, ag ry Cer) Villt <2 in5 1d ee eee Be eee 
Belind: vs sparkling Eyes and Wit, Brrcu, Dr. THomas..as historian, iv, | 
from ‘ The Shamrock,’ iv......... ‘198 305.3 as antiqnary, Ive... acs cede 405° - = 
BELL, JOHN, traveller, vii..........- 15 | BIRKENHEAD, SIR JOHN, journalist, Peak 
BELL, J.S., traveller, viii. Re SE HOD: 1) Pee POA eo ae 33-2 
BELL. Sir CHARLES; the Hand, as Birks of Invermay, by Mallet, Wo 33:55 
evincing design, Vili.......5...0... 155 | BisHop, SAMUEL, poet, iv... si eadawe DEED a 
BELLENDEN, JouN, translator of BuAck, WILLIAM, novelist, vii...... 335- 4 
Boece-and’ Livy. i. 22s ess eee oe 143 | Bl: ick-eved Susan, by D. Jerrold, Vii. 193 - 
BeLzoni, JOHN BaPrist, Eastern Black-eyed Susan, song by Gay, iii.. 220 - F. 


traveller ; extracts, vil 
BENNOCH, FRANCIS, song-writer, vii 182 
BENOIT DE ST. MavR, i 
Benoni, Dr., by Malcolm cae 


ee ee ee ee ee et ee oe er ee 


BENSON, CHR., theologian, vi. Se Adele 
BENTHAM, JEREMY, LAS, "View norte ts ‘ 
BENTLEY, ~ DR. RICHARD, classical 
scholar, 
Beowulf, Lay of, Anglo-Saxon poem, 
BERESRORD: REY. JAMES, vi 
BERKELEY, BIsHOopP, metaphysician, 
OXtPACh, iS, js sie vee pi hee ee 
BERNERS, LORD, historian, i........ 
Bertram, ‘by C. R. Maturin, Scene 
from, vi 
Beth Gélert ; a ballad, by the Hon. 
Wim. Spencer, v «gre ee ets cee Pegars 
Betrothed Pair, from Cr abbe, v Bye sel 
Bible Class. by G. MacDonald, vii... 
Bible, History of the English, by Dr. 
Madies VAL. a, tetanic wgs Paes ae le 
Bible in Spain, by George Borrow } 5 
ORIPACH. Vill. HAs a tecieeee aes 
Bible, Wycliffe’s, 1. 5h Tyndale’s, i i. 
135; Coverdale’s, i. 136; Matthew’s, 
-i, 186;- Cranmer’s, 1. 1363 author- 
ized translation, fi. 837; Douay Bi- 
ble, ii. 888; Kennicot’s Hebrew Bi- 
ble, iv. 326; D’Oyley and Mant’s 
annotated edition, vi. 3:25 Clarke’s 
Commentary, vi. 807; Brown’s 
Dictionary, vi. 310; Brown’s S-1f- 
ANLErPTewNS Vis Hast iss or ote eee i 
ter hOErap ate Dictionary, oe 
Biers oy. Isaac, dramatist, iv. 
BICKERSTEPH, Rey. Eb., haolowngs 
Will 
Biglow-Papers, the, by J. R. Lowell, 
Mls Laake d Sa ORCe ae See oe ee 1 
BINGHAM, COMMANDER J. Evuiort, 


a 


107 


eC i ic ce car) 


traveller extract, Willensatsas ores 25 
Biographia Britannica Literaria, by 

TV ElPhiy Valles. ater eeine oak ae 51 
Biographical Dictionaries, 2 ee) 290 


Biographical History of England, a 
i. Granger, iv........:, 


306. 


307 | Borrow, GEORGE, traveller, Vili... 383 


BLACKIE, JOHN eka poet and 
translator, vii. Re fae 
BLACKLOCK, DR THOMAS, specimens <I 
Of Tis poétyy, Iv: ee neater eee <1%3 
BLACKMORE, RicHARD DODDRIDEE, 
NOVELISt; Vis... a) are eee 2 
BLACKMORE, Str RicHaRD, poet, fii 205 ‘3 
BLACKSTONE, Str WILLIAM, as poet, a 
iv. 83 as prose writer, iy.......... 
ey oa Edinburgh Magazine, — 
Beane Dr. Hueu, theologian and 
rhetorician, iv. Sas 
BLAIR, RoBERT, poet; ‘extracts, iv. a 
Blake, Admiral, Life of,-by Ns 
Dixon, viii 
BLAKE, WiLLIAM, artist-poet, y.. 
BLAMIRE, SUSANNA, song-writer, Y. 
BLANCHARD, LAMAN, vii ....... 
Blank Verse introduced by Surrey, i. 
Blenheim, Battle of, by Southey, v 
BLESSINGTON, COUNTESS OF, novel 
ist; Vil Ai2 Ls ao. 3 ee ee 
Blind Boy, the, by Colley Cibber, ii.. 


ee ered 


BLIND: HARRY; poet; 1.65. rosea US 
Blind Youth, a, by Bloomfield, v...... 78-_ 
Blithedale Romance, thesvileztenn ees 294 - 
BLoMFIELD, Dr. C. J., theologian, 

VALUE 2a PSs hepa oe ane eee Eolas 
BLOOMFIELD, ROBERT, poet, V...... 
Buunt, REV. HENRY, viii....... eae 
BLUNT, Rey. JOHN JAMES; extract, 

Wills... oS A ae ee 
Boadicea, by Glover, passage from, 

LWie ne Secese sc pie geile Daren a 217 


Boece’s History of Scotland, transla- 
ted by Bellenden, i 
BOLEYN, GEORGE, VISCOUNT ROocuH- 
FORT, DOC, -TAy aia op oe eben eee Spies 
BOLINGBROKE, LoRD, HENRY ST. 
JOHN, miscellaneous writer, tii..... 
Bonny Mary, by Robert Burns, v.... 
pears the, by J. Hill Burton, 
ace of Ballads, by Bon Gaultier, vii 
Book of Common Prayer, i.......... 1 
Borough, the, by George Crahbe ; ex- 
tract, Vn ate 3 tate eon eee Rerer wi 


ee ee? 


w 


* 


? 


: ; PAGE. 
Boston, THos., his Fourfold State, 


PAR ee eet ON Cee cySc vin e!e- Gee 32 
BoOswELu, JAMES, biographer, vi.... 277 
BoOswELt, JAMES, editor, vi...... eo 
BoswELuL, SIR ALEXANDER, song- 

Le MELAS TR Sg leak a ae 11 
- Botanic Garden, the, by Dr. E. Dar- 
, WEEE SOR IPA CEs. V calc. pee ievslece ae eco'8'ass 34 
- Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich, Ugh eee 148 


Bothwell, by Swinburne; extract, vii 161 
Bovucicaut, Dion, dramatist, vii... 201 
Bouillabaisse, the Ballad of, by 

SP ROIGIU er Vill. cee iad uecie dou coh 264 
Bownpicu, Mr, African traveller, vii. 8 


BowER, ARCHIBALD, historian, ‘iv. 807 
BowER or BOWMAKER, WALTER, 
PURECRRIOHOT IB EN Gee waa occ 5 eich ee a'y 6 
BowkEs, CAROLINE ANNE, (Mrs. 
Southey), poet; extracts, vii...... 
Bow.es, REy. WILLIAM LISLE, poet; 
extracts, v Loe Ang Sa eas 166 


BowRinG, Sin JOHN, as poet-trans- 
lator, vii, 17>; as Traveller, ex- 
(ULE EN? 1S rier ao oh 323 

 Boysn, ABEL, miscellaneous writer, 

Hoss Hon. RoBERT, philosopher ; 
PEATE O LS ls ae so otis so ohne arplan oie ah 301 

Bracebridge Hall, by Washington 
Irving ; extracts, Wctatshe rive Bide ito ots 359 

ee eS: M. ELIZABETH, noyelist, 


er ee 


one) se \. yale eee ole, 


GN Sas See 10 

erie o’ Gleniffer, by Tannahill, vi..~ 10 

. Braes of Yarrow, by Hamilton, iv. ; 200 

Braid Claith, by Fergusson, iv....... 213 

‘BRAMSTON, REY. JAMES, poet, iii... 17 
Bray, Mrs. ANNA ELiza, novelist, 

Sn 0" ie oo Sa rales ae ae One 2 
‘BREMNER, ROBERT, Traveller, viii.. 332 
Breton, NicHouas, poet, i......... 209 
BrewsTER, Sik Davin, ~ scientific 

writer; extracts, vili......... 273 
= Pude's Tragedy, by T. L. Beddoes, 
Bridgewater Treatises, the, vili..... 188 
‘Brigham Young, by Sir C. W. Dilke, 

(Lvs Ss Se Sei SE eae ree 345 
- Bristow Tragedy, by Chatterton, iv. ‘8 
Britannia’s Pastorals, by William 

PRIMI AN Sale lek «lo. ggrrsse wieie eels elcid 241 
- British Constitution, Dissertation on, 

‘t- by Dr; Gilbert Stuart, iv........... Bi 
“British ROTTGICAAV tic. opera o> 5305s no 406 


_-British Empire, History of, by George 
i 260 


Brodie, vi 


asi anit, History of, ee James 


ee ee . 


te - 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


381 


~ 


ee PAGE, 
British Poets, Specimens of, by, 
CA TIOe Uc Wished Gera once Realy aie aes 
Broad Grins, by Colman; extracts, 
50—58 
BROCKEDON, W.., traveller, vii...... 
BROvIE, GEORGE, vi. z 
Broken Heart, Scene from the, i 
Brome, RICHARD, dramatist, i...... 
BRONTE, CHARLOTTE, novelist, vii. 
Bronté, Charlotte, Life of, by Mrs, 
Gaskell; extracts, vii......5...... 
BROOKE, Arthur, poet, hs Anata ate Jeaeohe 
BROOKE, CHARLOTTE, novelist, iv.. 
BROOKE, HENRY, as dramatist, iv., 
DLlc BS DOVCUR yal Vslow es 03 dee dad es 
BROOKE, ORD ed sate ths tact Oe 
BROOKE, REV. STOPFORD A., theolo- 
logian ’and critic, vili.......-...... 
Brooks, CHARLES SHIRLEY, dramat- 
IS ANG sCGHOT, FVIbsee bcs on. coke yee 
BROOME, WILLIAM, minor poet, iii.. 
BRouGH, ROBERT B., dramatist, vii. 


272 


28T 
152 
. 283 


283 
233 


142 


198 
197 
201 


3TT 
71 
14 


Niacend Arete . abused tl aici ois oy nO 
BROUGHTON, MRs., traveller, viii.... 319 
Brown, C. BROCKDEN, novelist, vi.. 146 
Brown, DR. JOHN, misc. writer, iv.. 394 

309 


Brown, Dr. Joun, of Edinburgh, 
310 


ROUGH Aas HENRY, LORD; exiracts, 


Se ee a ea 


bell, viii ie eee antilidd Sek Ren See 
BrouGHrTon, Lory (J C. “Hobhouse), 
Classic traveller, viit/.........<c.2s 


EDEOTOSIAN FeV. lass caste w ie ohn eee 
Brown, Dr John, Life of ; extract, vi 
Brown, Dr. JOHN, physician; ex- 

GEBCTSs. VIE stores ass aS Mkcorslewotnione 
Brown, Dr. THos., metaphysician, vi 322 
BROWN, FRANCES, poet, Vii.......... 76 
Brown, JoHN, of Haddington, theo- 

JORIGIE ML. sysiska oc oe Soe ees ames 
Brown, Tom, miscellaneous writer; 

@XLED OS ll Te. cet sepa 
BROWNE, EDWARD HAROLD BisHop, 


309 
375 


Vdc pice Sucwactey A oahaGa okt bile aeigheW ew aid 147 
BROWNE, Isaac Hawks, poet, iii. 383 
BROWNE, Sik THOMAS; extracts, iii. 56 
BROWNE, WILLIAM, poet, ier. Sy ea sete 240 
Brownie of Blednoch, the; Vi. c's. 3 36 
BROWNING, ELIZABEIH BARRETT; 

EXLEACHS AM its ways a ated pee Oe Ee 123 
BROWNING, Rospertr—his poems 

characterised ; extracts, vii... 132—142 


Bruce, James, African traveller, vii. 7 
BRUCE, MICHAEL, poet, Iv. ........ 159 
Bruce, the, by Barbour; extracts, i 
Brunanburh, Ode on the Battle of,i. 8 
BRUNNE, ROBERT DE, metrical chron- 
icler. i 
BRUNTON, Mra. Maky, 


ee) weer e eee eoeeses 


Theate we aavvs (109 


382 
PAGE. 
Brut d’Angleterre, i............ Ramencgent AY 
Brutus, or the Fall of ‘Farquin, by J. 
H. Payne, vi... . Sats she plvmrasa owns a 74 
BRYANT, FRANCIS, poet.i......---- nymbe 


BRYANT, JACOB, miscellaneous Wri- 


COT EI Vines fas att hs Pepe Fa 391 
Bryant, WILLIAM CULLEN, as poet, 
extracts, vii, 845; as histor. an, vii. 371 


BRYD@ES, SIR EGERTON, miscellane- 


OUS WITTER, VIR so oe « ocralec om cto Roney: 
Bubbles of the Day, by Douglas J: er- 
POs CRTHRCIS; Valin see histo eee pees geoa Ls) 
BUCHANAN, GEORGE, as translator, i 
256; as prose writer, ii....... oe OG 
Biecae ROBERT, poet; ‘ex- 
‘tracts, SS pie caro ae ni 


Eeetien st DUKE OF, vili........°337 

BUCKINGHAM, J. i839 traveller, vii. 
and viii. 2. O8T 
BUCKINGHAMSHIRE, DUKE OF, poet, : 
23 


Ais ase 

BUCKLAND, DRwWe, geol., viii. 158; 
Rg ONY ete here woveeeeeeeey 284 

Backland, Dr. William, Life of, vii.. 299 


Ce cd 


ween eee eteeereese emer eee 


viii 


BUCKLAND, FRANK TREVELY AN, 
yraturalist; Vilitics’. (2% set vec 
BUCKLE, Henry Tomas; : extracts, 
VILE Sects toe ee oi shee eee rot Cate egOee 


BucksTone. Mr... dramatist, vii.... 201 
BUDGELL, Evstacr, essayist, iii.... 299 
Buke of the Howlat, edited by David 


i ial oles bey ee Ie on Bees aoe 
Bull, JO ohn, by Colman the Younger, 

Wins we OO et Se ROS ee 
BULLAR, Jos. and J OHN, t travellers, 

agiblecepcos 2 ani s fe ae eb era eins 234 
BULWER, EDWARD LYTTON ‘(Lord 

Lytton), novelist, vii. ............. 212 
Bunele, J ohn, Tifexoretviy s,s. 5 . 888 
BUNSEN, CHEVALIER, miscellaneous 

Writer Vile ees See romeo 359 
Bunsen, Life of, by his widow, vii... 860 
BUNYAN, JOHN; extracts, iii....... Tee 
BURCHELL, MR., African traveller, vii 8 
BURCKHARDT, JOHN Lupwie, Afri- 

€an: traveller, vil cnet 
Burger’s Lenore, trans. by W. Tay- 

lor, Lt Ses ee trees Fe Os haeaeOe 
Burial of Sir John Moore, v Sik, Sew Kaeo 


BuRKE, EDMUND, orator ; extracts, 

Co ee eRe Sage. SHAK It 
BURLEIGH, “Lor, prose writer, iif 
BuRNES, LigEuT. ALEX., traveller, vii 7 


we eee ee eeeee 


BURNET, DR. THOMAS : ; extracts, lis 292 
BURNET, GILBERT, Bishop of Salis- 
Drinysvex tracts; iit Hace cay 335 
BURNEY, FRANCES (Madame D’Arb- 
lay) AWE Se See; dees wo eee euyOu 
BURNEY, SARAH HARRIET, Vi cee re 90 


Burns, ROBERT, poet; extracts 
from his letters and poems, v...... $90 | 


CYCLOPADIA OF 


~ 


-PAGE. 

Burns, Life of, by Lockhart, Vili, 54; 
by Dr. James Cutie, vi-enee oven. 288. 

BurTOoN, Capt. R. F., African ex- - 
plorer, viii va co aah ee 


- 
2 
an 
Burton, Dr. EDWARD, theologian, vc! Oe 
Pry. 

de 
§ 


viii 
BuRTON, JOHN “HILL, historian, wii 46 


a ees Ayr omugnisin win Sie 


BuRTON, ROBERT, prose writer, li... 38 — 
et oe ri & 


16." 4 


Burton’s, Dr., Antiquities of Rome, 
Visio 
Bury, Lapy CHARLOTTE, Vig sees 


2 


ser eeee ee eee wo Se. PS 6:0) RR a eae 


Bush aboon Traquair, by Crawford, - 


TY ea dae 
Bussy GA mbois by Chapman, i.... : 
Busy-body, the, by Mrs. - Centlivre, 
i) Se, . ee ; 
BuTLER, J OSEPH, BIsHop, theolo- | — 
gian, iv ees T2.<inkee 
BUTLER, NATHANIEL, editer, ii..... 
BUTLER, SAMUEL, as poet, ii. 184 ; 
as prose writer, extracts, ili....... 1s4_ 
Byrom, Joun, his Journal and Lit- 
erary "Remains, iv. 2 
Byron, LornD GEORGE Gorbon, v.. 250 
Byron, Life of, by Moore; extract, 
Lf Ra Rei aR wees. 088 
Byzantine Empire, “History. of, by | 
Finlay, viii .. 


Cannan Anglo-Saxon poet, i .. od lott 
CaIRD, Rev. JOHN, theologian, viii., 170 
CALAMY, EDMUND, theologian, iii... 30 
CALDERON DE LA BaRcAa, MME., 
Life in Mcx co, viii Pee 
CALDERWOOD, David, historian, ii.. 53 
Caleb > Riney, DY P Samuel Phillips, = 


Do Sp Ee ng 3 , 


ee) 


iil 
Caller Herrin’, by Baroness Nuirne, 
vi. ore v*eee eee eer ere em ee ewe 
Cambrian System, by Prof. Sedg- 
WICK; “ile. .teee aes 
CAMDEN, WILLIAM, antiquary, ii....— 
CAMERON, Ligut. V._L., . traveller, 
vili ee 
Cameronian’s Dream, the, vi.......,. 
Camoens, the poems of, translated 
by Viscount Strangford, Vii ee jes 
Camp BELL, DR. GEORGE, philoso- 4 
pher, iv 


ee ee ee ry ere eee 


pee 0 1g Sates Sie eae 


Cr eer ec eee 


33- 


er 


ic Scholar, viii. 


ed 


CAMPBELL, LoRD ‘JOHN, biographer, 2 
viii . eee te Caw s eb Coe wwedacsees oe o> 
CAMPBELL, MR., missionary and  —~ — 
La 


traveller, *Vil..&%. Ucnent oe eels Gente 


oo pp sale aoe 


66 
= 


SS, 


fat 


6 


a 


ool) 
.< ie, SOS 
.. 346 =5 


CAMPBELL, Dr. JouN, historian. iv. ae +s 
CAMPBELL, J. F., traveller and Celt- hee 


ne 5 


"4 


ra 


AY 


a 


ZG 


INDEX. | _ 
PAGE. 
CAMPBELL, THomas, as poet, v. 218 ; 
MSLNISTORIAN. sVi ea th ee hws t eee 
Canadian Boat Song, by Moore, v... 205 
CANDLISH, DR, R. 8. theologian, ‘viii 161 
CANNING, GEORGE, as poet, v.;....: 49 
Canterbury, Memorials of, by Stan- 
ley, viii 
Canterbury Tales, the, by Chaucer ; 
Cue bie cE Rag Shp ere eee yale pea a 
: Canterbury Tales, the, by S. and H. 


ee a? 


HCO Meme MUMCL ARVIN Se Mere ee Sa 108 
Canton Prisons, from Cooke, viii... 329 
ANUTHOOT CNUT lo... lee ee 
Car Travelling in Ireland, by Thack- 

Pay Vile ta eat se tase oA eee. 259 
Caractacus, by Mason; extracts, iv. 

JIE i Red Ae aS tit CISA at ee 18 
Careless Content, by Byrom, iv...... 52 
Careless Husband, by Cibber, iji..... 271 
CaRnEew, Lapy ELIZABETH, li....... 83 

Carew, THOMAS, poct ; extracts, ii. 89 
CAREY, HENRY, dramatist, iv....... 228 
CARLETON, WILLIAM, novelist, vi... 236 
CARLISLE, EARL OF, traveller. Vili... 320 
CAREYLN, ORCI. AS Vil oo. Ace 397 
CARLYLE, THomas, historian and 

satirist: extracts, vii.......... 389—297 
Carnatic, Destruction of the, iv...... 383 
CARNE, JOHN, Eastern traveller, vii.. 24 


CARPENTER, Dr. LANT, theologian, 
viii 2 
CARPENTER, Dr. W. B., physiolo- 
gist, vili 2°5 
~ CARR, SiR JOHN, tourist, Wit sy swale 386 
CARRINGTON, NOEL THOMAS, poet, v 382 
CartE, THomaAs, historian, iv.. - 288 
CaRTER, Mrs. ELIZABETH, transla- 


Ce i ee) 


ee 


192 
CaRTWRIGHT, W., poet; extracts, ii 102 
Cary, REV. HENRY FRANCIS, poet.y v 383 
Castara, by William Habington, ii.. - ¢8 


Castaway, the, by Cowper, v........ 10 
Ca-ti’s eam Parlauti,’ trans . by 
tas BUR sere ec iae s/s he's ictarsley sco a's 887 


Castle of Ti Wolenes by Thomson, ili 2°4 
es of Otranto, by Hor. Walpole, 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


288 | Celtic Languages, divisions of, isemee 


aR ete oh a Wee ol! ee awe 2 
Castle Spectre, by M. G. Lewis, v 230 
Cato, by Joseph Addison, iii........ 139 
Caudle Lectures, vil=2.. 2.2... 6.0 e600 194 
Cauler Water; by Fergusson, ihre 214 
Caution to Philosophie Inquirers, tae 

= Professor Huxley. vili............. 
-Cave’s Gentleman’s Magazine, iv. ae 
CAVENDISH, GEORGE, biographer, i.12) 
CAXTON, WILLIAM, printer, i....... 1138 
Cecilia, by Frances Burney, vi...... 87 
~ Celt, Roman, and Saxon, jal vili. 51 
~ Celtic, by Professor Whitney, viii. _ 316 
Celtic and Roman Antiquities, by 
; toby Ne ittakeer, iV. e022... +n; OT | 


383 


PAGE. 
Celtic Folk-lore, Collection of, viii... 348 


per 


Celtic Scotland, by Wm. F. Skene, 
VEL BGR E eee rg ot 8 rb 
Cenci, the, by Shelley ; extract, v... 276 
CENTLIVRE, Mrs. 8., dramatist, iii.. 271 
Ceylon, Wanderings’ Hy WELLS? «a es 358 
Chaldean account of Genesis, vili... 319 
CHALKHILL, JOHN, poet; extracts, ‘i 100 
CHALMERS, ae vi 

CHALMERS, . ‘Dr.. THOS. ; 
MET feted heath kage’ cape ce onite 311—319 
CHALMERS, GEORGE, antiquary, vi.. 252 
Chameleon, by George Buchanan, ii 59 
CHAMBERLAYNE, W., poet; extracts 


eae e ers cae 


Pre a talaterw de, 


extracts, 


DLR ae Pere eos Wee Foe PIS fan 143 
CHAMBERS, Dr. RoBERT, miscella- 

NEOUS AWLILCT A VILLsee wag Neale aigiee. Be 04 
Chambers, Dr. R., Memoir of, viii.. 94 
CHAMBERS, Dr. WILLIAM, miscella- 

MICOUSHWTLSET, VAIL 1. yscio toe ous Oye s 94 


Chambers’s Biographical Dictionary 


of Eminent Scotsmen, vi.......-.. 90 
Chambers’s Encyclopaedia, Vilkgeens 33 
Ct ne ia s (Ephraim), Cyclopedia, 
EGE Se FS eR eA eM Sag baw iste 29a ike 406 
Gainer Bal Ournal, wut. 2's id 3a 36 
Chameleon, the. by Merrick, iv...... 86 
CHAMIER, CAPTAIN, novelist, vii.... 207 
Chancellors, Lives of the, by Lord 
Camp bells. wilt. 2 Seiees oop ee ee ae 70 
Changes, by Lord Lytton, vii:.. . 144 
CHANNING, DR. WILLIAM ELLERY, 
theologian; extracts, vili.......... 106 
CHAPMAN, GEORGE, dramatist, i. 3 0 
CHAPONE, MRs. HESTER, hor let- 
TELS Si Voss wa ky ols Se eos +90 
Charge of the Light Brigade, viii. 3T 
Charles I., Memoirs of the Court of, 
VIALS bn heh ieee CRE Gee en ete DRA 22 
Charles II., escape of, aiter the Bat- 
tle of Worcester, from Clarendon's 
‘‘ History,” ii. 826: Character of, 
from Burnet’s “ History of his own 
TTA GS wd had cup sigan ede ivi oe a ate lsat 338 
Charles V., Epicurean Habits of Em- 
peror, by Sir-W. S. Maxwell, viii.. 56 


Charles V., History of, by Robertson; 
extracts. iv. 300 

Charles Edw ara Stuart, py Ear! Stan- 
hope, Vili 


OY ly ee ee Re ae 


Charles.O’Malley, by C. ne Lever, vii. 278 
CHARLETON, DR. WALTER, ili...... 125 
Charlotte Corday, from Carlyle, vii.. 399 
Charmer, the, edited by J, Yair, iv. 199 
Chartism, by Carlyle, VSM Sc icv Skee 893 
guase. tac, bv Wii lis um Somervile, ili 399 


weer, 


Chastelard, by A. C. Swinburne, vii. 159 
Chateau of eH Garaye, bY Miss Mu- 
lock, vii. . 318 


eer eae eueee ere - Fe erre 


884 
PAGE, 
Onin, & BHARL OF, WILLIAM Pitt, 
his letters to his nephew, iv. .. 373 


Chatham, Character of, by Grattan, 
iv. 376; Last Appearance and 
Death of, IV ae Tie eal ee. oe 375 
CHATTERTON, THOMAS, iv.... . 94 
‘CHAUCER. GEOFFREY. poct,extracts,i 23 
Chaucer, dates of events of his lif fe, 


by Mr. Furnivall, i. 36 ; viii.. OTL 
Chaucer, the only likeness of, foie; 60 
CHEKEsSIRid OWN, B52 22s ew teste, 137 
Chemical History of a Candle, by 

WAarAGaw, Nal Scie eee ops asad tee 279 
Cherry and the plae, the, ic iis whe 246 


Chess, Game of, by Caxton, i. ee f113 
Chess-board, the, by Lord Lytton, vii 144 


CHESTERFIELD, HARL OF, iv........ 89 
Chesterfield’s Letters, vili........... 14 
CHETTLE, HENRY, dramatist, 1 292 


CHETWYND, Hon. MRs., novelist, vii 341 


Chevy Chasey ncs65 00s Aa CA 104. 
Childe Harold, passages from, v..... 25T 
Children Asleep, by Matthew Arnold, 

Wier. Sas OR eee 156 
Children of Great Men, viii... ...... 61 
CHILLINGWORTH, WILLIAM; ex- 

TUACTS Mies shiek ca tes ae eR 351 


China, ‘Sketches of, by Davis, viii. 
324; by Gutzlaff, viii. 324; by Lord 
Jocelyn, viii. 325; by Bingham, viii 


325; by Macpherson, viii. 3255; by 
Murray, viii. 325; by Loch, Viii. 
825; by Fortune, viii. 326 ; by 
Cooke, Wilbs.3<e veiaiiecs cnmewan we 828 
Chinese Ladies’ Feet, vili .......... +25 
Chinese Language, tne, vili.......... 828 


Chinese Thieves, by R. Fortune, viii 326 
ee L’Empire, by Huc; extract, 


Chips from a German Workshop, Di 
Max: Miller, waits Sd. sth ste. el 
Chivalry, from Robertson’s ‘‘ Histo-= 


TVS Da eae C Ree won eS 304 
Choice, the, by Pomfret, ai Sel oh ais 229 
Christabel, by Coleridge 3 extracts, v 154 
Christiad, ‘the, by H. kW White, v. £0 


Christian’ Energy, by Robertson, viii 141 
Christian Year, by Keble; extracts,v 381 
SASHA Evidences of, by Paley, 


et ge Et ste oilers Getwhcels ss nite at ate arte 291 
Christie Johnstone; extract, vii..... 302 
Christis Kirk on the Grene ; ex~ 

PEACE ALF. cient Swed Feed oP ase Pet 79 


Christopher. North, Recreations of, v 339 
Christ’s Victory and Crinmphek. 
Chronicles of England, by Edward 
Hall, extract, i, 117; by Richard 
Grafton, ii. 27; by Holinshed, Har- 
rison, Hooker, Boteville, Stow, ii. 
28; by Baker, lis 2s... 2% ie 25T 8 NPP 


CYCLOPEDIA OF 


343. 


TopweRan ; 


‘PAGE. ~ “a 
Church Government, Reason, of, "py <3 
Milton 3 extract) il..2). Wiese ce ro IS «oe 
CHRROBILL, CHARLES, poets iyi: 3 120, 
CHURCHYARD, THOMAS, poet, i..... 207 
CIBBER, CoLLEY, dramatist, iii..... oA a 
Cicero, Life of, by Middleton, i WV. 2a 
Circassia, by J. S. Bell, viii. 3338 ; - by Se 
Spencer, Villas (Fe see nea 83> 
Citizen of the World; extracts, 1V son 2838 
City Madam, by J asper Mayne, ii... 239 


City Madam, by Massinger; extracel 312-55 
ie Mouse and Country Mouse, e: pi 
cee diy Sab cabla me Selreceh le ee ae eee 13T—149 
City of the Plague; extracts; v... .. 3 aa 
City, the, its Sins and Sorrows, by BER 
Guthrie, VHP = 163 


ees 


Civilisation; rie W. mane vill. 226 


Clan Albyn, by Mrs. Johnstone, vi.. 211 — 
CLAPPERTON, CAPTAIN, traveller, at or a 
CLARE, JOHN; poet, V..........-.0e- 
CLARENDON, EARL OF, ieeince 
Hypg, historian ; extracts, ii..... 31h 
Clarendon, Ear] of, Memoir of, vi.... 227- ~ 


Clarissa Harlowe, by. Richar dson, iv. 245 

CLARKE, Dr. ADAM, theologian, vi.. 307 — 
CLARKE, DR. EpwaRD ‘Danie, ean 

traveller; extract, vii..... Sear lon the 4 

CLARKE, Dr. SAMUEL, theologian, iii 298 

ae s Commentary on the Bible, 
80 r= 


ee nr 7 


eee on ee ee ee a oe ee 


Gieaiaee SAMUEL LANGHORNE, 
(nom-de-plume, ‘‘ Mark Twain ”, 5 
miscellaneous writer ; extracts, vill 242 BE 

CLEVELAND, JOHN, poet ; extracts, i ii 99 

288 


Clive; Lord; dike Gf, vist ames, eeu ig 
Clond, the, by Shelley, v Cp Re ERAS 21T 
CLoven, Ar. H.,poet; specimens, vii aah “y 
Clyde, the, by John W ilson, iv...... es 
CoBBETT, WILLIAM, political writer, oe 
‘6! 2 @eeeeere eee ae 
CocKBURN, HENRY, _ Memorials of e 
his; Time * extract; -Vill-wacmen ss Gan Ol eS 
CocKBURN, ‘MRs., poet, TV She. eee 210° 
Ccelebs, hy Mrs. Hannah More, vi... 384 - 
Celum Britannicum, by Carew, ti... 89 ~~ 
CoFFEY, C. Dramatist, iv.....-.... 233) sam 
OOLERIDGE, HARTLEY, DERWENT, a 
and SARA, poets; extracts, vil. 39 
CoLeRipGr. SAMUEL ee “as” va 


poet, v. 146 ; as dramatist, vi...... 62g 
Colin and Lucy, ballad by ‘Tiekell, iii 223- 
Colin Clout, by Skelton; extract, i.. 65 
Coliseum, the, by Forsyth, With Ce Behe! 
Collegians, the, by Gerald Griffin, Vi 245” 
COLLIER, JOHN PAYNE, editor, viii. 374. aN“ 
COLLINS, JOHN, Song-writer, V...... 299 
COLLINS, ago novelist, Wilts: er: 


. 


~ 


ENGLISH LITERATURE 


_ INDEX. ] 885 
- A PAGE. oe 
ese, WILLIAM, poet; «xtracts, Constable’s Miscellany, vii.......... 
oo tl RA pee ee Contemplation, by Rev. R. Gifford, iv re T 
Goris, WILLIAM WILKIE, Fi. .nw82. Coutent, Hymn to, by Barbauld, v.. 67 
COLMAN, GEORGE, dramatist, iv..... 223 Contention ‘of Ajax and Ulysses, by 
~ CouMAN, GEoRGE, the Younger, - RE eTy ae A AR a ea 388 
OUALMAT LS RVG lie <tivale Sele. oc sere esis c 49 | Conte Ponies by. Franklin, iv....... 393 
Cotton, Rey. CALEB C; extracts, Conversation, by Cowper; extract, v 15 
“UP Se Oe ne a 883 | Convict Ship, by T. K. Hervey, vii.. 60 
CoLUMBANUS, Sg Se ea eee 4 | CONYBEARE, REv. W. J., viii....... _.184 

Columbus. Life of, by Irving, Vi... 360 | CONYBEARE, W. D., DEANE, geolo- 
ComBE, GEORGE, as phrenologist, vi. GABE N his hifi dae ean le we 136 
O20 RAS BLAVELED, VII)... eos oes £37 | Coox, Eviza, poet; specimen, vii.. 169 

; ComBE, WILLIAM, misc. writer, vi.. 340 CooxE, G. \ .» traveller; extracts, 
POORER Ys ONIGIN- Of Jd. 2.2 a. ess... 258 UI igs bes eae wie see oes Rae 28 
-Commentarics, Blackstone’s; ex- COOKE. Groren, dramatist,-i....... 38 
Peete None AM gels 226 diss 32 osiaie's 57 | CooxeE, THOMAS, minor poet, ids --.34'1 98 


Comment wy on the Bible, by 
JOOS ORES ee oe ea a 3 
Commenta’y on the Epistles of St. 
Paul, by Professor Jowett, viii. 159 
Commentary on the First Epistle bf 
4B Peter. by. Archbishop Leighton, 
881 


ee ee a ee ee oy 


S: Pomcnimenith of England, History 


: “Complaynt of Scotland; extract, i, 


— 


CONSTABLE, Henry, poet, i 


of, by Godwin, vi. 13/, 250; by 

Palgrave, = fh eee: ye 
Companions of my Solitude, by Sir 

ie IEDs 5 CRSTACTS, “Villy 6c. 552s aes 


360 


a4 144; edition ee Hi. Murray, 


_ tracts, Cilis 9 LEDC eee eS oe ae ge aa 


eR eae ine fled g Sip ents we tT ene 
Comte’ 8 Positive Philosophy, trans. 
by He Martinean, Vill... 0)..5. e038. 
Comus, by Miltou; extracts, ii..... "s 
Concordance of Stories, by Robert 
Fabian, edited by Sir Henry Ellis, i 114 
vest Prince, Life of, by Stanhope, 
Conduct of Life, by R. W. Emer son; 
Oxtacts Vill... o<: 
Con fessio Amantis, 


Gower’s; ex- 


Os ES Se er ae 
~ Confessions of an Opium-Eater, by 
De. Quincey; extract, viti......... 

_ CONGREVE, ILLIAM, dramatist, iii. 255 
Coningsby ; extract, vii...-.......... 237 
Connaught, Tour in, by Otway, vi... 234 
Connoisseur, the; extract, iv........ 237 


reas Lizvt. ARTHUR, traveller 

Conquest of Grenada, play by Dry- 
Gop ae craton Wii weak. cosa se 243 

Conscious Lovers, the, by Steele, iii, 273 


_ Consistency, by Whately, vili....... 118 


Consolations in Travel ; extracts, viii 252 
’ Constable, Archibald, 5) ies 


sees eeee 


CooPpER, J. F., novelist ; extracts, vii 201 
mre eae Tuomas, ‘ Chartist Poet,’ 
tcner! s Hill, by Denham ; extract, ii 140 
er R., BIsHop, poet; extracts, 
Cornhiti MiN@az ine? VHT oie ost n ie 
Corn-'aw Rhymes, by Ellictt, v..... 
CoRNWALL, BARRY(nom-de-plume of 
Bryan Waller Procter) ; extracts, v 349 
Cornwallis, Pees Sige ees 
ence of, viii. Gitte Sone Lets 


ee 


CosTELLo, Louisa Stuart, travel- 
POR PG VIER py crapste ens ove rneuyee soars ¢ 182 
Cottage Economy. by W. Cobbett, vi 338 
Cottagers of Glenburnie ; extract, vi 163 
CoTron, CHARLES, poet ‘and transla- 


LOD Al, emt Rete aaah ee eee anaes 191 
Corron, NATHANIEL, poet, V......- 6 
Corton, SIR ROBERT) li.... 6. .c 15 oe 26 
Counsel to the Young Husband, vii.. 143 
Counsel to Young Ladies, Nill .s,carst 184 
Count Basil, a Tragedy, vi.......... 66 


Count J ulian, by Walter Savage Lan- 

dor; extract, Watt tcet enw cate 181 
Country Justice, by Langhorne, iv... 154 
Country Rambles, by W. Howitt, Vili 213 
Country Wife, the. by Wycherley, 3 li. 266 


Course of Time, the; extracts, v.... 303 
Court-masks of the 1ith Century, i (2331 
Courtin’, the, by J. R. Lowell, vii... 155 
CoVvERDALE, MILES ; passage from 

his version of the Bible, i.:....... 136 
CowLry, ABRAHAM, as poet, il. 124 ; 

as prose writer; extracts, lii...... 70 
COWPER, WILLIAM. poet, vo... T 
Cow per, W., Life of, by Hayley, vi.. 280 


oe ‘per’s Grave, by Mrs. Brennan: es 


/ 


Cake) Rev. WILLIAM, begat Al 253 
QOOYNE, STIRLING, dramatist, vii. 201 
CRABBE, REY. GEORGE, poet, v. 97 


386 CYCLOPADIA OF = 


PAGE. 

Crata-Knox, Isa, poet ; specimen, CUNNINGHAM, JouN, poet, iv..2.50153 3 
VAD Waihi inislnj ivagie) afer Rieleiem is gts Mielare Sinn 170 | CUNNINGHAM, PETER, misc, writer, 6s 

CRAIK, GEORGE Linuig, historian, Vin35 he, Coe eee rie 25 
CUNNINGHAM, ety By “song-writer, oF 

PRET ee ee aS : 
Curiosities of Natural History, viii. + 285 
CURRAN, J. P., orator 3 extract, vi;. 352 ‘a 
CURRIE, Dr. JAMES, biographer, vi. 230 — Me 
Curse of Glencoe, by R. Buchanan, - "” 
Fil... 2.36 5GU ee ae eee XS. hae 
Curse of Kehama; extract,v  .... 114 
Cutch, by Mrs. Postans } extract, viii 21 i 
Cyclopedia of Ephraim Chambers iv 406_ ps 
Cyril ‘LYhornton, by Thos. Hamilton, — mt 

Vie wal Da. awe lap ty oie cae eee Bd §) 5s 
Czar Peter in England, from Burnet’s 3 
‘* History of His Own Times,” ii.. 340 — i 


CRAIK, Miss GEORGINA; DOVE ist, vii 316 
Cranford, by Mrs, Gaskell, AV Liss 29 cists 28: 
Cranmer’s -Bible;: tusk wel’, eae se oe 137 
OCRASHAW, RICHARD, poet 3 ex- 
tracts, Ti DR a St RAEN ae dg A ers 105 
CRAVEN, Hon. R, KEPPEL, trayel- 
LOD Wade hentia weap Sia aes ke eine et 16 
CRAWFORD, JOHN. "poet, wast Mogae eee. 180 
CRAWFORD, ROBERT, poet. lii......- 204 
Crazed Maiden, song. by Crabbe, v.. 111 
Creation, the, by Blackmore } x= 
tract, Ties es 2 CRG oe sia he «Nope 206 


viii, rth Som Ph als Nea cet Saw aoe fence 
Decke Lapy, novelist, yiss-....a. ¢ 2285 
Dacre, by the Countess "of Morley, vi 229 ~~. 
Demonology, by King JamesI; ex- 9 
tract, Hr .:. soi ee tte ae omer tes 61 


Ths £200 PES atew a Berielic SO eet Sapte 288 
Crescent aod the Cross, the, by War- 
HurxtOw.sieKwWAacess7ViW.. 2-5 scrote os 188 
Crimean War, beginning of, vili..... 32 | Caisy Chain, the, by Miss Yonge, vii 293 
Criminal Trialsin Scotland, viii..... 51) Daun, Rev. THomAs, theologian, viii 158° — 
Critic, the, by Sheridan, scenes from, Dana, RIcHARD HENRY. poet, Vii... 78a 
Wich bhe cc ie eee Beer tea a .... 421 Danee of the Seven Deadly Sinsi i. 93 
Oritital Review) ivicAacds Vass . 406 | Danes aud Nerwegians, the, by War- & 
Crocodile-shooting-on the Nile, viii.. 188 SNAG, VAIL ote atachon es ta cram ee bie Malar Sr 
CROKER, JOHN WILSON, miscella- DANIEL, SAMUEL, poet; extracts, i, 
pneous writer, villi _.... 196-] - <1 £83 prose-writer, Lid oho ple eed 26 
CROKER, THOS. CROFTON, novelist, Dante, trans. by Cary ; extract, Vita 386 
Bac ig gle th RR tere or 240 | Dante’s Inferno, translated by Dr. J. A 
CROLY, REV. GEORGE, poetpv...... 39 A. Carlyle; Vileson 7. tals ene ~ 007, am 
Cromwell, Character of, from Clar- D’ARBLAY, MME. (Frances Burney), Z 
endon’s “History of the Civil Vi, ose tee tiene cape ee « Sie 
WESSON alas lth cpa teres rs eee cha Beaches 331 | D’ARBLAY, JEORGE, poet, Vii. .2 5 Oe 
Cromwe.l’s Dvath, by Dryden, ii.... 203 | Dartmoor, by Carrington ; extract, vy 882 ~~ 
Crouwell’s Expulsion of the Parlia- DARWIN, ‘CHARLES, naturalist, vill.. 304 .. 
ment, in Lingard’s ‘ History,” vi.. 258 | Darwin, Dr. Erasmus, poet, v.. 305 
Cronykil of Scotland, by Wyntoun, i 53 | DavENANT and DRYDEN, dramatists: 
Croppy, the, by Jofm Banim; ex- extracts, ig. 8) 04 ceseneeene Sa 
TRACTNVL aka ene ee bees ia eee Aimee DAVENANT, Sirk WILLIAM, as poet, 4 
Crowk, Eyre Evans, novelist, vi... 234 ii, 121; as dramatist, extracts, ii... 242 ~ 
CRoWE, MRs., novelist ; extract, vii. 282 | David, King, and Fair Bethsabe, ; 
CROWE, WILLIAM, poet. V.......0.5. 5s Love of, by George Peele, i....... 268° ~ 
CROWNE, JOHN, dramatist. ii........ 264 | David, Song to, by Smartyiv....20e3 2189. 
Cry of the Children, by E. B. Brown- = David Copperfield, by Dickens, vii... 252 — 


s. 
gale, 
ei 
oo R ae 
tes 


ing, VWilyiiseischaucnd os ea eee ee 127 | David Simple, by Sara Fielding, iv.. ge 
Dayideis, the, by Abraham Comey 

A Cee eae. Anette faptin Cah ldap ; 164 
CupwortH, Dr, RALPH; - extracts, ii Bia 
CUMBERLAND, DR RicH ; extracts, ii 357 
CUMBERLAND, RICHARD, as drama- 

tist, iv. 223; as novelist, vi-....... 104 
CUMMING, Dr. JoHN, theologian, viii 162 
Cumnor Hall, ballad by Mickle, iv... 185 
CUNNINGHAM, ALEX., antiquary, vi. 25 
CUNNINGHAM, ALLAN, poet; ex- 
BET ACTS cv Ice alti coe Poles sae ieee 91 
CUNNINGHAM, F'R., misc. writer, vi.. 26 
CUNNINGHAM, J. D., historian, vi... 25 


DAVIE, ADAM, romance. writer, i....° 155 
DAVIES, Str JOHN, poet; extracts, i 19% — 
Davis, J OHN, navigator, li........ 2% Sy 
Davis, JOHN FRANCIS, traveller, viii 624 
DAVISON, FRANCIS, editor, 1... 70.43 299% 
Davy. Srr H., scientific writer; ex- ye 

tracts; Ville se. en <a twisters Way opt 6) DOME 
Day, JOHN, dramatist, do .7. J. ws - SOS 
Day of Judgment, by Milman, Vows) BOR ae 
DE LA BECHE, Sin H. T., : geologist, 


Vili,ocs ..fccavde wen een 


Dr-Loume, Joun Layers, mile, wri- 


- De Montfort, ‘by “Joanna 


INDEX. | 
PAGE. 


ter, 17. 

“Baillie, 
scenes from, vi Rela icles afa0e sci re 
DE QuincEy, THOMAS, misc. Dae 
“A DeEING oe ARR Se i Sa Ee ae 9 
De Vere, by R. Ps: Ward ;. extract, vi. 229 
Dead Secret, the, by Wilkie Collins, 

On 2S Ree SS ee ORe reere ae 289 
Deaf Dalesman, from Wordsworth, v 131 
Death and Destruction at the Dig- 

ggins, by Bret Harte, vii.......... 
Death-bed by Thomas Hood, vii.... 
Death-bed, by Thomas Hood, vii.... 
Death of Emily ana Ann Bronté vii. 276 
DN of George III., by. Thackeray, 

wp et Se ee ae 264 
Death of Muriel, by Miss Mulock, vii 317 
Death Scene, by G. MacDonald, vii.. 305 
Decay of Matrimonial Love, by 

NCE ESS 9 tae bea A 
Decliue and Fall of the Roman Em- 

pire; by Edward Gibbon ; extracts, 


f 
ee 


260 


Tocilirook: by Harriet Martineau, 
Vili 
DEFOE, DANIEL, iniscellaneous wri- 
POM ORUACES PLU fd fag k See espace age 321 
DEKKER, ‘THOMAS, as dramatist, fe 
352-; as prose writer, fi............ 
pees Poetarum Scotorum, edited 


Ce ee es 


y Dr. Arthur Johnston, iii. . 257 
Della Cruscan School of Poets. the,v 44 
Denuam, Mason, African traveller, 
REN ct eR Cn cine c'ss <'eseis viet cose 6 
_DeENHAM, Sir JouN, poet; speci- 
PROV SeALD ares eci\s. chee Swe cles 
DENNIE, COLONEL. h storian, Vili. al 
DENNIS, JOHN, minor poct, iii...... 198 
Denounced, the, by John Banim, vi.. 232 
DERWENT, Conway (H. D. Inglis), 
BERVENGIEWV Ice Sars teths 5 cles a cine fale ae 29 
Descent of Man. by Darwin, viii..... 305 
Deserted Village; extracts, iv....... + 139 
Destiny, by Miss 8S. E. Ferrier, vi.... 213 
Devil to Pay, the, by Coffey, iv...... 233 
Deyil’s Dream. by Thomas Aird, vii. 63 
Devil's houghts, the, by Southey 
Din RG) Cuts a aA oe 180 
Dialects of English. TE Bh ia Caps . 14 
~ Diary; Evelyn’ s; extracts, Thee te a 110 


Diary, Pepy’s; extracts, Mine es 
end and Letters, Mme. D’Arblay’s, 
Disy of an Invalid, by Mathews, vii 
Diary 0/ the ‘'imes of George 1V., vi 
DiBpin, CHARLES, song-w riter, V rt 
Digpin, ‘THOMAS, sOng-writer, V.... 
DICKENS, CHARLES, his novels char- 

acterized ; extracts, Vii............ c4\ 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. SBT _ 


AGE 
Dickens, Charles, Life of, by Yonh 


WHOTALCL, Wille ta eee el tote eee 76 
Dictionary, Geogr., M’Culloch’s, vi.. 330 
Dictionary, Johnson’ By Fits 9 oh: 11 1, 358 
Dictionary of Commerce, M’Cul- 

MOGHSRy Wier on leee cea eaves wee on ee ake aes 330 
Dictionary of the Bible, Dr. William 

MRO Vill se cwrccere tite cee eee 149 
Dido, by Thomas Nash, i/.....2..... 274 


DIEFFENBACH, EARNEST, traveller, 


MIP esata cr a, Rib laag Pee Pog wae Saree eee ee 335 
DILKE, CHARLES WENTWORTH, 

Critic and ediLor, Willis. -o.c. S aee 98 
DILKE, SIR CHARLES a SORE, 

traveller; extracts, vili.... .. . B45 
Dion, Character of. by Grote, viii. 5 
Dirge, by Lei ols OIG, Vites cde ac ae s . 894 
Discernment of Character, by Hart- 

ley" Colerid@ey Vili cece. «He slabs vs 42 
Discipline, by Mary Brunton, vi..... 159 
Discourse on Painting, by Sir Josh- 

Mt INCVHOIGS, AVe ae os wdc eaes age eede 387 
Disinterred Warrior, the, vii........ 86 
DEpanentys the, by Garth; extract, 

Me tir t Saves afeea ne the Oe wate eis © Oapisiars 204 
Dispute and Duel between Two 

Scotch Servants, by Dr. J. Moore, 

Nigh ata tg he DURE a na Sh COnr 115 
DISRAELI, BENJAMIN, novelist and 

politician ; extracts, vii...... 231—235 
D’ ISRAELI, Isa Ao, misc. writer, vi.. 3S1 
Distinction, Means of Acquiring, by 

Rev. Sydney Smith, vi............ 3°70 
Distressed Mother, the, iii...... 226, 272 
Divine Emblems, by F. Quarles, i1.. -75 
Divine Legation of Moses; extract, 

th eo RG RS Rs Se Ee eae ge 23 
Dixon, WILLIAM HEPWORTH, mis- 

cellaneous writer, Vill............- 3 
DOBELL, SYDNEY, ‘poet, Vite. 95 
Dopson, AUSTIN, lyric writer, vii... 175 
DoppRIDGE, Dr. PHILIP ; extracts, 

hige os Pelee on Beat tiem are St arin S gh ae 333 
DoDsLEY, RoBeERT, LV gation aeeane aes 18- 
Dodsley’s Select Collection of Old 

English Plays, different editions 

enumerated, Vilites obs fost faa 374 
DopwWELL, EDWARD, classic travel- 

het Vil ested onan Sem oe cesaed clare 14 
Domestic Annals of Scotland, viii... 94 


_ Domestic Manners of the Americans 

by Mrs. Trollope, vil........-+--.- 212 
Dominie’s Legacy. the, by Picken, vi 212 
vo Juan, by Lord ih Loe extracts, be 


148 

ed Sebastian, se by Dryden. ii... 244 

DONALDSON, ev , historian, viii. 9 
Donne. Dr., Life of, by Isaak Wal- 

TOUs Mt es wen AER 16 


388 ; CYCLOPADIA OF . [GENERAL 
- PAGE. a PAGE, 
Donne, Jonn, poet; extracts, i..... 201 | Early or English Literature, Poe ae 13. 
- DORSET, EARL OF, ‘CHARLES SACK- Early Primrose, by H. K. White, v 88 - 


VILLE, song-writer 3 extracts, ii... 230 
_ Double Dealer, the, scene from, ifi.. 260 
~Doubting Heart, a, by Miss Procter, 

Wils.psies cca paneos geet. Oh eres 171 
Doucr, FRANCIS, misc. writer, vi... 387 
Douglas, by Home; extracts, iv..... 218 
DoUGLAS,-GAVIN, peet,i = 2. chee 96 
Doran, Dr. Jonny, hist.; extracts, 

VAI Se cera 4 oat cage ve apa ale eae Cok 
D’OYLEy, DR. GEORGE, divine, vi.. 302 
Drama, English, origin of the, i..... 258 
Dramatic Literature, cause of the 

GECAY OL, VIL Saco acct «slow He Sacks 183 
Dramatic Poetry. History of, viii.... 374 


Dramatist, the, play by Reynolds, vi 85 
DRAPER, Dh. JOHN WILLIAM, scien- 


tific ‘writers extract, vil. .7. «2. B17 
Drapier Letters, the, by Swift, viii... 333 
DRAYTON, MICHAEL, poet; ex- 

PLAC BS gad scotch suns IOS owns Sele Sige 18° 
Dream of the Condemned Felon, v.. 106 
Dream-Children, a - Reverie, by 

GRIT, o Vis. ca vigse kal sd igi re ere a 195 
DRUMMOND, W.., poet; extracts, i... 250 


Drummond of Hawthor nden, Life of, 
Willkie ta cect le tees box eae cea aie 
Druses, the, by Bishop Heber, v Seas fae OD 
DRYDEN, JOHN, as poct. ji. 2035 as 
dramatist, ii.-24 3 as prose Water, 


OXIVACES 1s, 25 crces ocateeeeee 85 
Dubartas, translated by Sylvester, i... 222 
Dublin News-letter. lil...........6.. 1385 


DucHAT, JACOB LB, translator, 3 1382 
Duchess of M: fi, by John Webster, i 355 
Duepate, Sir WILLIAM, antiquary, 


DU ae oe nail oe etatn ucce nat atee ee . 344 
Dumb Show, origin’ of, 1 2. <tr. 263 
DUNBAR, WILLIAM, POCh Ar 2a 87 
Duncan, Rey. HENRY, geologist, 

SV a. oot ors ae uraiges Whos ale oF octet cou oped 288 
Dunciad, the, by Pope, iin ine sss 

minor poets satirised in, iii........ 1g 
DUNLOP, JOHN, Vil.<.. cs sfepeteeae 52 
Durandarte and Belerma, V. i. 0+ e+e 233 
eee Tom, miscellaneous wri- 

OIE LUIS wig Sladen ans és PEL Oe oats 375 
Dutch Re ublic, by Motley, vii...... 366 
Duty and Patriotism, by Maurice, viii 133 


Dwieut, Dr, Timotny, theologian, 


Piast bre cea Og, elt cae eerie ds 302 
Dycr, ALEXANDER, editor, vili...... 17 

SED YER, JOHN, POet, Lil. ac. oboe tslees 386 
DYER, SIR EDWARD, poet, i......... 299 
~ Eapiz, Rey. Dr. Jown, viii......... 1€9 


EARL, JOHN, miscellaneous writer, 


64 
Early Blue-bird, the, vii............. 146 
Early Days, by Anthony Trollope, vii 327 


ame 
ee SS ee eS en ee a Sa ee ee 0 ee See ae 


Earthly Paradise, the, by W. Morris 


167 
Earthquake of Lisbon, by Lyell, viii. 28 
Eastern Life. by Har. Martineau, viii 202. 
Eblis, Hall of, by Beckford, vi...... 102 


Ecclesiastical ’Polity, by Hooker, i ii... 3s 


Echo, Song to, by Dr. Darwin, v.... 37 
yoy and Silence, by Sir E. Brydges, 
dons wiae’as) 5 55a ap See ae 3 

Bekerinahin’ s Autobiogr aphy, trans. 

by. Oxenford, vil, -acac user ecieee 
Eclipse of Faith, by Henry Rogers, 

VALE oe Siw waht. acl wees eee 1i2 
Economy of Manufactures, by C. H.- 

Babbage; Vili. :.. .< sdesesec cee tees 
EDGEWORTH, MARIA, as dramatist, 


vi. 845 as novelist, Vi....-..: 2.2.2. 148 
Edinburgh, by Sir A. Boswell; ex- 

tTACt,. Viva: «442 See eee 13% 
Edinburgh Cabinet Library, vii...... 35 
Edinburgh Gazette, Hie: Vices 135 
Edinburgh on a Summer Night, by 

Ww. Black, vii.. ta OG 
Edinburgh Review, History of, vi. 36 


Edinbur ch Society Highty Years 

Since, by Lord Cockburn, viii..... 92 
Education, by Milton ; extract, ii. 
Edward Ir. by Mar lowe, i he Site 287 
Edward, novel by Dr. John Moore,yi 114 
Edward and Leonora; extract, iv....- 217 
EDWARDS, J ONATHAN, theologian, i iy 343 | 
Epwarps, MRs., novelist, vii....... 301” 
EDWARDS, RICHARD, as poet, 1-te4 


as dramatist, 1,2:3.s..ta06 cae 262 
Edwin and Angelina, by Goldsmith, < 
IV 5 Fo etre Sein ths heat peer eee ene 442 
Egeria, by Mackay ; extract, vii..... 1.6 _ 

Egypt, History of, by S. Sharp, vii.. 360 
Egypt’s Place in History, by unsen : 
Wain. 6 oso, 4:4 in py Lioka leant este aes 359 
Egyptian Repast. Ancient, vii....... 35T 
Eikon Basilike, by John Gauden, i ii. re 59 
Eikonoclastes, by Milton, li. 222... 


Electric Telegraph, invention of, viii 088 
Electric wires and Tawell the Mur- 
derer, by Sir F. Bond Head, viii... 179 
Elegy, by “Hammond, iv..+.......... I$ 
Elegy in a Country Churchyard, iv. 
Hlesy on Cowley, by Sir J. Denham, 


Hines on the Death of Addison, iii.. 
Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortu: 
nate Lady, by Pope, iii............ 188 
Etegy written in Mull, by Campbell,v 2-3 
Blegy written in Spring, by a Bruce 


Sa'sntiee8 a's acebdl ele eleva oie ene 160 
ibietnen th of Criticism,Alys. .. s geneee 349 
Filfrida,: by- Mason, JV. ic cc pas tae ates Pag site| 
Elia, Essays by; extracts, v........ 195 


‘ge 


> 
£ 


ee res es gos x 
£NDEX. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 389 
FF PAGE, PAGE. 
_Extor, GEORGE, novelist ; extracts, . English Garden, by Mason ; extract, 
“TLL ee aera eee SHA ek hic ake! fal rc praelerSirer Ge Sr aoe ame Reg endhh 


~ ELIZABETH, QUEEN, verses by, i. 


388; Letters, i 402 


Ce i ee ee ey 


 EviesMeERE, EAR of, translator, v. 388 


_ ELuroT, Miss JANE, poet, iv 


_ ELiicortt, Dr. CHAS. JoHN, theolo- 
gian ;. extract, viii 


ee oe ee 


ee ey 


ELuioT, StR GILBERT, song-writeriv 207 
_. ELuiotson, Dr. Joun, physiologist, 


NER fe rete SS A hv ies S.gd se oye 35 
E.uor, EBENEZER, poet ; extracts, 

Ve OS ee 374 
Pride. ENR Y/ Vil... adept sees os 27 
= Eur, Mrs., novelist, vii........... 292 
_ Ewuis, Sir "HENRY, ’antiquary and 

(SONNE 2 UT SIS ph RR: a ae ele eae er rR 
_ELuwoop, THomas, misc. writer, jii 83 
Eloisa and’ Abelard, by Pope; ex- 

$racts iii... .. Bpesigipeis Gc oie eas « 85 


_ ELputnstone, Hon, MountsTuART 
traveller, viii AS Tee ences ee 322 
Exyort,-Str THOMAS, prose writer, i, 125 
_ Embargo, the, vii 84 
Emerson, RALPH WALDO, miscella- 


_._ neous writer; extracts, viii... ... - 226 
_Einigrants in the Bermudas, by An- 
drew Marvell, dic. .: sic esc. eee cee 181 
eens. nd the Will, by~ Prof. 
Renitie Vllle . deine sols bea Sat aes © 82 
a Semen Brit., history of, vii. Be: 
__ Encyclopedia, French, iv..... bien , 408 
_ Encyclopedia of Antiquities, Widths: 27 
~ Encyclopedias, vii...........-...-.. 33 
“Endeavonrs after the Christian Life, 
by Martineau ; extracts, viii ...... 160 
‘Endyinion, by Keats; extract, Vi... 285 
Engiand, Hi- -tury of, by Guthrie. iv. 
SD by Mrs. Macaulay, iv. 390 ; 
by "Sharon Turner, vi. 252; by 
~ Lingard, vi. 258; by Macaulay, Vil. 
376 ; by Stanhope, Vili. 10; by 
Keightley, viii. 14; by Froude, viii. 
24; by ‘Gardiner, viii. 30; by 
“Stubbs; viii. 41; by Massey, viii. 
F 43; Pictorial History of; viii. 233 
es * by 'WLN. Molesworth, Viii........ 72 
. “Brciand and Wales, Antiquities of, 
* edited by Francis Grose, vi... 348 
England under Seven Administra 
tions, by A. Fonblanque, viii . 23% 
dents Helicon, a miscellany, i... 200 
sac hesys Past and Present, by 
. BUCME MIN Sciam ptig tds crab ve ithe se 126 
English Country Gentleman, by 
PP RCORH We Vile ae dacacn vn oie s'ere so « +'- 263 


~ English Country Gentleman of 1688, : 


by- Macaulay, vii...............- 33 

_. English Country Sunday, by Miss 
Pe ACR ELAVG Valielsis ls seis ego's cls eared 338 
¥- Hinglich Fen-gipsies, by Crabbe, v... 109 


English Humorists of the Eighteenth 


Century, VAL. ate Pe alr bneh ® Pep ase aie? 59 
English in Italy and France, vi...... 234 
English Lake Country, vii... ........ 294) 
English Landscape, by BK Bb. Brown- 

TOS, yids thee eee ee eet, a 129 
English AGN OU CO ok ets ab seals eee a 
English Lang. and Lit., by Craik, viii 23 
English Liberty, by Cowper, Mies Beties 22 
English Manufactures in the Interior 

of South Africa, from Livingstone, 

MID iisi, c Sae et tak tacete se. eset ees Cais 363 
English Mercurie, the, ii............ 65 
English National Unity, by ‘Stubbs, 

Wag OME Tronics oe) « Wanel@nn o ateraies shoe 40 
English People, History of, by J. R. 

Green ; CRECACES, VIELE Ae, since acon 41 
English Poets, by W. Minto, viii. 99, 249° 
English Prose Lit., by Minto, viii... 99 
English Rector and Rectory, vii..... 321 
BESS Shyness, by M. Edgeworth, 

Reger We abit a Paiste in ahr Sciete ta 155 
Rugiish 4 rees, by Mrs. H. B. Stowe, 

Fe iri SECO OE i eee 297 
Binipins of Life, by Greg; extract, 

ARIUS et cscs sti se Ok Poe earth ores oe 247 
Enoch Arden, by Tennyson, Vile ocs) 123 
Entail, the, by John Galt, vi........ 197 
Eothen, by A. W. Kinglake, viil..... 32 
Epictetus, trans. by Mrs. Carter, iv.. 192 
Epicurus’s Morals, by Charleton, iil.. 127 
Epigoniad, the, by WAPI IV outa aie 78 
Epigram on Sleep, by Dr. J. Wol- 

HQ ig ate. tes gustan Skater erd che Shin: SANT disNehe tHe 58 
Epistole Ho-Eliane, by Jas. How- 

CHESS Th Sipe Seip ge ae uke ES eae Aree ee 50 
Epitaph on a Jacobite, by Lord Mac- 

aulay, vii. 70; by Sir D. Brewster, 

sit Re oe erie EO cae, ee Sr 78 


Epitaph on Maginn, by Lockhart,vili 176 
Epitaph on Mrs. Mason, partly writ- 
ten by Gray, viii 
Epithalamium, by Geo. Buchanan, i 256 
Epithalamium, by Spenser ; extract, i 173 
Erasmus, Life of, by Dr. John Jor- 
tin, iv 
ERciILDOUN, THOMAS OF, minstrel, i 
Ercildoun, Thomas of, the Romance 
and Prophesies of, edited by James 
A. H. Murray, viii 
Erechtheus, by A. C. Swinburne, vii. 164 
Error, how to be combated, vi Be4 
ERsKINE, EBENEZER and RALPH, iv 328 
ERSKINE, REv. DR. JOHN, iv........ 330 
ERSKINE, THOMAS, LoRD; extracts 
from his speeches, vi. . . 349 
Esmond, by Thackeray ; “extract, ‘vii 259 
Ausop, by R. Henryson,-i && 
Esquimaux, by Captain Parry, vii. 


326 
14 


weer eres eee ese eereeseseeereeeeet 


seer ese 


ee 


890 
PAGE. 
Essay on Man, by Pope; extract, iii. 179 
Essays by Abraham Cowl ey; ex- 
LEA CTA sll tre cna cad soe eee he een neces 70 
Essays on Poetry, Music, &e., by Dr. 
Beattie; extracts, TVG cee Cero s-. 350 
EssEx, EARL oF. prose writer, i..... 40° 
Estimates of Happiness, by Mrs. 
Inchpald, viet ares wae econ tes 120 
ETHEREGE, SIR Guoner, tirama- 
Aist, Hvar cian cia cut ke me ee eens 266 


VAT shane wep inte Wiel Deelas Graicta gi sare area rates 192° 
Ethiopia, Highlands of, viii.......... 345 
Etonian, the, newspaper, vil. 46 5 viii 235 
ETtTRicK SHEPHERD, the, vi........ 14 
Eugene Aram, by Bulwer, vii........ 221 


Euphues, the anatomy of Wit, by 


bylVSRGx UT ACh, ce ee avs . 404 
Euphues and his England, by Lyly, i i 405 
Euripides, Porsou’s, vi. ........5. 337 


Europe, History of, by Sir A. Alison, 


843 
Europe, History of, by W. Russell.iv 308 


Europe During the Middle. A ges, by 

Henry Hallam) extracts, vic...... 267 
EvustTACcEk, JOHN CHETWODE, classic- 

MM traveller WVilss ols scktea . beeen 16 
Eustace Conyers; extract, vil....... 208 
Evadne, by R. L. "Sheil ; extract, Visas t4 
Eve of St. Agnes; extract, Visor vias. 289 
Evelina, by Frances Burney ; ex- 

ETECL SVU: Sonor then et gee Bole 8T 
EVELYN, JOHN, misc. writer; ex- 

tPACTH TIT Sac eae se es ae 108 
Evening Hymn, by Trench, vii...... 62 


Evening Primrose, by B. Barton. v.. 348 
Evening Walk, the, by Wordsworth, 


Evergreen, the, ed. by Allan Ram- 
SUVuCLEL sata o's pie ake nce Pere oe 
Every Man in his Humour, i......... 
Every-day Book, Table Book, and 

Year Book, by William Home, viii 182 
Excelsior, by Longfellow, vii........ 92 


238 


Exclusive London Life, by. Mrs. 
GOTEMVTE e Seong aecns Fees thie eee 212 

excursion, the, by E. Elliott.’v...... 375 

Excursion, the, by Wordsworth ; ex- 
ERACLST Vin Sin c.sscisee Fe ie ee See 129 


Exile of Erin, by Thos. Cumpbell, v. 220 
Exile’s s Song. by Robert Gilfillan, vi. 33 
Expediency, by Archbishop Whate- 


AVON MILL an) ack SOc tae eae eee 117 
EYRE, LIEUTENANT VINCENT, viii... 31 
FABIAN, ROBERT, chronicler, i...... 114 


Fabie of the Bees, by Mandeville, iii. 331 

Fable of the Oak and the Briar, bys 
Spenser, 1 

Fables, by Gay, iji.. 


eeeee 


| CYCLOPEDIA OF 


— 


Fables of the Holy Alliance, 
Thomas Brown (Thomas Moore),v 210 


PAGE, - 
by. 5-95 


Faery Queen, the; extracts, 1...+. rae ; XS 
Fair France. by Mulock ; extract, vii 318 
Fair Penitent, the, by Rowe, iii...... 248 ai 
Fair Recluse, the, v......2..++--0% es DOT em 
Fair to See, by L: W. M. Lockhart, — mae 
Viiin.c..c/.9 528 th Va Oe ae e41 
FAIRBAIRN, SIR WILLIAM, engineer — 
Vilk sins seer ek. Sao eee 2k3 Be: 
Pleats EDWARD, poet, i.......... 18% AS 
Fairy Mythology, by Keightley, viii; 15° ~ 
rae and Intellect, by Dr. Lyddon, ie 2 
(3554 OP" Le aioe dag bee i 
F: aithgal Shepherdess, by Fletcher, 1. 329 “as 
FALCONER, WILLIAM. poet, iv......, 102.3 
False Delicacy, comedy, by Kelly,iv 223 
Family Library, the, vii........... ra ee 
Fainily Scene, a, by Austen, Vi....... 1s 


Fancy Fair, by Douglas Jerrold, vii.. 195 
FANE, HOG, Vibes een anaes 31° 
FANSHAWE, Lapy A, H.—Her Me- Le 
m6irs* ji.) aes Tate eee -/ 128, 
Far from the Madding Crowd, by <3 
Thomas Hardy; extracts, vii. 2329 73 
FARADAY. MICHAEL, scientific wri- 
ter: extracts) ViliS ici esente cote cie 
Faraday, as a- Discoverer, by ie 
dall, viii. 
Faraday. Life and eer of, viii. 
pore, the, origin of. i 
Fardorougha, the Miser, Viator s ; 
Farewell, Life, by Thomas Hood, vii 49° 
Farewell to Ayrshire, by R. Gall, v. es 
Farmer, Dr. RICHARD, iv......... : ; 
Farmer's Boy, the ; extracts, v eri ya 
Farmer’s Caié! dar, by Ar. Tories vi 3886 © 
FARQUHAR, GEORGE, dramatist, ili. 266 
rates Curiosity, by Lillo, scene ie "a 


ee ee ee ee 


ee) 


itor” 


Faust, translated by A. Haicvacds viii iy, 6. 8 
Faust, translated by J. S. Blackie, vii 175 
Faustus, Life and Death of, by Mar- - 
lowe, i 283 
FAWKES. FRANCIS, poet and transla- —_ 
tOr; LV 2A apet pee ee ee 154 ; 
Fawn of Spring Vile, by Carleton, vi 238 
Feats on the Fiord, viii ~ 200 «7 
FELLOWS, CHARLES. traveller, viii... 320 
FELTHAM, OWEN fete ee OT ay 
Fenelon, writings of, by Dr. Chan-_ 24 
ning, Vili. ... span eters. Ser eee 
FENN, SIR JouN, historian, vi.....- 
FENTON, ELIJAH, minor poet, iii.. 
Shag and Isabella, by Prescott, 


eovecee error aesees ass (Fhe Oe <788 


ee 


Berdinand Count Fathom, iyoe ue Hs 
Frerauson, Dr. ADAM, historian, iv. 402 
FERGUSSON, ROBERT, poet, iv..... z 


x 


PAGE. 

FERRIER, PRoFEsSOR, metaphysi- 
CAME WI Mac lot soe v4 boss seats 269 
FERRIER, SUSAN E.,. novelist, vi.... 
Festus, by Bailey; extract, vii...... 


_ Feudal System, Effects of, by Hal- 
{ 267 


WIM Atde Ts oS Som erie 2 wae one vet 
FIELD, NATHANIEL, dramatist, i. 
_ FIELDING, HENRY, as dramatist, iv. 


. 368 


2295 as novelist, iv.............--- 254 
FIELDING, SARAH, AVeowe counts ae SP. sod 202 
Fig for Momus, by Lodge, vili....... 372 


FILMER, Sir RoBERT,prose writer, ii 


_FINpDiaTER, DR. ANDREW, editor,vii 34 
Fingal, by Macpherson, iv........... 87 
FInuay, GEORGE, historian, vii .... 6 
Fiunesburg, Battle heal each Perks ashe 4 


- miakoriinn? 8 ‘Funeral, by Scott, vi. 


FITZBALL, EDWARD, dramatist, vii.. 


FLAVELL, JOHN, theologian, iii.:.-... 


‘ 


. ForBEs, ARCHIBALD, historian, viii. 


ForDUN, Joun, chronicler, i........ 


Fireside the, by Nathaniel Cotton,v 6 
Firmilian, by Professor Aytoun, vii.. 74 
FISHER, JOHN, BisHOP, prose-wri- 
UG TANS Sos 6a eae ers eee 124 
136 
Fishing Village in Normandy, by 
Miss * Thackeray, Nii ood ek Teas . 340 
201 
Fitz-Boodle, Esq., George (Thacke- 
PEDVA) ATUL Me eee y's o a fale eye nsg'd w Sieve 
FITZPATRICK, Ricwarp, satirist, v. 
Five Hundreth Points of Good 
Hushandrie, by Thos. Tusser; ex- 
BTACIA EEN Rm. caw otha owl Siac ot 5 


254 
38 


15 
30 
Fleece, the, by John Dyer, iii. 387 
FLEMING, PROF. JOHN snaturalist, vili 304 
FLETCHER, ANDREW, of Saltoun, iii. 3834 


PEETCHER, MRSi, VIE foe Bg: 

’ FLETCHER. PHINEAS and GILES, i.. 234 

- Flitting of the Lyndsays, vi...-..... 209 
Flodden, Battle of, by Sir W. Scott,v 245 
Florence Macarthy ; 7 Oxtracth- Vises 167 
Flower o’ Dunblane, the, vi......... 11 

ee See ao in, by Dar- ee 
8 


ee a) 


MOU EVE Stic cee Bees hee Manin "911 


NPM UN ona ts enn Chie asad Powe 0 case 0 211 
Feedera, the, by T. Rymer and R. 

Sanderson, ii...... Sh EEAk 2 eee 345 
FONBLANQUE, ALBANY, journalist, 

Reel er a ors pela ede en oe 2 
Fool of Quality, by Brooke, iv...... . 283 
Foote, SAMUEL, dramatist, WAALS 230 


Footprints of the Creator, by Miller. 
ETM Erase Paya ae, te clip ctat, Sitials! We ote, wici'e, wee 


Forsss, Pror. J. D., scientific wri- 


ter, Vili 22. >. See i eteig sale etl 5 259 
Forp, Joun, dramatist, i....:...... 375 
Forp, RIcHARD, traveller, Wil .c02 B40 


ENGLISH LITERATURE 


tee 391 
PAGE. 

Foreign Memories, by Mrs. Oli- 
PRAM IVIL, boas Ways sy ee be 63 

Forest Minstrel, by W. and M. How- ~ 

SUGNELE AT Yt a a Seat, ee eth tee oes 207 
ForrEscug, Str JOHN, prose writer,i 110 
Fortunatus; or, the Wishing-cap, i.. 353 

FORTUNE, ’ ROBERT, botanist. ang 
travellers extract; vili...2.%... 925. 635 
ForstER, JOHN, biographer, viii. 76 
ForsyTH, JOSEPH, IL Ae sea). She ae, et 14 
For8yTH, WILLIAM, Viii..t 32.5... 51 

FosBRookE, Rev. T. D., antiquary, 
alee the Sia ie eNO pas stating Bee eine 887 


Fossil Pine Tree, the, by Hugh 


Der VO st « bce oe sae ee owe tO 302 
Fossils of the South Downs, Viii..... 287 
Fostrer, DR. JAMES, theologian, iv.. 338 
Foster, REV. JOBN, Vi...0. 22. ees 35 
Four-Georges, by Thacker ray, Vil.... 262 
Fourfold State, Boston’s, iii......... 32 
Fox, CHARLES JAMES, politician, vi. 253 
Fox, C. J., Memorials cf, viii....... 50 
KOs GRORGHS Tis. Sse ee pte 4. 
Fox, Joan ; Book of Martyrs, i..... 392 
Fox and Pitt, characters of, from 

BESTT ST ood Voc vt eet lee eee Lene 363 
France, Lectures on, by elt tone vili 61 
France, the South of, by A: B. Reach, 

WAL Se ook us aes aoe oe as Ne eS eed oe 294 
FRANCILLON, R., novelist, vii. eal 
Francis I. and the Emperor Charles 

V., characters of, by Robertson, iv 305 
FRANCIS, SIR PHILIP, iv..... 2.0... 362 
Frankenstein, by Mrs. Shelley ; ex- 

PHAGE VE eee ese ees varee on are 169 
FRANKLIN, BEN JAMIN, TV ke ateel B91 
FRANKLIN. Sir JOHN, Arctic travel- 

Lape Vils: Oo CoAVNA ae Macon ce eg ean 350 
FRASER, JAMES BAILLIE, a8 novel- 

ist,-vi; 221 3 as traveller, Vil..-.... °6 
Fraser’s Mag azine commenced, Vili. 176 
Frederick the Great, by Carlyle 5 ex- 

LTHET PVE ea oc ein as Nabe salamat 397 
Freebooter Life, by Peacock, vi..... 244 
ph de wae Epwarp A., historian, 

Pe eae SPE ORR Sa RD rm bates POLS 44 
French Revolution, by Carlyle; ex- 

EPACTRSA olarak ead wil Pee saath owe ats 393. 
FRERE, JOHN HooKHAM, poet, v.... 218 
Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay, i.... 279 
Friar of Orders Gray, iv.....:..+226. 146 
Friend, the, edited by Coleridge, v.. 15) 
Friends in Council, by Sir A. ‘Helps, 

Vib s sy reccie nas ieee wear e cram tetas 249 
Friendship, DYtPOUONS ws. te peewee. 304 
Froissart. translation of ; extracts, i.. 132 
Frost at Midnight, by Coleridge. v... 164. 
FROUDE, JAMES ANTHONY, histo- 

TIN? CXtLAGUM SI VIII go's teem ces. ore os 


FRrowoy, RicHarp H., Tractarian, Wat 


yiil 


ee ee ee ee) 


~~ 2s a 


PAGE! 
Fugitive Verses. by Joanna Baillic, v 366 
FULLER, Dr. THomas, historian ; 


BXCVACTS) 1155 oo ck na viens he tea orste agen 361 
Fuller, Thomas, Life of, vili......... 97 
~FULLERTON, LADY GEO., novelist,vii 285 
Funeral Ceremony at Rome, vii..... 1s 
Fnuneral of the Great Duke, by Ten- 
WVSOD,WVllwc vas. > peateagtet ieee ee 121 
Funeral of the Lovers in.‘ Rimini,’ v. 322 
Funeral, the, play by Steele, Hi...... 272 
Gaberlunzie Man, the, i.:..5:..2.05 €£51¢8 
GaeliGsBards, 2 ones. csispino te eee 4 
Gaelic Poetry, ¥ragments of, transla- 
ted by Macpherson, iv............ 
Gaffer Gray, by Thomas Holcroft, vi 101 
GAIMAR, GEOPFREY, 1......¥..2 200. 10 
GAIRDNER, J AMES, editor, vi......-. 264 
GALL, RICHARD, song-writer, Viswcey 404 
GALT. JOHN, nov: list, Vid ounces 192 


Gambling in ’the Last Century, Vill... 44 
GAMBOLD, JOHN, poet, iv........... 
Gamester, the, by, dward Moore,iv 17 
Gammer Gurton’s Needle, by J. 


EST otis Oe fetes te nic ee eee 260 
Gardener’s Daughter, the, by T 

NY SON 37 EXtrACct, Val. oa we ceweleetales +114 
GARDINER. S, R., historian, viii.. 3) 
GARRICK. Davin, dramatist, iv..... + 229 
Garrick, Death and Character Of; vi. 337 
GARTH, SIR SAMUEL, poet, iii...... 203 
GASCOIGNE, GEORGE, poet, i. ee Sas) 
GASKELL, Mrs., novelist ; extracts, 

WAL Ae Se os nw v'ne on aie ou oe Re Maen 286 
GAUDEN, JOHN; theologian, ii.. 358 


Gay, JOHN, poet, ot ee esate Scars £12 
Gee) SypnEy Howarp, historian, 


Pee i ee ee ee ra 


Gebir, by W.S8. Landor; extract, v. 181 


GEIKIE, ARCHIBALD, geologist, Vili, 315 
GEIKIE, JAMES, geologist, Viii...... 316 


GELL, Stir WILLIAM, traveller, vii... 14 
Genevieve, by Coleridge; extract, Vv. 
’ Gentle Shepherd, the; extracts, ili.. 
Gentleman’s Magazine, the, iv...... 
see aphical Grammar, by Guthrie, 


Ps eae a 6 SO EO ine 5-4 lal Bede ee © 


Ge ography, Modern, by Pinkerton.vi 
Geologist, Hint to, by Murchison,viii 290 


Geology, Elementary, by Dr. E 
ALCOCK IS 2r5 wets os wis oa 288 

Geology, Principles of; and ‘Ele- 
ments of, by Sir C. Lyell; ex- 
TEACHES a see aca. Set te args cee 285 

Geology and Mineralogy, by Dr. 
Buckland, alt rcmemnce: Gea ata 284 


Geology compared to History, by Sir 
WaAV CLL Villa Sis 3 ware Sc cketere acs Bets 285 
George II., Memoirs of, by Lord 
Hervey ; ’ extract, iv. 290 ; by H. 
WHR DONG, “EVs os Se ae dg ety nee 


se eas a0 OF 


= c : ke 


AGE. : * 


George IV., Memoirs of the Court: af, <4 
by the Duke of Buckingham, viii. 50 
George Barnwell, by Lillo, iji........ 261° “Se 
Georgics, the, translated by Sotheby, : 

Venn cln ede 8 SOE See +. 20D 2 Se 
German Dramas, the, vi Mat eeaase « OS a 
German Poetry, a survey of, v....... 388 ~~ 
Germanic Races in Europe, Influence Loe 

of, by Rev. W. Stubbs, viii.....-.. ee 
Gertrude of Wyoming ; extracts, v.. 225, Mee. 
Giaour, the, by Lord Byron; extract,V O26": aang 
GIBEON, Epwarkb, historian, iv..... 308. 
Gibbon, Memoir of, by Lord Shef- __ ? 

field, svi. 2; 1: Fes tes pp ea Gee 219. = 
GIFFoRD, Rey. RICHARD, poet, ivi. “Ans ae 
GIFFORD, WILLIAM, poet, V.....--+- $95.0 saan 
Gift,. the, by Mrs. Augusta Web- =a 

ster, Viliccl..-~ .s Uy teea ee reas Balen “178 a 
GinBEeRT, Mrs. (Ann Taylor), v..... 353 Pp: 
GILBERT. W.S., dramatist, vii...... 201 == 
GIDAS; HIStOTION, Ic. cee rip ose aes 4 ia 
Gilderoy, a ballad, lithe toe Le8 te 
GILDON, CHARLES, minor poet, if... 192 
GILFILLAN, Rev. GEoRGH; extracts, eth: 

WAL Seid ease vs sweat pee ee ee 215 5 
GILFILLAN, ROBERT, song-writer, vi_ 53 is 
GILLIES, Dr. Joun, historian, vi-... 2°39 = “4 
Gilpin, John, by Cowper, ii......... 25-4 
Gitpin, Rey. WiLx1AM, naturalist, wu 

Vis k 8. scae bag cle cane eee eee 

Ginevra, from Rogers’s ‘Italy,’ v.... 118 24 
Ginx’s Baby, by Edward J enkins, Vii 342 a 
Gipsies, from ‘ Tales’ by Crabbe, Ves 100Ssh =o 
GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS, historian, i 11 
Glaciers of the Alps, by ‘Tyndall, ¥ vill 314 ~ 
Gladiator, the, by Lord Byron, v.... 251 
GLADSTONE, Hon, W. H., vii........ 8 
GLAPTHORNE, HENRY, dramatist, i. 368 x 
GLASscocK, CAPTAIN, novelist, vii.. £0T : 
GurIG, Rev. G. R., novelist and his- 

POTIAN, - Vile sie deve ae a eee ee - 303 
GLEN, WILLIAM, song-writer, Wik eet ABN ie 
Glenarvon, by Lady C. Lamb, Vi..... 298 5 a 
Glencoe, Valley of, by Macaulay, vil Bee Ser 
Gloomy Winter’s Noo Awa’, vi...... 11 — 
Glossarium Archeologicum, Diener teas 25 
GLOUCESTER, ROBERT OF, metrical eae 

chronicler;-1i cee 4. eee eee 15 8 
GLOVER, RICHARD, as poet, ‘iv (wagien AAR ee 
Glow-worm, the, by Clare, v - 527 a 
Godin History, by Chevalier “Bun- 

SCN, ~ Vit. sok vse) ewes ee nen sie ee - 860 
God’s Acre, by Longfellow, vii.....- 93 F 
Godiva, by Tennyson ; extract, vii.. 116_ 
GoDWIN, WILLIAM, as dramatist, vi. 

on = novelist, vi. 1383; as histo- 

Godwin, Life of, by C. Kegan Paul, ee 


WULL 2 s..'2 ae 06S tate cotenasnmy RO ietatleie area : 
Goethe, Life of, by G. H. Lewes, viii 61 “a 
Goethe at Weimar, by G. Ticknor,vii 3°4 


~ GOLDSMITH, OLIVER, as poet. iv. 127: 


_ _as essayist, iv. 238; as novelist, iv. 223 
Goldsmith, Life of ; extract, viii ... 77 
Gondibert, by Sir Win. Davenant, 11,123 
Good Words, Fil = Se eee 166 
Goons, Rev. WILLIAM, theologian, 

Vil fs a an ae ee . 134 
Good-night, and Joy be wi’ Ye a, vi. 18 
Goodwin Sands and Tenderden Stec- 
ple, by Bishop Latimer. i.......... 126 
Gorboduc, or Ferrex and Porrex, i.. 26i 
Gordian Knot, the: extract, vii..... 199 
GoRE, Mrs., novelist, vii.......... . 210 
~ Gosson, SrEPHEN, prose-writer, i... 405 
-» Gotz von. Berlichingen, trans., viii... 62 


a 


4 


4 


y 


"GRANT, JAMES, Novelist, vii.....-... 


Goueu, RicHARD, “antiquary, Vig ge 
~ GOWER, WOES POUL. sic s tea bie 5 ae 
GRAFTON, RICHARD, chronicler, ii.. 27 


Graham of Claverhouse, Life of, viii. 52 
GRAHAME, REy. JAMES, poet, iii. 90 
GRAINGER. Dr. JAmEs, poct, iv. 84 
Grammont, Memoires du Comte, i 342 
Granby, by T..H. Lister ;. extract, vi 2:7 
Grand Question Debated, the, by 
JOUUtHAN SWift. Ml... . 6 oat awe ne 123 
Grandiloquent Writing. by Landor, v 187 


Granger’s Biog. Hist. ‘of England, iv 307 
GRANT, J. ey African traveller ; ex-. 
tract, vili 


es 


GRANT, Marra M., novelist, vii..... 
GRANT, Mrs. ANNE. poet; extracts,y 
Grant, RoBERT, astronomer, viii... 
Grasmere, by Gray, iv.....--....... 
Grasshopper and the Gricket, .V.....e : 
Grateful Servant. the, by Shirley, i.. é 
nia aa THOMAS COLLEY, novel- 


ee ee 


ee ee ee ee) 


eiitve of Anna, by Gifford, ti 
Graves of a Household, v........... 


seer eee 


_ Graves of the English Seamen in ia 


a < 


Polar Regions, by Osborn, viii. 
GRAY, DAVID, poet; specimens, vii. 
GRAY, THOMAS spoet ; extracts, iv.. 
Great Britain, His tory of, by Dr. 

Robert Henry, iv. 306; by Mac- 

rye PAVE OUT by gril 


Vili. 98; paler ae viii. 
Greece, Ancient Literature and Lap- 
pa of, by W. Mure, viii. 7; by 
Miller and Dr. Deacons 
Hoavts History of, by W. Mitford. vi. 
gate; by Slee, vi. 252; by Thirl- 


: 


-INDEX.} = —~ ENGLISH LITERATURE, 393 

PAGE. PAGE. 
Going Out and Coming In, by Isa wall, viii. 1; by Finlay, viii. 7; by 
PERI ACTON, Vib cae sa orale Toews 172 Schmitz, Gin este ns 


Greece, History of the War of Inde- 


pendence in, by Keightley, viii. 74 
Greece, Mythology ¢ of, by Keightley, 
viil. 5 
GREEN, ‘JOHN “Re “historian : ; OxX- 
trac ts, Vide so. cateiany Sea eee eee me oe 41 
GREEN, MATTHEW. poet; exiracts, iii 381 
GREENE, ROBERT, dramatist, Testes es 216 
Greenland, by Montgomery ; ex- 
LIOR OR ren. cath ome Ae ofan tte ae 310 


Greenland Missionaries, by Cowper,v. 12 
GREG, W. RATHBONE; extracts, Vili 247 


Grenville }’ apersy thes vill... 2% 50 
GRESWELL, REY. EDWARD; extracts, 
Syn ES Roe speseaens STE a) 119 
GREVILLE, CHARLES C. F.; “extracts, 
URL Arent cts ated Regn ach. cob ater ae: aes 99 
GRIFFIN, GERALD, novelist, vi...... 234 
GRIMOALD, NICHOLAS, poet, if 72 


Groat’s Worth of Wit. by Greene, i i.. 280 
Grongar Hill, by John Dyer; ex- 


STG, IDE cb aaa Sta ark eons, bias rae dae 387 
GrRosaRt, REy. ALEXANDER, editor, 

WA esate ease a te ee oe 2 a ee 375 
GROSE, FRANCIS, antiquary, vi...... 3438 


GROTE, GEORGE, historian ; extracts, 


MALE toe OES ee teartacraaee hoe aeeen ea 2 
Grote, George, Memoir of, viii....... 4 
Grub Street Journal, iv ............. 406 
Gryll Grange, by Peacock ; extract,vi 246 
Guardian, the, commenced, pb eae 139 
Guesses at Truth, Vill. 22. aes sss 2 L 2a 
Guinea, Adventures of a, iv. ....... 280 
Gull’s Hornbook, by Dekker, ii. 42 
Gulliver’s Travels; extracts, hii. Bee of . 34d 


GURWOOD. Linu. -Cou.. historian, vi 276 
T 


Gustavus Vasa, by Brooke, iv....... 21 
GuTuriz, Rey. THomas,  theolo- 
giun ;extracts, vili...... a's Oe sia 162 
GUTHRIE. WILLIAM, historian, iv... 307 
Gutzlaft's Chingy Vail-.5.. f<¢ toes ee wiee « 324 
REITYOL WaT Wicks Wess cstc ew aaieee els ae 16 
Hapineton,. W., poet; extracts, ii. 86 


Habits and Instincts of Animals, by 
SSSI Lig to ate pact, gohan eee eiataca oat 158 
Hafiz, a song of, by Sir W. Jones, v.. 5 
Haidee, from Byron, View autortane 2 
Haines. Lory, historian, iv......... 
Hajji Baba, by 9 Morier ; extract, vi 220 
HakLuyt, RICHARD; Collection’ of 


WOVAMES Shy 3 a2 temca Metals phe mea F.5 31 
Hauxz, Str MATTHEW; extracts, iii. 63 
HALES. 2) OFLN; AIVITGs ERS a Nose tires 348 
HALIBURTON, THOs. C., misc. wri- iad 


LOY AV ike tte ieee cnie aiis eos cieAl wraarope ae 


HALIFAX. MARQUIS OF, politician. ii 399 


Hat, CAPTAIN BasIt, traveller, vii 


28 
Hau, EpwARD, chronicler, i....... 174 


Fe half od ; 5 s Oe OT Piatt 

as a a Rie 
~ Peat 
my - < > > ee i 
394 CYCLOPADIA OF [GENERAL 
PAGE. PAGE. ~ 
HALL, JOSEPH, Brsnor : } specimens HAYLEY, WILLIAM, as poet, v. 28 ; ~ ia 
Of hIBDPOREy aks Lice gin ooops ne 461 as biographer, vil.....3.2... Lee fe 280. 
Hay, Mrs. S. C., novelist, vil... ... 214 | HAYWARD, ABRAHAM, essayist, vili, 235 ©.» 
Hau. Ruv. Ropert, theologian, vi. 302 | HaywarpD SiR JOHN, prose-writer,ii 27 . 
HALLAM, HENRY, historian, vic... 256 | Haziirt, WILLIAM, critic, Viv. . . 854 

HALLECK, FITZGREENE, poet. vil.... 19 | HAziitT, W. Carew, editor, vill... 3:4 ~ 


Halleck, Life and Letters of, vii..... 
Halloa, My Fancy ; extract, ii-...... 
HALYBURTON, THOMAS, theologian, 

JED chy 'aca satan spin drain 1S Bie pee Wisse oar wle atalm alle 
Hame, Hame. Hame, vi 
HAMILTON, ELIZABETH, novelist, vi 
HAMILTON, SIR W.. pants Ba seats 


ee ey 


viii 
Hamilton, Sir W., Memoirs of, viii. 
HAMILTON, THOMAS, novelist, vi. 
HAMILTON, WiLLIAM, poet; ex- 
Uy Shh A ee te Pgh Pept ae Ps 
Hamlet, Character of. by Hazlitt, vi.. 
HAMMOND, JAMES, poet, iv 
HAMPDEN, DR. R. V.. theoiogian, Vili 
Hampden, Jobn, Memoirs OL pvt. 
Handlyng Synne, i 


ee ee ee ee a 


Hannah, “by Miss Mulock ; extract,vii & 


ae JAMES, novelist ; extracts, 
Hannibal, Character of, by Dr. Ar- 
nold, vii 
HARDWICK, CHARLES.theologian, Vili 
Harpy, THomaAs, novelist, vii...... 
Hardykuute, by Lady E. Wardlaw, iii 
HARE, AUGUSTUS C., 
Hare, Aucustus W.., theologian, viii 
HARE, JULIUS C.. theologian, vili. 
Hare with Many Friends, the, by 
OV TTLL Seeks apne chetiow a scacinke te ates 
HARLAN, J., historian. viii 
HARRINGTON, JAMES, prose writer, ii 
HARRINGTON, JOHN. poet, i 
HARRINGTON, Sin JOHN, poet, i.... 
HARRIS, JAMES, philologist, iv 
Harris, Masor W. C., “traveller, viil 
HARRIS, WILLIAM. biogr apher, iv... 
Harris, WILLtAM. chronicler, ii.... 
HARTE, FRANCIS BRET, as poet, vii. 
479; as novelist; extracts, vii 
Hartleian Theory, the, iv 
eee PR. DAVID, psychologist, 


ee ee ee ee 


eee eee 


weeee 
ed 


vee ee © wae). © 6 sare, 6 66 6 0 ore) 6 oe 


Aavest by R. Bloomfield, v.:...... 
Hassan, the Camel- -driver, by Co!- 

WHET, Se aioe peices ee ME ee 
Hastings, Battle of, by Palgrave, vii 
eer the Dane; extract, i 


vill 


CC i ee ed 


viii 


eee Sees Ean Serer seee voaseceece ees 


Haypon, B. R., Autobiography of, 
il 26 


Vil ws cceseve seetecsee orev eee oe 


Wills cot eee wae 1 


265 
. 268 
. 212 


oe 
356 
194 
119 


HEAD, Str GeorGE and Srr FRAN- 


cis Bond, travellers; extracts, viii 178 : 
Heads of the People, by Jerrold, vii. 193 = 
Heart of Midlothian ; extract, vi.... 189 ~ — 
Heat as a Mode of Motion, by 1 : 

Calvi. ei ous F. reateeees Pea a | 
Huser. Dr. REGINALD, poet, tak: 294-7 8 
Hebrew Bible, by Dr. Kennicot, iv.. 326 


Hebrew Race, the, by B. Disraeli, vii 237 


HEDDERWICK, J., poet; extracts.vii 63 ~~ 
liedge-sciioolmaster, by Lady Mor- ia 

Pans Viol. Ls Pe eee see 167 a 
Heir of Redclyffe, by C. M. Yonge, 

VL) ys ee eee 292: es 
Helen, by Maria Edgeworth, vi.... ee j 
Helen of Kirkconnel, by J. Mayne,y vi 1 
Helga, by Herbert ; extract, Visicncies i a 
HEwes, ‘Srr_ A.; essayist ; extracts, + 

Vilisdi cons ate ose Saas es 5239 | 
HeEMANS, Mrs., poet; extracts, Vows. 343° + 
Henrietta Temple, by B. Disraeli, iii 231 ~ bi 
Henry II., Reign of, by Lyttelton, iv 306 
Henry VIIL, Reign of; by Herbert,ii- 316 ~~ 
Henry VIII.; Markets and Wages in 

the Reign of, by-Fronde, vili..:... 25 
Henry VUI.. Portrait of, by Froude, esi 

Vill. 5 7 PS CRA as pee ee cab? a> 
Henry, Dr. ROBERT, historian, iv.. 306 © a 
HENRY, MATTHEW, commentator, iii. 31 
HERAUD, JOHN ABRAMAM, poet, vii 42> 
HERBERT, GEORGE. poet; extract, ii ‘0 - 


HERBERT, HON. WILLIAM, poet, Vv; . 
HERBERT, LorpD EDWARD, histo- “ia 
Tan. 1.26 2.5 en ee, ee rE 315 - 
HERBERT, SIR THOMAS, mise. wri- 
ter, iii 5D 
Herd’s collection of Scotch SOpem, iv 199 


© 0 00 = a ww ww 0 ts 0s 06s © 0 Oe Oe 6 9 6 


Hermes, Harris’s; extract, TW ts oad 
Hermit, the. by Beattie, 1Vna sae 183 
Hermit, the, by Parnell. Vine (208 — 
Hero and Leander, by Marlowe, i... 213 
HERRICK, ROBERT, poet; extracts.ii 114: 
Herschel, Caroline, Memoir of, viii.. 255 
HERSCHEL, SIR JOHN, astronomer 3 
extracts; Vili 2.9 eee eee Pee a ist | 
Hervey, Lorn. historian, iv........ 289 
HERVEY, REV. JAMES, iv..... mie 328 * 
HERVEY, T'HOMAS KIBBLE, fetes vii 60 
Hesiod, translated by Cooke, iii. .... a 


Hester Kirten. by Mrs. Macquoid, vii 344 
Hetty Sorrel, from ‘Adam Bede,’ vii 311 _ 
HEYLIN, PETER, historian; extracts, 

HEYWOOD, JOHN, i. Spethe ae ee 
HEYWoopD, ‘THOMAS, dramatist, he oo» 398 


ig . se *~ a ‘ 1 rn 
= cs! ‘ 
_. “INDEX. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 395 
PAGE. PAGE. 
Hidden Life, by George MacDonale ; Homes of England, by Mrs. He- 

COM AUTEN BO Gs fe eds =a UR EBON « 5 nie tcka CaN akin eae g tiem Seer 346 
Hierarchy of Angels. by He -ywood, i. 38si | Hondreth Good Points of Husband- 
Hieronimo, by Thomas yds ae yet 271 rie, by Thomas Tusser, i.......... 75 
a tains below Stairs, by T'own- HONE, WILLDAM, VIL. ce.5 Soa April bay 

beta OSS POO Sa Ne een ee 230 Honest Whore, the, by Dekker, i.... 353 

: nigh Street of Edinburgh, the, by Honeymoon, by J. Tobin; extract, vi 8&3 

sat APRS IPA ORWELL Vi F% oo. eect jee ot 13 ; Hoop, THOMAS, poet ; extracts, Vii.. 48 

os Highlaia Girl, to a, by Wordsworth, Hoox, Dr. JAMES, novelist, vi...... 212 

Sig SSR SSE. a ee ee 142 FES. THEODORE EDWARD, novel- 
Highland Host, the, by Cleland, ii... 237 DRGAV i dons bos ee naa ee ee, we A 224 
‘Highlander, the, by Mrs. Grant; ex- Hook, eeodciee Edward, Life and 
tract, Victen e ee pists + % Cita isinie.o' de ett Bini 71 Remains OLA Vilas deleiextae so kl te 224 
Highways and Byways, Vi.......+-.. 226 | Hooke. Natu., Roman historian. ivy 288 
Hitt, Aaron, minor poet, iii. 198; HOOKER, JOHN, chronicler, ii.. 

Re au dramatists ties. 62.0.5 .. +05 eee 272 | Hooker, RicHarp, prose writer, ii, 
Hills 0’ Gallewn’, thei. eos e ztet 34 | Hops, THOoMAas, novelist, vi......... 200 
ND, JOHN RussELL, astronomer, Horace. Imitations of, by Pope, iii.. 179 

£ aA rete ong OU aE eee or Peer $63 | Horace in London, Parodies by Jas. 
Hind. and Panther, ii. 205; extract, ii 211 and Horace Smith ; specimens, v.. 231 
Hinps. Dr. SAMUEL, theologian, viii 119 Horee Hellenice, by Blackie ; ex- 
Hindu Widow, Sacrifice of a. viii.... 321 TRACE AVE soe be ccth se Rea 76 

a fic Hindustan, History of, by Orme, iv.. 307 | Hore Pauline, by Paley, vi. 296; 
HisLop, J AMES, song-writer, Vil gine ce, SOS COX WAC VI carer ean a ek Sis ee a 291 

‘History, Outlines of, by T. Keight- Hore Subsecivee, by Dr John Brown, 
We rs oe Nam, ae aD we Ne 14 WMT Uracee ake cas, at a's Icdiaralett taut pci Wt slste atte 244 

= = History. Universal,.the, iv..c........ 307 | HornE, Dr. GEORGE, theologian, iv. 326 
Hirescock, Dr. Epwarp, geolo- Horne, Dr. 'THomas H., theologian, 

; Regt Rites in Skit cnatal se Se y's dose Bled 288 Nig). perks 7am nig pee ratte Ray GEA & --- 300 
t2 > “HOADLY, DR = dramatist, ive... . 6... 28 | Horne, Richarp HENRY, poet, vil.. 110 
. . Hoapty, Dr. B, theologian, iii..... 302. | HorsLey. DR. SAMUEL. Vl..:..--... 297 
_ .. HoBBEs, THOMAS, philosopher ; ex- Hours of Idleness, by Lord Byron, v, 253 

SSIS RS | ORS CES a gee ee ee 282 | House of Fame, by Chaucer, i........ 28 

; Hosnouse, Joun Cam. traveller, v vir 14 | House of Sleep, from the “ Faery 

' Hoge. James, poet ; extracts, vi. 14 QiBen iso: peste a oa torte ties ee 69 

= Hoggarty Diamond, the, vii......... . 954 | House of the Seven Gables, vii...... 293 

= -- Hoheulinden, by Thos. Campbell, v. 228 | Household of a Christian, Vill. ...>.+. 138 

f HoLcrort, ge a dramatist, Household Words, edited by ‘Dick- : 

Vi, 59; as novelist, Viv.....-..-.6- . 106 CHAS WIL so. terse Soon void ge eras Seem 252 
Holinshed’s Ohronivics. PE Lehto ds 29 | Houses and Furniture in the Middle 
Houuanp, -Dr., traveller, vii.......-. 14 Ages, from Hallam’s ** Europe,” vi 268 
HoLLanpb, Lorp, biographer, vi..... 280 Pedra H., EARL OF SURREY, 

— HOLLAND. SIR RICHARD. mere seve” 84: POC, AR. 5S Godlee de re See ones 6 
Holland-tide, by Gerald Griffin, vi... 285 | How ard, John, Life of, viii........... 73 

. Holly Tree. the, by Southey, v...... 179 | Howse, Joun, theologian, iii........ 20 
HoLMeEs, OLIVER WENDELL, poet HoweELL, JAS.,. misc. writer; ex- e 
PURMOLCSSSYVISt. Vil. 2... 54. ve cles ees 88 tPACtB yA A Radio ae oe tance oemte eka nar &O 
_ Holy and Profane States, by Fuller,ii 363 | Howrrt, W. and Mary; extracts; viii 207 

- = “Holy Grail. by Tennyson, Vilistien ise 122, Howson, DEANS. Vill jorwce ce tet eee 136 

Home, by Montgomery, v........... 314°] Huc, M., traveller; extract, vill..... 32° 

Home, JouNn, dramatist, iv.......... 221 Hudibras ; extracts, 1 Mek ete Stn a0 te 
Home among the Mountains, by Hugh Trevor, by 1, Holcroft, Vita LF 6 

DIST Oke css Whar t Ns) es utes Sie 5 Hg 340 | HuauEs, JoHN, essayist, iii......... 283 
Homely Similes. by Burke, iv.. ... 379 | Huanes, THomas, novelist, vii...... 221 
Homer, translations of, by Hobbes, Hulsean Lectures, vili.......-----..- 137 

ii. 282; by Pope, iii. 174; by Tick- Human Life, by 8. Rogers, v. 113; 

ell, iii. 221 ; by Southey, vy. 200 ; by ORUPACLON ce ete Sareea se ee vig Come WT 
~ W. Cullent Bryant, vii. 85; by J. Human Understanding, by Hume, iv 339 

iinet BIAGKIC, ‘Vil. :.g2o ose c+ 5 175 |‘Humanity of the Age, by Trollope. vii 326 
Homeric Poems, Unity of, by W. Humble Pleasures, by R: Bloomfield,vy 1 

2 aes Mere fas Waiess v.fvin< 4-6 Aa 7 | Hume, ALEXANDER, poet, i.......+. 7 


es - * ~*\; SREY 
» 396 CYCLOPAZDIA OF _.- ~ . [GENERAL 
PAGE. PAGE. 
Hume, Davin, philosopher; ex- Immortality of the Soul, Opinion of 
ELAS y FV 5 5 BF aks « Cane ou Peepers 339 the Ancient Philosophers concern- 
Hume, David, Life of, by Burton, iv. ing, from Gibbon, iv........./.... 314 
BOAT: VIR Sci Sea cSt staot S8 a wieieee tne In Memoriam, by Tennyson; ex 
Hume, DAvip, oF GODSCROFT, his- fract,-vit.c Sees eee oe eee 4119 =~ 
LOLPAN AVI ls vote Scissor ae ee eens 52 | In the Downhill of Life, v........... 500 
Hume, Mary C., poet, vii........... 170 | Inca, the, his Visit to Pizarro, by 


Humming-bird, the, by Audubon, vi 357 
Humphry Clinker, by Smollett, iv... 262 
HUNNIS, WILLIAM, poet, i..... .... 72 
Hunt, J. Letau, poet and essayist, v 319 
HUNTER, MRs., poet; specimens, v. 68 
Hunting on a Great Scale, by Living- 
BEONC: Wills. capes whee oe ea eae oe be 263 
HUNTINGDON, HENRY OF, historian,i 11 


ee i 


HurcuHinson, Lucy--her Memoirs, ili 127 
HuxueEy, THomAs H., naturalist ; ex- 
TH CUSMNT ics fae s cela e pale Jie, ore 
Hydriotaphia, by Sir Thos. Browne, 
BBE Re a elytra 2 mss 
Hymn of the Hebrew Maid, from 
BOE VETINOG, View ost oui gathaele et ae bees 249 
Hymn on Chamonni, by Coleridge, v 161 
Hymn on the Nativity, by Milton, li. 153 
Hymn to Pan. from ** Endymion,” v 290 
Hymns for Infant Minds, by J, and 
AT LEAVIOMSM: «2 cis ns dope odes ieee 


Hyperion. by Keats ; "extract, v...... 
Hyperion, by Longfellow, vii........ 91 
Hyppolitus and his Age, by Bunsen, 

WEL sais cro ae see alee oy Sen ae 35 
I’d be a Butterfly, by Bayly, v....... 379 
Idler, the. by Dr. S. Johnson, iv..... 237 


Idylls of the King, by Tennyson; ex- 

UPA CTS VAL se ot oS th ee ee ee 
liad, translations of, by Chapman, i. 
350; by Pope, iii. 175; by TicKell, 
lil. 221; by Macpherson, iv. 88; by 
Sotheby, v. 200: by W. Cullen Bry- 


122 


Sere cee reerecces 


5 C on ke: 
© 4 \ ve) ror) ies) 
—_—_—_—$—<$—$—$<$_$—$—<——$——_ ———— LLL 


Inchbald, Mrs., 
life, irom C. Kegan- Paul’s “‘ Life_ 
of Godwin,”-villice ess sone ot doe 

Indestructibility of Mind,by Davy, 
MUP Gg eo os nce 541. oe te ee 

India, Diary im, by Russell, viii...... 

India,’ Five Years in, by H, G. Fane, 

India and Afghanistan, Memoirs of, 
by J *Harlany vill nike aces ome “y, 

Indicator; the. V. ts: .2c0 ee ee : 

Indifference of the World; by Thack- 
CTA YS Vil nce ib ere eee 263 

Induction, the, by Lord Buckhurst, i 147 


376 


‘Inductive Sciences, History of, by 


Whewell;: viii>.2) Says kre age 260 
INGELOW, JEAN, poet; specimens,vii 171 
Ineuts, H. D., traveller, vii........ i=) 
Ingoldsby Legends, the, vii.......... 204 
INGULPH, historian, i.........2++ ee 
Inheritance, the, by S. E. ¥errier, vi. 213 
INNES, Cosmo, historian, viii........ 48 
innocents Abroad, by Mark Twain, 

tere EE file ee 242 
Inquiry, Freedom of, by Tyndall, viii 314 
Inquiry into the Human Mind, by 


Dr.gfhomas: Relays ope ee 348 


Inquiry into the Relation of Cause 


and Effect, by Dr. IT. Brown, vi... 322. . 


Inspiration of Scripture, by Hinds,viii 12) ~ 
Instauration of the Sciences, ii...... 8 


Intellectual Development of Europe, 

VIAL sxe vie eae Cer Be. See 317 
Intellectual Powers, by Reid, iv..... 348 
Interpretation of Scripture, the, by —~ 

Jowett, vili-.5. 2... Sai Siarwneeeeees eee 159 
Intimations of Immortality, by / 

Wordsworth, ‘v.:..: Sieeeeewe eas « 135° 


Invocetion to Birds, by Procter, v... 351° 
Ton, by Talfourd ; scenes from, vii.. 185 ~ 
Jona, Reflections on Landing at, from 


JOHNSON; AV... kha ee eal aw ie ae 
freland, History of, by Dr. Warner, 

iv. 8307; by Dr. Leland, iv.......... 307 - 
Ireland, Past and Present, by J. W. 

Croker 3 extract, vili..:.. iv Nee 196 
Ireland, Sketches of, by the Rev. ; 

Cesar Otway, vi..... SEROUS a ae 234. 


Treland, Tour through, by Inglis, vii. 30 
IRELAND, SAMUEL, bookseller, vi... 335 


10 — 


_ INDEX.J) ENGLISH LITERATURE, 397 

sae = PAGE. PAGE, 
~ TRELAND, WILLIAM Henry, (Shaks- J es FRANCIS, Critic 3 extracts, 

ere ON aN tces oon... Sets “SBO- I. VE Boas > sare Fuge cs B3 sieve ve be Ccuid devek 71 

Trish Landlord ana Scotch Agent, oy J Bieiabadi Defence of, by Sale, viii.. 31 

Rete, SHO SOW OFbO Vie nic ee ek a aces JENKINS. EDWARD, novelist, vii.... 342 
- Trish Postilion, by M. Edgeworth, vi 164 Jenny dang the Weaver, by Sir A. 

~~ Trish Sketch -boox, by Michael An- SE BOS W Clie Visa sice pete eek eo ta 12 


gelo Titmarsh (T raised g Seke 


ENC cAC TIE. since tis iu elk woos «aw wie 255 
_ Trish Songs, by Thomas Moore ; 
BNGciMiens, Vis icec sok on ames 207 


- Trish Village, picture, by “Carleton, vi 239 
Iron, its History and Manufacture, 

_ _ by Sir W. Fairbairn, viii.......... 
_ Irving, Rev. Ed., theologian, Life of, 
viii. 67; Sketch of, by Gilfillan, viii 216 


Irvine, WASHINGTON, historian 
SAMI AIO VEMISES NL o.oo cicces evo e Sane 359 
“Irving’s Lives ‘of the Scottish Poets, vi 29.) 
a Irvingites, BEGU OL. Villas ttc. 6 2 eels oe 68 


Isabella, by Southerne ; scenes from, 
yl et Se ele he eee ee 44. 
Isle of Palms, by Professor Wilson, v 339 
Italian, the, by Mrs. Radcliffe; ex- 
PATACE, Vie. neon ew Siew ee wees 13 


rN 


i CUICLEM Sic DEW one Ay 3a 263 
Ttalian aoe by Samuel Rogers, v... 120 
Italy, Beckford’s ; extract, vii....... 5 oid 
Italy, by Dickens ; extract, VIN re ais a £61 

Italy, by Lady Morean, vi. 166 ; vii. 16 


3 Italy, by Samuel Rogers ; extracts, v 120 


BeMteAY. OA SOLNCDS sy. Vinw,s- awe ss ow tie 200 
Italy, Recollections of, by Macfar- 
ETS LTE. Ci cs tania Saisie ss igus o's os Wien sys 
_ Itinerarium Curiosum, by Stukeley, 
Thi on, SAA ea eee 45 
Itinerary, the, by John Leland, i.... 129 
MenEVEDAGE-¢-EXtTHets, i Vio ons 5 se e eo 184 
_ Ivry, song. by T. B. Macaulay, vii. 72 


- Jack Cade’s Insurrection, by Fabian.i 115 
Jack Sheppard, by W. H. Ainsworth, 
Jago, REV. R1cHARD, poet. iv....... 
JAMES I., King of England (VI. of 
Scotland) ; ; as prose-writer, ii .... 
James I., Memoirs of the Court of,’ 
by Lucy Aikin, viii 
_ James I. of Scotland, as poet, i. 
~ James Il.. History of the Reign ‘of, 


by Charles J. Fox, vi.-.. ........ 
JAMES, G. P. R., novelist, vii..... ar ONT 
_ JAMESON, ee misc. writer ; ex- 
ce (i CN 4 10 Dea ne ee 183 
Jane Er, By Ch. Bronté; extracts, ae 
ia Vitale sin Sa po cee cte ss ‘7 


SS Shore, by Rowe, scene from, iii 248 

' — Jealous Wife, the, by Colman, iv.... 223 

_ Jeanie Deans and Queen Caroline, vi 189 
. Jeanie Morrison, by W. Motherwell, 


Crewe smowmerrerereeereeroe 


oo 


Jenny’s Bawbee, by Sir A. Boswell, 
Nab! oA ee oe ie ae Rie ee ae oa 
JERROLD, Douatas. dramatist, vii.. 1£3 
Jerrold, Douglas, Life of. vii 1 
Jerusalem before the Siege, by Mil- 


MELDING Views Wee wcities EWS sienlesy tec p 356 
Jew, the, play by Cumberland, vi.... 104 
Jew of Malta, the, by Marlowe, ix 286 
Jewish and Christian Churches, ‘by 

NEW INED FVIT ccc rch oe ob ie ws 0' 105 
Jews, History of, by Milman, v. 356 ; 

VAD Noes eee ANE Pee owes Ae wee EE + 8s ove 16 


JEWSBURY, GERALDINE, novelist, vii 293 
Joun of Arc, by Southey ; extract, v 171 - 
Joan of Arc, by Thomas De Quin- 


COM, Wes, case vias ahigs types wat 195 
JOCELYN. LORD, traveller, Viil....... 325 
Jockey’s Intelligencer, the, Lig eee 134 
John Bull, History of, by Arbuthnot; 

extracts, LED Gee o cre Pe Wena ae satay 359 
John Gilpin, by Cowper, v.......--. 25 


John Halifax, by Miss Mulock ; ex- 
tract, vii 8 
JOHNSON, Dr. SAMUEL, as poet, iv. 


a ee ae a ee ey 


HAD. HOG SC pe W El te het 1 Viera tei aascld pip ob BY 
Johnson Samuel, LL.D., Life of, by 

ds AOS WEIS Vio re core esis sia siehin'e coe 278 
Jounston, Dr, ARTHUR, Latin 

POC t places toe sows aes oGiste Lense 256 
JOUNSTONE, CHARLES, noye! list, iva. 20 
JOHNSTONE, MRs., vi. eon ere ey Oa 
Jolly Beggars. the. by Burns, v 394 
JONES, Rey. R. ., political economist, 
hy ee te, La ieee pa oe 330 
JONES, SiR WILLIAM, scholar and 

DOCESY see age ne yee een ele 
JONSON, BEN; extracts, 1. 319; 

AV ABKAs alike Ske aaa ws OI WE arte cate 322 
JORTIN, DR. JOHN, theologian, iv.. 326 
Joseph ‘Andrews, by rielding, iv... 255 
Journey to the Western Isles, by 

Dr. Johnson, iv. 119; extract, iv.. 360 
JOWETT, REv. B., theologian, viii... 158 

| Judge and the Victim, from Mrs. 

Inchbald’s “* Nature and Art, i’ eer 81) 
Judith, Anglo-Saxon poem, 1 4 


Julia ° Roubigné, by H. Macken- 
zie 284 
J alian, Araceae: by Miss Mitford, vi. 241 
Jumping Frog , the, by Mark Twain, 

VELL ois noe teste tee ne eee mire alexi 242 
Junius and Sir Philip Francis; ex. 

tracts from Junius, iv............. 3 
Jupiter, is it inhabited ? by Brews- 

ter, vili 


a ee ee ee ee | 


ee ee 


* 
| 


398 
: PAGE. 
Kaleidoscope invented by Brewster, 

WAM ARES esha ck yeas MEP Motos 274 
Kames, Lory, philosopher, iv...... 349 
Kate Kearney, song by Lady Mor- 

PANG Vw nn os te gsi oeaton Kale aioe a Semie 165 
KAVANAGH. JULIA, novelist, vii...> 285 


KAYE, Sir JoHN W.., historian, viii. sae Oe 
KEATS, AOHN; “DOCS Vn 50h pe es . 285 
Keats. Life and Remains of, Vii. ee ats 
KEBLE, Rev. JOHN, as poet, v. 380 ; 


as theologian, Vili.......0......04. 101 
KEIGHTLEY, THOMAS, historian, viii 14 
KELLY, Hueu, dramatist, IVE eae tere 223 


KEN, THOMAS, BISHOP, -hymn-wri- 
GELS V1; eile es er ee ee ee 
KENNEDY, R. i, historian, vili.... 31 
KENNEDY, WALTER, poet,1......... 163 
Kennedy’s, W., Voyage of the 


sf Prince. Albert; «Ville. — conGs oes 350 
KeEnnicotT, Dr.—his Hebrew Bible,iv 326 
KENT, CHARLES, poet, Vli.......-..% 145 
KEPPEL, Hon. G., traveller, vii:..-. 24 


KER, REY. JOHN, theol.; extracts,vili 173 
‘Keswick, Description of the Vale of, 


Ys Drs (BLOWN 5 Nios «ines fslaes-o nes 394 
Khubla Khan, by Coleridge; .ex- 
STACK) Vseo erat s ek sents el nes te ee 155 


Kickleburys. the, on the Rhine, vii.. 258 
Kipp, Dr. JOHN, Vili... ........02- 158 
Kilmeny, by Hoge; extracts, vi..... 17 
King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid.i 104 


KING, Dr. HENRY, poet 5 extracts, ii 78 
Kine, Epwarp, antiquary, iv....... 45 


KING, EDWARD, historian, vii.. . 35 
King’s Own, the, by Marryat ; " ex- 
APR OCH VN te ra Cos core wee a eee 267 
King's "Quhair, the, by James I,i... Ti 
KINGLAKE, ALEXANDER W., histo- 
TAN ex rACtS AVilhes sy ose eee 61 
GSE, REv. CHARLES; extracts, 
Ree a aeace or DA Rae Si eee ye ee “2 6 
einer REv. W., theologian, viii... 1 8 


Kitten, the, by Jo. Baillie; extract, ‘vy 866 
Kitto, Dr. JOHN. theologian, Vili. 
Knife-grinder, by Canning. Viewsoce > 4T 
KNIGHT, CHARLES. publisher, Vill. 
KnieHt, HENRY GALLY, poet, v. 

Knight’s Cyclopedia of Biogr aphy,vi 1 290 


Knight’s Quarterly Magazine, Vill, ..° 235 
KNOLLES, RicHs/ RD, historian, ii.. 21: 
KNOWLES, HERBERT, poet, v.......% ~ 800 
KNOWLES, JAMES SHERIDAN, dram- 

atist, vi...... A re oe A LL) 
Knox, JOHN, divine, ii........--.«- 50 
Knox, John, Life of, by Dr. M’Crie,vi 285 
Knox, WILLIAM, poet, Y chay cv ehh BED 


Koran, translated by George Sale, iv £07 

_Kotzeue’s plays, translated, vi .. .: 47 

Krnitzner, or the German’s Tale, by 
eULICO, “Viste nents SE be als greeter 108 


CYCLOPAIDIA OF 


, eT a M ae tir sew SARS 
eee » pds, ity Sear 
. “7 mes, , aT Are ee 
¥ ; Z ee vi te 
Ss = a a at re ent is 
= tb” Ss 

2 - f 
; 

~y 

a e 
+ 


PAGE, 
Kuzzilbash, the, a Tale of Khorasan, 
by J. B. Fraser ; extracts, vi...... 222 © 


Kyp, THomAs, dramatist, phir See pees 


Lady Anne Bothwell’s Lament, ii.... 259 — 
Lady Audley’s Secret, by Miss Brad- | 
COD: Ve 5 stelees arontnwecNe pene 310 = een 
Lady Bell, by Saran Tytler, vii...... 841 
Lady of the Lake, by Scott; extract,v 249 
Lady’s Chamber in the 13th Century, ; 
by *Maturin, vie fooced ce eee eae (aie 
Lafayette, Life of, by _G. Ticknor, Vii 364 
LAIDLAW, WILLIAM, song-writer, vi 35 
LaInG, MaLcoum, historian, vi...... 262  — 


LAING, SAMUEL, travelier 5 extracts, Ja 
VHT cas eee Se ee ee ee <henl ass OOD) aa 
Laing’s Remains of Ancient Popular ——s 
Poetry-of Scotland. fey.) . ss teat 85 


i 4 


Laird 0’ Cockpen, by Lady Nairne, vi 7 
Lake Regions of Central Africa, by Ne 
Captain Burton, vili.....-......... 253 ie 
Lalla Rookh, by Moore; extracts, vy. 208 ’ 
LamB, CHARLES, poet and essayist,v It9 ~ Be 
Lamb, Charles. Final Memorials of, 
by rf, Ni Talfonrdsvilsz cee aes 185 ~ 7% 
Lamp, LADY CAROLINE, novelist, vi 228 
Lamb, the, by W. Blake, v.......... 124 
Lame Lover, the, scenes from, iv .  ‘431- “4 
Land o’ the Leal, by Lady Nairne,-vi 7 
LANDER, RIcHARD, traveller, vii... 8 
‘a 


Lanpon, LETITIA ELIZABETH (L. a 
E. L ). poet; extracts, v 361 - 
LANpDOoR, WALTER SAVAGE, poet, v. 181 
LanF. E, W.. oriental scholer, vili.. 235- IS 
LANGHORNE, Dr. JOHN, poet, iv.... 156 
JLANGLAND, WiLLIAM; poet, 1....... 20 ~ . 


Language, by Whitney; extract, viii 316 <a 
L: nguage, Essay on the Origin’ and - - 
Progress of, by Lord Monbcddo, iv 403 = 
Language, Science of, by F. M. Mil- 
ler; extract, ViEL-& oxen ne ieee 3 
Langage the Barrier between Brute se 
ind Man. by F. M. Miller, viii.... 311 
Langue d'Oil, i. cee 
LANSDOWNE. Lorn, poet, ii aptbae 1223 
Laodamia, by Wordsworth, v....... 134 — 
LARDNER, DR. D., scientific writer, ~ at : 
VAL eis ice pe aso ae: aie inne 303 1 
LARDNER, Dr. NATHANIEL, theol ,iv 3. qf 
Lardner’s Cyclopediay Vii....-2..... 
Last Days of Herculaneum, v....... ‘can 
Last Man, by Campbell; extract, v.. 229 — 
LATIMER, HuGH, theologian ; > ex- ae 
TEAC, desc Via op a ectea ee eater 123 mente 
Latin Lan euage, spread of the, by Ber 
M. Miiller, Vil YS oc At eee + 31 
Latterday Pamphlets, by Carlyle, vii. 894° 
Laud, Character of, by Masson, vili.. 79 ~ 
LAUDER. SIR THOMAS Dick, novel-. pt 
ist and miscellaneous w ay. Lt ete | | ihe 
LAURENCE, DR., satirist, V.......... ag 4 


ed 


” “y J — 


INDEX.) 


- Le Bas, Rev. C. Wess, theologian, 
30 


th. 


Lewis, MatTrHew GREGORY, as 
poet, v. 229;.a8 dramatist, vi. él; as 
PUSS TR pote Dips I a a ee 139 

~ LEw1s, Sin GEORGE CoRNEWALL, 

_ miscellaneous writer. Vil.......... 403 

TEYDEN. JOHN; Poet, V..+.2.------- 81. 

Liberal English Churchmen, by ‘Tul- 
LoL anit At Se eee ee al 

Liberty, by John Stuart Mill, viii 270 


Lxecry, Witiram E. H., philoso- 


SR a eee ee ASO ia 6 Winx 's: ohare iy d.« al e.8 06 391 
Lee, NATHANIEL, dramatist, ii..... 262 
Lzs, Sopra and HARRIET, vi...... 103 


LELAND, JOHN, antiquary,1.-...... 129 
LELAND, JOHN. theologian. iv....... 338 


ENGLISH. LITERATURE 399 
Seb see ~ PAGE. 
Law, BisHop, theologian, EV gin o\e sae Life in the Sick-room, by Martinean, 
Law. REv. W., theologian, TVie eon ey NANT boc Payets o Nea Shela cists Win, swan OE G 
eo the Todd, or the Settler s, by Galt, Light of Nature Pursued, by Tucker, 


iS aiieta lb Wie nel li se Ae bw 0 0 ole. dco 8 ° , 
tay of the Last Minstrel; extracts, v. 243 
MEI ols oy. cnn o's oe Swed s 11 


Layarp, AUSTEN HEN RY, traveller, 


Lays of Ancient Rome; extracts, vii. 
Lays of the Scot. Cavaliers; extracts, 
vii 


ke ee a ee ee ee ee 


vi 
Leader, the, newspaper, ‘Vii 
Leaders of the Reformation, by Tul- 

loch, viii 


i 


ee ey 


pher, viii 
Ler. Houmez (Harriet Parr), novelist, 


i ee ey 


Lereu Ton, RoBERT, ARCHBISHOP, i ii 381 
Leighton, Archbishop. character of, ii 336 


Leland’s. Dr.. History of Ireland, iv. 308 
LEMON. MARK, dramatist and editor, 
PLES e wis, s eiakelankis os 198 


LENNOx. Mrs. Cu , misc. writer, iv.. 39) 


Be erer ere sete 


Leo X.. Life of. by W. Roscoe, vi... 261 
Leonidas, by Glover; extract, iv.... 148 
LesLi£E, CHARLES, theologian, iii. 70> 


LESLIE, JOHN. Bisuop, historian, li 59 
ri Pa Sir JOHN, scientific writer, 


Peete ete yin. wats sews. sa wikin bb ye eX, 250 
LEstm ance, Sir RoeEeR; extracts, 

TL Maes lod) rave vis, ajar << aves so 0 12170138 

tiers, by Pope; exfracts, iii....... 351 


Lever, OARLES JAMES, novelist,vii 278 
Leviathan, the, by Hobbes, ii. 6 

Lewes, G. H., novelist and biog. ili 59 
Lewesdon Hill. by W. Crowe; extr.,V 59 


Liberty and Necessity, by Hobbes, ii. 283 


Library, the. by George Crabbe, v.... 97 
Library of Entertaining Kuowledge, 
> Re cee Ba ey eer 36 


Lippon, Rey. H. P., theologian, viii 155 
Life, the Mystery of, by Gambold, iv 197 
Life and Liberty in America, by 

(oe 55S a Sea aaa 
Life Drama, a, by Alex. Smith, vii... 


338 
97 | 


13) 
Lights and Shadows of Irish Life. vi 210 
Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life, 


by Professor Wilson ; extract, vi. 208 
LILLo, WILLIAM, dramatist,dii....5 21 
Hily, the, by Mreé.. Tighe, yo. }.: 2.8) 73 
Limits of Government Interference, 

DY.0 se WM Willa corm aakeite wen ane 271 
Linpsay, LorD, traveller, viii......: 320 
Lindsays, Lives ‘Of the, “Viti «oo. F.2 52 
Lines written in a lonely Burying 

Ground, by John Wilson, v....... 3 
LINGARD, DR. JOHN, historian, vi... 258 
Linne, the. Heir of, #2. 0.827.003.0755. 104. 
Linton, Mrs, ELIZ LYNN, novel- 

ABEVILe ote Here ta Pega oie a oa nk © Sete 299 
Lister, THomas Henry, novelist,vi 227 
Literary Advertisement, by Moore, v 206 
Literature, Curiosities of, by Isaac 

D'Israeli, vi.......-.. 81 
Literature of Europe, by H. ‘Hallam, 

aR PR pe EE BD, eae gel OA Sede a 269 
Liracow, WILLIAM, travelier, ii .. 36 
Lrrrie. THomaAs (Thos. Moore), v.. 204 
Lives of Eminent Sea Seulp- 

tors, and Architects, by A. Cun- 

TWO AI Wl sog c eect connie vee nso hele 22 
Lives of the Poets, by Dr. 8S. John- 

ROMS, BVacs sot aur ews ere See ee 119, 860 
LIVINGSTONE, DaviD, traveller; ex- * 

ECAC VA ole pads atietect rite t sales 360 
Livingstone, Last Journals of, viii... 368 
Livingstone and Stanl:y, the Meeting 

of, We: Ditty laste sey cataaca aes 366 
Livy, translated by John Bellenden ji 143 
Luoyp, ROBERT? DOStMI ease eres. 103 
Loon, Caprain G. G., traveller. viii. 325 
Lochaber No More, by Allan Ram- 

BOW liline ph taiate a dealessuate deco Wri aces wil ae aoT 239 
Lochiel’s Warning, by Campbell, v.. 221 
Lochleven, poem, by Michael Bruce, ; 

TVR T arene DS hia Quake gery ie smite sion Saree. Bie 69 


Lochnagar and Byron, by Gilfillan, 
VIEL setae tp eopeletsighe iano tain wibte pan ramunetss 2 


LocxE, Joun, philosopher, iii. 32; 

OXEEA CLS, SDD yee at cgo re bene asi iene = oes 83 
| Locker, FREDERIC, lyric writer; vii 174 
LocKH Ant, JOHN Greson, as novel- 

ist, vi. 204; as bi osrapher, Vii =. 53 
Lock# ant, LAWRENCE W. M. .» NOYV- 

PICs min 25 eg RDN: pole OB be apne Se 8 
Locksley Hall, by Tennyson, iil... aes: 
LOCKYER, J. NoRMAN, astronomer, 

Wil libre de wg eke ceabeint lee Mit acare te kanes 274 
Locomotive, on the, by Stephenson, 

WAL cs ore are ee erate o.o 7 oistais ttre Wyeteimre lS, « 282 
LovGE. THOMAS, as poet, i. 2:0; as 

dramatist, 1....006, ee. Aporete velbe 0 MOS 


400 


LOGAN, JOHN, poet, IV.........-.+.- 162 
Logan 'Braes, by John Mayne, vi. .. 4 
Logic, A Systein of, by J. S. Mill, viii 270 
Logis, by Professor PoaiT, Villa os ce 282 
pow Elements of, by Dr. Whately, 


CeO Mee pmo oeecves COS s ice So ee wan sb 


Pontias and Mont Bianc, from Dr. 


Arnold's: Letters, Vill..’:. 2.22 as 0s e 
London Encyclopeedia, vii....... Pe Sect Ree: 
London Gazette, iii......-.0...- 2. see od. 


London in Autumn, by H. Luttrell, v 317 
LONDONDERRY, MARQUIS OF, trav- 


CUED SsVIIE Se scons oe wee og tee otton ecare 380 
LoneFELLow, H. W., poet; speci- 

WIONS. Vil, Jes cand soley pus caletne 7.6 
Lord Gregory, ballads eee ae 58 


Lorenzi de’ Medici. by Roscoe, vi.... 261 

Lorna Doone, by Blackmore, vii.... 341 

Lot of Thousands, by Mrs. Hunter, ‘y 70 

Lotos-eaters, the, by ‘Tennyson, pas- ; 
a 


sage from, Wi Le ws jas eee os Stent 
Lousiad, the, by Dr. John Wolcot, v 51 
Love, by COle?id@e, Vina kus et ae aay 163 


Love, from Pollok’s “Course of 
ISON Pon Sate Sates o «ak sto Picton « 
Love, from Southey’s ** Thalaba,” v. 
Love, Hope, and Patience in Educa- 
tion, by Coleridge, v 
Love-4-la-Mode, by Macklin, iy. 
Love for Love, scenes from, ili oe 
Love in a Village, by Bickerstaff, iv.. 23 
Love of Country, from the “Lay of 
the Last Minstrel,” v. 
Love’s Mistress, by Heywood,i... . 


175 


ee er ary 


LOVELACE, RICHARD, poet; extr, ii. 95° 


Loven, SAMUEL, poet and "novelist, 


Bs ARES ee Ney ree ie Lea Ohare 0 aes fete alte alee 280 
_ Lover’s Melancholy, the, by Ford ; 
rd hats (oA Gen gl re re ein | ace 378 


Lovers’ Vows, Kotzebue’s, translated 
by Mrs. Inchbald, vi....0.5....6.7 58 
Toies of the Angels, the, by Moore,v 210 

“Loves of the Plants, the, by Dr. E, 


DAEW IN (eR TPACi anv. sree sy ase. 31 
Loves of the Poets, by Mrs. Jame- 

BOTS VU! gre wll Sip hae e eitins emen o hk 185, 
LOWE, JOHN, poet, IV 55.,..63..556 Waabe 208 


Lowi, J.’ R., poet; extracts, vii.. 151 
~ Lowtn, Dr. WILLIAM, theologian,i iii 302 
325 


LowrTu, ROBERT, BISHOP, iv........ 
Luslaba Lakes, explored by Cam- 
GCPROIS VTLL rot ae react ootias A PE ae om 369 
-Imcan’s' Pharsalia, translated by 
ES EE A OR eS Oe pet teed Ate 315 
Lucasta, by Lovelace, ii. .c........0. 96 
Lucian’s Dialogues, trans., ii........ 240 
Luck of Roaring Camp, by Bret 
Harte, passage from, Vii........... 1¢9 
Lucy's I'ittin’, by Wm. Laidlaw, vi.. 35 
Luggie, the, by Davia Gray, Vii...... : 100 


Lusiad, Camoen’s ; extract, i aeeee 187 


CYCLOPADIA OF 


| Lute, Ode toa, Sir Thos. Wyatt, 1* 1) 


re 


PAcr. ~~ 


Luther, Martin, from_ Robertson’s 
sha «by story of Charles V.,’"ivz.. i... 300 
Luther’s Satan, by Prof. Masson; viii 81 
LUTTRELL, HENRY, poet ; extracts, V SLy oy 
Luxuries of the Spanish Caliphs, by ot 
Draper; Vili, a eeeae ne ee eee 318: : 
TRxUry; Effects of, by David Hume, Sa - 


a, 9 ob pr ey Sock NPR ee eae Aas at Be 
ivcihast by Milton ; extract, ii...... 169 
Lyckpenny, the London, i ean Sy stee G2 +e 
LYDGATE, JOHN, poet, 1.:.-....5..0 61 eee 
LYELL. Sir CHARLES, geologist, viii 284 ~ “i 
Lying Valet, the, by Garrick, iv..... 23) ey 
LYLY, JoHN, as dramatist, i, 264; as = 

PrOSe .WYiher, Lb: Tote gee ee 403 pet 
Lyndhurst, Life of, by Campbell, viii 71 = 
Lynpsay, Sir Davin, poet, i, nm Seanditea rae 98 Se 
Lyndsay, Life of Sir David, vi..:.... 253 = 
Lyndsay, Sir David, editions of his 

Works by George Chalmers; by 

David. Laing, iis. ere seteee see 99 
Lyon, CAPTAIN, traveller, Ab lege ier Mag a 


Lyrical Ballads, by A ordsworth, v.. 125 
LYTE, REv. Henry FRANCIS, poet ; 
specimens; Vii... 10. ioc ses senereee 
LyTTLETON. GEORGE, LORD, poet $ : 
OXtracts;- lil: 2. Geshe ete aoa mae 
Lyttleton Fabrication, the, by ‘Wil- 

liam Combe; specimen of, vi..... ; 
Lyttleton. Lord. Memoir and Corres- 
pondence of, by R. Phillimore, iv.. 
LYTTON, Lorp E. R. (nom-de-plume 
Owen Meredith), poet, vii 


340 


MACARTNEY, Lorp. traveller, vii.... 1 

Macaunay, Mrs, CATHERINE, iy... 

MACAULAY, THOMAS BABINGTON, as 
poet, vii. 65; as historian; ex-  ~ 

Tracts; Vils-o.: vice eee ieee ae 
Macaulay, T. B., Life of, vil...... tei 
M’CarTHY, D. F., translator, Vil Aa ie 
M’CLURE, CAPTAIN R., Discoverer 

of the North-west-Passage, Vili.... 850 
M’CRIE, DR. THOMAS, Vi.......... 52, coor 
M’Cuuuocn, J. Ramsay, economist, 

bee ee asta POU 
MacDonatxp, GEORGE, novelist ex- : 

tracts; Vilo stars .. B04 
MACFARLAN® 

vil, 
Mac-Flecknoe, by Dryden ; extr., ji. 212° > 
MaAcKAY, ALEXANDER, traveller, viii 338 
Mackay, Dr. CHARLES, as poet, vii. 

1053 as traveller, vill...0... 0... 338 
MACKENZIE, HENRY, novelist, iv... 283 
MACKENZIE, SIR GEORGE, philoso- 

phet; extracts, Dee male ae eee 106 
MACKINTOSH, Sir JAMES, as histo- 

rian; extracts, vi. 254; as theolo- 

gian, Vi....... eeceotreeeoeeereeeeseeee 


ee Pei se 


- 


i 


INDEX .] ENGLISH LITERATURE 401 
7 = PAGE. PAGE. 
MACKLIN, CHARLES, dramatist, iv... 23) | Manners, Lorp Joun, poet, vii..... 105 
MACLAGAN, ALEXANDER, poet, vii.. 180 | Manners and Customs of the An- 
MACLAREN, CHARLES, journalist and cient Egyptians, by Wilkinson, vii. 357 
As peace Tn) Ee Sea ce sare ae 304 | Manners and Customs of the Modern 
ENNAN, MALCOLM, novelist, viii, ~47 Egyptians, by Lane, viii........... 2385 
MacLeoD, REv. NORMAN; extrs.,viili 165 | MANNING, Miss ANNE, novelist, vii.. 300 
MACNEILL, HECTOR, poet, Mis cdeniase Saye! Carta Rey. H. L., metaphysician, 
Pep ereON,. 10.5 M1)... ttaveller, — +] Vili 2 oon. 6 Seo oh ceca meee ce ye recs 269 
SOM ee i leis ei pos en by zo niven bs 325 Mansfeld Park, by Jane Austen, vi.. 156 
MACPHERSON, JAMES, poet and Mansie Wauch, by D. M. Moir, vii.. 53 
MEP EPTABIE LOL AN ©. ds cie oar iiine Siri inidiosbie oR 87 | Mant, DR. RICHARD, theologian, vi 302 
~ Macquoin, Mrs. C. §., novelist, vii. 340.| ManTE.., Dr. G. A., . paleontologist 
’ MADDEN, DR. R. R., traveller, vii. Qt VIRIAL ics ciate Sok ce Se eo ere 28T 
Madonna, Picture of, by Mrs. Jame- MARCET, MRs., political economist 
RGM@erb Ltn) 2 c2), seksi vsittiacte oes oe wae oa 184 Vlog saree et pis siege Pee eS ee Nee 329 
Meeviad, the, by W. Gifford, v....... 42] Marco Bozzaris, vii .. ..........565 80 
Maggie Lauder, by Francis Sempill, Mariam, by Lady Eliz. Carew, ii..... 83 
“OE SRR Se SE eg ears 230.] Marie Antoinette, by Burke, iv...... 384 
Maggie Lauder, by Tennant, vi...... 31 | Marinda Bruce, portrait of, by 
’ MAGINN, WILLIAM, Vili..... Seige ze 175 SUINOLYS LVe5) wane cincn Peis «ss sie iesne 389 
Mauony, Rey. Francis (Father Mariners of England, Ye, v........ sea 
Prout), magazine writer, vili .. .. 176 |MarK TwaIN (nom-de-plume of 
Maid Marian, by Peacock ; extr., vi. £45 Samuel Langhorne Clemens) Vili... ¥e 
Maid’s Lament, by W. 8. Landor, v. 182 | MARKHAM, C. R., traveller, vili..... é 
Maid’s Metamorphoses, by Lyly, i 265 | Marlborough, Duke of, Memoirs of, 
Maid’s Tragedy, by Beaumont and by Alison, Wiloestustioy eebin sae cake 346 
MORE EE INS acutains ch Oa cee ee ss 339 MaR.Low#, CHRISTOPHER—his po- 
Maitland fea caer: BHC Silo pte sles 103 etry, i. 212; extracts from his plays,i a 
MAITUAND, S1R RicHARD, poet, i... #45 | Marmion; extracts, Weel ates om ane ee 
Malcolm, by George MacDonald ; eX- Marriage, by S. E. Ferrier: extr., vi 1g 
DE CERIAN Piliog ci dhacis fs 6 bia er ets wie em ain 06 | Marrow of Modern Divinity, Ti). 32 
MALCOLM, SIR okN, traveller, vii. 25 | MARRYAT, CAPT., novelist ; extr.,vii 204 
- MALLET, Davip, as poet, iv. 34 ; as Marryat, Life and Letters of, vii.... 207 
PARMA Sty 1VLes Macwets os oe vs 2S) cece 217 | MARRYAT, FLORENCE, novelist, vii. 341 
MaLMsBuRY, EARL oF, Diaries and Mars, DR. HERBERT, theologian, vi 301 
Correspondence of, vili........... . 50] Marsu, Mrs. ANNE, novelist, vii..., 284 
MALMSBURY, Wini1AM OF, i......... 10 | Marston, JOHN, as poet, i. 207 : as 
MALONE, EDMUND, Vi.............. SEG OLAMGtISt, Bade Moscst pee we 3 tates 362 
Manory, Sin THomAs, poet, i..... . 112 | Marston, Ww ESTLAND, dramatist, vii 201 
Matty, DR. EDWARD, theologian, Mantin, M., traveller, ifi............ 335 
Re Re ate nie tanr vce oa be = lola kce ao MARTIN, ‘THEODORE, ‘poet, nips ag epee 74 
Mautuus, Rey. T. R., economist,vi 828 | Martin Chuzzlewit, vili....... S20 
“es coi the, from Prof. R. Ow en, MARTINEAU, HARRIET; extracts, vili 198 
Phe: Vy DE RE StS Een err, 294 MARTINEAU, Rervy. JAMES, theolo- 
afi, Antiquity of, by Lyell, viii..... 285 PIA? BxUACUS: VOU 5. < oce ceo tse et 160 
Man, his Frame, - his Duty, and his Martins of Cro’ Martin; extract, vii. 279 © 
Expectations, by Dr. Hartley, iv.. 344 | Martinus Scriblerus, Mice 355 
‘Man of Feeling. by Henry Macken- Martyrdom of St. Paul, “by” ‘Cony- 
Bee PIO ROR UCACTS IY: ocine sc weve nce tcy o'9d 984 ORT ORS V IIT < & <. Sterzte Sat cccaett oesale alton aiae 130 
Man of the World, by Henry Mack~- Martyrs, Fox’s Book of. 1. etces. 392 
TE VACA ST) RS ai ne ee ce 984 | MARVELL, ANDREW, poet ; ag li. 179 
Man of the World, by Macklin, i iv... 230 | Mary Barton; extract, vii. Price oo 
MANDEVILLE, BERNARD DE} ex- Mary in Heaven, by Burns, Wa ots 403 
ER ORS ety cis terego.2. gees ts bdivieic od sat 80 | Mary Morison, by Burns, ili......... 402 
MANDEVILLE, Sir JOBN, traveller ;- Mary of Castle-Cary, by H. Mac- 
CAGh EY GC ES Oe Sas ig a ae sore. 64 oF Sas AER ph Sk eu Pe a 3 
_- Manfred, by Lord Byron; extr., v... 263 | Mary, Queen of Scots, by Tytler, iv.. 306 
Mankind, Physical History of, by J. Mary. Queen of Scots, Character of, 
C. Pricha» a RULE chass atet~ bei ecl o's) s ape 2€5 by ‘Robertson, 1¥..\. <ajicecst <> wuletws 300 
Maney, DE La Riviere, MRs., Mary, Queen of Scots, Death of, - 
ee ea WISTS Ter scares cue . 383! from Froude’s History, viii...... reat 


Memorials of his 


Time, by Lord 
Cockburn ; extract, viil........ 


cen” 19k 


Dairy, ‘Vill Toto aes 8 Oe oe + 30) 263 
Miuman, Rev. H. Hart, as poet, v. 
355; as theologian, Viii............ 


> 7 N Cpt eae nes a $i a ate 
f a & - i aes 
, t 
402 CYCLOPADIA OF [GENERAL 
PAGE. PAGE. 
Mary’s Dream, by John Lowe, iv..., 209 | Memorie of the Someryiles, ooted by f 
Mask, the Memorable, j.........4... 333... Sir Walter-Scott, vill,..2.i..2...2. / 
Masks, Court, of the 1th Cent.. i... 331 | Memories, by Mrs. H. B. Stowe; 
Mason, W1LLIAM, as poet, iv. 152; ECX{LACt VIL Pec sos sete aie eens 297 hee 
Qs GPAaMAtst;1Viis 0 Jom: ake se aged 218 | Men of Genius, by Carlyle, vii...... 390 3 
MassEy, GERALD, poet, Vil......... 99 | Men of Genius Resolute Workers, by . 
Massey, W., historian; extract, viii 43 | G.. Hs ewes, ‘vities so. cae wees ta e 
MASSINGER, PHILIP, dramatist, i.... 369 | MENNES or MENNIS; Sir Jomn, ii... 92 i 
MAsson, CHARLES, traveller, vili.... 322 | Menu, Ordinances of, translated by 7 
Masson, Davin, biog.; extracts viii. 79 Sir William Jones, il.....-....25, 
Mathematical Lear ning, Usefulness Mercurius Politicus, edited by March- 
of, by Arbuthnot; extract, ili..... 362 mont Needham, ili... 3). 2Sse 133 
Mathematics, on, by Sir W Hamil- MEREDITH, OWEN, nom-de-plume of 
LOHM VU eo: Soyo Sete Ceo eee 267 Lord:Lyttony vil; ofce ieee ates 143 ~ 
Marner, Miss, novelist, vii..... .... 30 | MertvaLe, Rey. CHARLES, histo- ~ ae 
MatuEws, HENRY, traveller, Vilscs ae LO TIAN, “Vil. > stented nt cate ene .. 403 wi 
Marurias, THOMAS JAMES, poet, v.. 50 | Mermaid, the, by Leyden: extract,v. 85 2 
pees by the ayes of Norman- MERRICK, JAMES, poet, iv.........: 86. : 
LY CSV letarcia he oo oe  he km odes otra yer 227 Mesogonus, by ‘ Thos. Rychardes,’ i. 259 s 
Matter ana Spirit, by Dr. J. Priest- Messiah, the, by Pope, iin. ws ies . 182 
REV SIV Se ee cloe's ckabcteeet ce cveauilerers 354 | METEYARD, E1iza, biographer, viii. m)l 
Matthew of Paris, 16 -.2..s.s se asans 11} Methinks it is good to,be here, v.... 300 
Matthew of Westminister,i......... 11] Method, Treatise on, by Coleridge ; ¥ 
Mattiiews (Dibies Lo oak seen ste ote eee 137 extract; Vici. ... She Daan 165 Ps 
MATURIN, REV. CHARLES ROBERT, Metrical Romances, Origin of, i...>. 14 ~~ 
dramatist, vi. 72; as novelist, vi... 172 | Mexico, Conquest of, by Prescott, vil 347. 
Maud; by Tennyson, vii......2...... 121 | Mexico, Life in, by "Mine. Calderon, 
MauvuRic#, Rev. J. FRED. DENISON, Viiv Scone he cnet eats Gee eee «ev eves B86 
WCOLO RIAN, VL to a Pew olan ie ee ene 133 | Mexico, Storming of, by Prescott, vii 348 : 
MAXWELL, W. HAMILTON, novelist, MIcHAEL ANGELO TirmMARsH(Thack- fas 
UBL. aie Salen oat psa rr Swan ears DE Neate 304.) efay), Vil-o. oe). ceees snes - 6 sabe vs eS 
May, Str T. Erskine. historian, viii 42 | Michaelis’s Introduction to the New ry 
. May, Tuomas, historian, ii... ..... 314 Testament; edited by Marsh, vi... 301. : 
May Morning at Ravenna, by Leigh MICKLE, WILLIAM J ULIUS, poet, iv. a 2 
AUT Vise asters chante oie tt eintace Me aap 222 | Microcosm, the. periodical, v.......: Ps". 
May-eve, by John Cunningham, IV... 155 Microcosmography, by Harle ex- ess 
MAYNE, JASPER, dramatist, istic sas - 939 tract, 128 oe lee ee eee 5 i2”) 
MAYNE, JOHN, poet, Vi........--- 00 4 Microcosmns, the, by Nabbes, i wea be OOD “Gi 
Mechanics, Treatise on, by Whe- | Microsmus, by Peter Heylin, iii...... 65° r 
Weld, VIEL t.e o aeetens ere capers 260 | Middlemarch, ae George Eliot, vii... 313 mse 
Mechanism of the Heavens, by Mrs. MIDDLETON, DR. CoNYERS, as biog- a 
Mary Somerville, viii —.......... 258 rapher, iv. 289; as theologian, iv... 325 
Medals, Essay on, by Pinkerton, vi.. 263 | MippLETON, 'T’ HOMAS, dramatist, i.. 859 ‘o 
Medals of Creation, by Mantell, vill. £83 Midnight Scene in Rome, from By- .. 
Meditations, Hervey’ ByVal 328 TODS Vin. cog 2nps eee eae tama . 253 ie 
Melmoth the Wanderer, by Maturin, MILL, JAMES, as “historian, vi. O77 ; : -: 
WL Eee Sees a eee tibet y he a eh aN nae Somes 173 as psychologist, vi. 3243 as polit- fe 
MELMOTH, WiLLIAM (nom-de-plume ical economist, vi.>.......% 3.9 a 
HitZOSDOlNe)s lV ese n ea eee nk 393 Miers JOHN STUART, ‘es : s 
Melrose Abbey. by Scott, v.......... 244 |) VT Se Se ee ee ee .s O0: ex # cs 
MELVIL, SiR JAMES, his Memoirs ; Mill, Jobe Stear 272 V9 
BXUPROLS, Msn t an oe Pee ners 56 Mill on the Floss; extract, vii... San 214 4 
MBLVILL, Rev. HENRY, theologian ; MILLER, HueH, ceologist: extrs..viii 295 re 
ex (ractaasl 24 ee ers ee . 122 | Miller, Hugh, ‘Life of. by Peter aS. 
eee Andrew, Life of, by WCrie, Bayne; also in ‘Golden Lives,’ » i 
wa nate eis UA Vodice Pea - phe SENSO by Henry | A. Page, vili.... 2.3.2.4, 303 ry) 
1! eee HERMAN, traveller, vili,. 221 | MiituER, T'HOoMAS, misc. writer, viii. 182 
Memorials of a Quiet Hifegevil stan: 125 | Mills and Mill-w ork, by Sir W. Fair- 


Sf ore ca ba A 


S 


INDEX. ] 


PAGE. 
-'MILyzs, RICHARD MONCETON, LORD 


HOUGHTON, poet; extracts, vii.... 77 
MILTON, JOHN, as poet, ii. 153 ; as 
BVT Wl. i cs ke sic cle cee 273 
Milton, from Landor, v.............. 187 
Milton, Life of, by Keightley, viii. 
16; by Prof. Masson, SOIR galcfeinih ccs 
; Mind, Indestructibility of, by: Sir H. 
Davy, TEA Gq ahe een eee ER 253 
Mind ators Matter, by Ker, Willd sins bie 174 


Mind and Body; the Theories on 
their Relation, by Frof. Bain, viii. 


Minerva Press Novels, vi............ 

_ Minister’s Wooing, tie, by Mrs. 
HOWE S) OXUMICUSS Viles.co. cts se ccecs 299 

Munot, LAWRENCE, i....-........... 18 


Minstrel, the, by Beattie; extracts, iv 178 
Minstrel, the Aged, by Sir W Scott,v 243 


- Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern, by 


< 


* Mirrour for Magistrates, the, i 


ENMOLDEEWON, Vic nace: Sot eteace 
‘Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, v. 237 
Minto, Wix.i4m, biographer and 

critic, viii 99, 249 
WIFACIG PlAVS yd oss oni nee ne cares BAYS 
Miracles, on, by Dr. G. Campbell, iv. 347 
Mirandola, by Bryan Wal.er Procter, 

(Barry, Cornwall) ; scene from, v 

3495 vi 


Ce ee ee ey 


Pe ae a oe eC et ee 


147 
Misfortunes of Barney Boas a Vi. 238 


eeseeee 


~ Miss in her Teens, by Garrick, EV nec 2a 
Missionary Hymn, Dy Heber Vs. -= os 296 
Mircouen.. THomAs, translator, v... 389 


MITFORD, Mary RvUssELL, novelist, 
Be Se See a Oe . 241 


Mitrorp, WILLIAM, historian, vi... 248 


-Mitherless Bairn, the, by Thom, vii.. 178 
Modern Painters, by Ruskin; ex- 
PRU S Lk VIN s crn vies's. asdc 5» «= see 


ee 


EMreuasurnied: Appearance and Char- 

acter of, by Gibbon, iv 
Morr, D. 'M. (Delta) ; specimens, vii 58 
Molecular and Microscopic Science, 
by Mrs. Somerville, vill. : 
MoLeswortH, W.N., historian, viii 72 
Mouachism, British, by Fosbrooke, 

er eda racine Ow te oleic com aic.e oie 388 


er ey 


‘Monarchy, on, from CON Yr, Ween’ 
Mouastery, the, WP ta: PAC esate 181 
Monsoppo, LORD, iv.........---..- 403 
Monk, the, by M. G. Lewis, v. 233 ; 
SOIT a pa cg ea 131 
* Monmouth, Execution of, by Macau- 
WEREVEE Get ceee yous, ene aNe oar 8. = 2% . 380 
MONMOUTH, GEOFFREY OF, i....... 10 
MontTacu, CHARLES, poet, iii. 137 
Montagu, Mrs., misc. writer, iv. 390 
- Montaigne’s Essays, trans. by Cot- 
(COD, Heese eee eee reese ene eeene eens 191 


ENGLISH LITERATURE 


408 

PAGE. 

Montalembert, Memoir of, viii...... 67 

MoNnTGOMERY, ALEXANDER, poet, i. 245 

MoNTGOMERY, JAMES, poet, V...... 30T 
MontTeomEry, Rev. R., poet; ex- 

LE AGU AN Ne, clo oic Da ieee Me eae eee 312 
Monthly REVIEW, AVicen bo ceene tees - 406 
Montrose, ee of, from Clar-' 

CNG S-HIstOrys iit cese oss s cs ences 325 
Montrose, Marquis of, Memoirs of, 

shite eh Pee te a a pera teens f 52 
Montrose. Marquis of, Verses by, ii.. 235 


Moonlight Scene at Séa, by Moore, v 205 
Moorcrort, W., Eastern traveller, 


Ville cn! ctcasnty Aepioss Soe aie Suet ams ae age 26 
Moore, Dr. JOHN, novelist, vi...... 113 
Moorek, EDWARD ; his fables, iv.... 17 
Moore, Sir John, Burial of, v .. 297 


as poet, v. 208 ; 


Pe 


Moore, T'HOMAS, 
as historian, vi 


6 | Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy, 
133 


by Maurice, vili 
Moral fg Political Philosophy, by 
Paley, v 2 
Moral Philécophy, Outlines ot by 


wee les e Peet e+ oaseen 


i i ce | 


Dugald Stewart, Vi.......-+++..-6. 320 
Moral Plays, 1s ee ot eae ks 2538 
Morals, European, fistory Of) Dyes 

BOCK Re MIRE Ss sc sc usettes de sotto len oh 30 
eee the Principles of, by Hume, 
Moun. Dr. Henry, theologian ; ex- 

tracts, Ws Sen toon ete prs Li tisak ar = one 312 
More, Mrs. HANNAH, misc., writer, : 

VL aie pate tro labs! cesctenne nad sregiieiwiareitie cuales 3 
More, Mrs. Hannah, Life of, vi...... 335 
More, Sir Tuomas, historian,i... 118 
More Worlds than One, Vili.......... 274 
MorGAn, AUGUSTUS DE, mathema- 

LiCtAir < EXIT ACtS,. Vill ts ees sees 280 
Morgan, Lapy (Sydney Owenson) 

as novelist, vi. 165; as traveller,vii 16 
MoRIER, JAMES, novelist, vi.... 218 
Morey, HEenry, Pror., piog., viii. 99 
MORLEY, JOHN, Di ographer, Me sss 98 
MoRLEY, THE COUNTESS OF, Vi...... 229 
Morris, WILLIAM, poet, vil........ 167 
Morton. THOMAS, dramatist, lic e.t. 3S 


Mosaic Vision of Creation, by Hugh 
Miller. viii 
Moses, Divine Legation of ; extr., iv 322 
Moses Concealed on the Nile, by Dr. 
EK. Darwin, v 
Moss. REy. 1, -» poet, iv 
MoTHERWELL, WM., song-writer, vi. 
MovLey, JOHN LOTHROP, hist., vii.. 366 
Morpeux. PETER A., translator, iii. 132 
MOULTRIE. REV. JOHN, poet, vil. 54 
Mountain Bard, the, by Hogg, vi. 15 
Mountain Children, by M Howitt, viii 210 
Mountain Daisy, to a, by Burns, v... 399 
Mupiz, Rowert, misc. writer, vi... 388 


er er a) . 


ee ee ee 


404 


® PAGE. 
MurIRHEAD, J. P., biog.; extrs., vili. 82 


_ MULLER, FRIEDRICH M., philologist, ae 
1 


; 


Wal coligis bo acces an tae actegen cee 
MULLER, K. O., historian, vili....:. 9 
MuLock, D.M., novelist ; extrs., vii 317 
Mummy, Address to GHEIGY...to ce eee 337 


Munpay, ANTHONY, dramatist, i... 192 


Munimenta Antiqua, by Ed. King, i iv 405. 


Munster Tales, by G. Griffin, vi..... 235 
MURCHISON, SIR R. L., geologist, vili 288 
Murchison, Sir Roderick L., Life of, 

by Geikie ; extracts, vili.......... 290 
Murder as one of the Fine Arts, by 


De-Quincey ; extracts, Vill......... 195 
Mure, WILLIAM, historian; ex- 
tracts, VU ys. hac Se eieg Ae eae 7 


Murpny, ARTHUR, dramatist, iv. 
MuRRAY, Lizut. ALEx., traveller, 


VAL vo cpibis Actos Rea © egnle tana pee a 325 
Mnsie’s2Duel, Strada’s, 1). owe nc occas 108 
Mustapha, tragedy, by Mallet, iv.... 217 


My ain Fireside, by E. Haiilton, vi. 164 

My Brother’s Grave, by Moultrie, vil 55 

My Circular Notes, by J. F. Camp- 
OLS “WATS (53g -cane 2 hse ater ite 


ee eC | 


My Novel, by Bulwer, vii... ........ 227 

My only Jo and Dearie O, by Gall, v 405 

My Schools and Schoolmasters, Vis. 499 

My Sheep I neglected, I broke my 
Sheep-hook, by Sir G. Elliot, iv... 207 

My ‘Time, O ye Muses, was happi ly 
spent, by Byrom, iv.........:-.... 

My eg of Nature, by Dr. Liddon, 


ee ee a | 


Vilin ic sri arn eree bike Manin nees aie erp ae Enotes 


NABBES, THOMAS, dramatist, i...... 
Nabob, the, by Susanna Blamire, v. 
NAIRNE, BARONESS, song-W riter, vi. 6 


NapiER, MARK, biogr apher, Vili. 52 

NAPIER, Sir Charles, Life of, vi..... 271 

NAPIER, Sin_W. F. P., historian ; 
extract, vi bain Sy ase Paaves ciouetie seke ce om ee 


4 BE eo: pie Arse OA, Meagan Gh 
Napiers, the. by H. Martineau, viii.. 
Napoleon at St. Helena, vili......... 
Napoleon Bonaparte, Life of, by Sir 

W.. Scott, vi.285; Character of, by 


De Channine, villsycc ow seaeiee 108 
Narratives from Criminal Trials in 

Scofland. by J. H. Burton, viii.... 47 
Nasu. C., historian, vili............. 31 
Nasu, ‘'HOMAS, dramatist,i........ 274 
Natural History of Enthusiasm, viii. 156 
Watural Selection, First Conception 

of the Theory of, by Charles Dar- 

Wi Vlllcise bp beicttens ee joXhy acento ete dials 806 


aa 


CYCLOPADIA OF 


: baa > NR Rac 2) 
- [onsenan ‘ 
- _ PAGE. 
Natural Theology, by Paley, vi......- 295 > 
Nature, Love of, by Cowper, v..%... 21 ~ 
Nature, scientific periodical, viii... » 264 
Nature and ‘Art, by Mrs: Inchbald ; 
EXTracts Vie. sce cent ee Sees 120 ~ 
Nautical Almanac, vilis.2..0....... 1208 tae 
NEAVES, Lorp, song-writer, vil..... 1733 
ar page MARCHMONT, journalist, & 
ng wate bee Ge gis Wares S en ee 133 ~ 


eit Servitude, by H. Mackenzie,iy 784 
Negro Slavery, by Dr. Channing, viii 106 
Neison, Life of, by Southey; piss bet vi 281 — 


Nemesis of Faith, by Froude, viii. 24. 
NENNIUsS, historian, 1. soe one tenes ee oe 
Netley Abbey. by Gray, 1Vowitieea coe by Mera 
New America, by W. H. Dixon; ex= 
tract; Viilsi2 23 See sR eohed Sou, 1a 
New Path Guide; extracts, iv....... 189. 4 
New England and New York, Tray- oes 
els in, by Dr. T. Dwight, wi Res inger 302 
New W: ay to pay Old Debts, Se eas Ee eC 
New Zealand, T Tarelst in, by Didtien oot 
Bach, evil -:. . sea eee eee ee aes 335i 
NEW CASTLE, “MARGARET, DucuEss * gs 
OF, DOCL 11 sss a5 nee eee 201 
Newcomes, the ; extract, vil. ...2...._ 260 — 
NEWMAN, Dr. J. H., Tractarian, viii 10% ~ 
NEWMAN, Francis W., theologian, Sy 
Vili. SUS ee ee da Th olgseareele meas LOR: Fes 
Newspapers, rhe (5s {ieee 1323.4 
NEWTON, BisHop, theologian, iv.>., 3:6 NE 


NEWTON, £1R ISA Ac, nat, philos, aaah “43 es 
Ngami, Discovery of, by Living- re 
stONE; “Vill. Sieve be chee es pete S62 a 
NicHoL, PRoF. JON, mise. writer, 
Will. | caste anon ee eee 263. 
NicHou, ProF. J. P., astronomer, viil 2685 =) 
NICHOLAS DE GUILDFORD, poet, i... 12- 


Nicholas Nickleby, by Dickens, vii. | 246 % 
NicHOoLs, JOHN, biographer, vi...... 885, 
NicuHorson, -W., the ‘ calowat a. 
Poel? Vi, ce “Se bs saeeaees Se ee 267 SAY 
NICOLL, ROBERT, song-write r; ‘Vi. "O37 ie 
Nicouson, Dr. W., antiquary, iii... 307. é 
Niebuhr’s Ballad Theory, by Sir G. C. + S 
Lewis, Viiv oi. ses ae ee eee 402 >. 
Night, by Montgomery, v..*......... 312 


Night, Sonnet on, by. Blanco White,v 169 
Night in the Desert, by Southey, v.. 173 
Night-piece, on Death, by Parnell, 1 iii 268 = 
Night-side of Nature. vil......-..... "253 Jen 
Night Thoughts, by Yeung; extr., iii a & 
Nightingale, Ode to, by Keats, v 
Nile, the Source of, from Speke, viii. re 


Nile Tributaries of Abyssinia, by _ 

Sir-S. Ws Baker; Vike 22. gee ee 358 
Nimroud, Appearance of, by Lay-  - — 
ald, Vill... . c:wou ie earns 342 - 
OES Cases of Conscience Resolved, a 
y Robert Sanderson, ii........... $58 - 
Ninevel, by Layard ; extracts viii... 342 se 


: ENGLISH LITERATURE. 408 


Shepherd, by Sir W. Raleigh, 1 213 


Ce ee are. 


= PAGE. PAGE. 
No Cross, ‘No Crown, re Penn ; ex- | Old Scottish Town (Poshied), descrip- 
; jog Te Ae a ES ae oer eae ra 10: tion of, by W. Chambers, viii...... 
L) Noblest Delight. by, Mark Twain.viii 243 | OLpys, W ILLIAM, antiquary. iv..... 1T 
= Nocturnal Reverie, iii............... 229 | OLIPHANT, MRs., as novelist, vii. 
“Norman Conquest, by Freeman ; ex- S20erextracte Wil ws. 0c. ee 
ib ele hulle ae 2 eles ae at eag Santee! 44 | Oliver Twist, by Dickens; extract. vii 245 
NorMAnBy, MARQUIS OF, novelist, vi 227 | OPrE, Mrs. AMELIA, as poet ; .ex- 
Normandy, History of, by Palgrave, tracts. v.67; as novelist, vi....... . 246 
oS SORES agar tr Sa eS Sa 861} Optics, by Sir Isaac Newton, il. .ss2240 
Norman-French, introduction of, i. 10 | Orange : its cultivation, by Buller, Vili 334 
_ Norris, REv. JOHN, The aS eee eae 319 | Orcadian Sketches, by Vedder; ex- 
North and South, by Mrs. Gaskell, vii 28; NpP SACI. Vib Sects atric yen. ee 178 
North Briton, edited by Wilkes, iy.. Oriental Eclogues ; extracts, viii. 20 
North-west Pass sage Expeditions, Vili 3 "0 OMEUtAL CTA VIL > Shc oes eats eae | 387 
Norton, THE Hon. Mrs., poet and Origin of Species, by C. Darwin ; ex- 
fem TOVElists GXtracts; Vil-.:...... .> 56 HEACEA Vi cag oe x Or icine oe ee Pes gs 
Norton, THOMas. dramatist, i..... 261 | Orion, an Epic Poem, vii.....2...... BR 
_ Norway, by Laing ;_extracts, vili..... 332 | Orlando Furioso, by Robt. Greene, i. 278 
-. Norway. Sweden. and Denmark, by Orlando Furioso, trans, by Rose, v.. 387 
_~ _ HD. Inglis (Derwent Conway), vii 29 | Orlando Innamorato, trans. by Rose, 
Nosce Teipsum, by Davies; extr., i.. 198 1 Pee eee 9 Oe eats Sta yet oe ane! 
Says =NOtes ANG Queries, Vill... 2.0. oo. ce 239 | Orme’s History of British India. iv. 307 
_ Nothing Human ever Dies, by Rey. Ornuigin, 1)... eee, Lovee oie 10 
J. Martineau, * th ees fo Ae 160 | Orconoko, by Southerne; scenes 
Novum Organum, by Lord Bacon, ii. 10 PROMS AL to. here ol ok, 943 
Nubian Revenge, by Warburton, viii. 189 | Orphan, the. by Otway ; extract, ii.. 261 
 Nut-Brown Maid, tiie, Late os ces . 107 | Orphan Boy’s Tale, by Mrs. Opie, v.. 68 
r _ Nyassa, discovery of, by Livingstone Orphan Child, from ‘Jane Eyre,’ vii. 2:8 
cry Sag ee LR SE ES eee 385 | OsRORN, Lieut, S., traveller; ex- 
ae Nymph’s Reply to the Passionate tract, WR aoe sis coon s ge neetas 351 
| 


oO Nancy, wilt thou go with me? iv. 146 ous, by Macpherson ; specimens, 


Oberon of Wieland, by Sotheby, v... 200-)) iv... cee eee 
OccLEVE, THOMAS, poet, i-......... 60 Oiterbnra: Battle of, by R. White,viii 51 
Ocean, Apostrophe to the, by Byron, _ OTWAY, REv. CRSAR, novelist, vi... 234 

gE ee Re Cakes 262 OrTway, THomas, dramatist ; ex- 
“Oceana, by J. Harrington. ii... ... PODS TACIS AV, fe ts So Pel ye cea 257 
~ —O’Connor’s Child, by Campbell, v.... 223 | OUDNEY, Dr.. Afiican traveller, vii. 6 
Ode to Eton College, by Gray, iv. 5 | * Ouida’ (Lonise de Ja Ramé), novel- 
_ - Ode to Independence, by Smollett,iv 72 PBI MGY pt Say Sag ers Seale ee 310 
- Ode to the Departing Year, by Cole- Our Village, by M. R. Mitford, vi. 241 
x LES S28) ON ope 8 Sea ae a ey el ege 14) | Ouseney, Str WILLIAM. traveller, ‘vii 25 
Odyssey, translated by Chapman, i, Outlines of Astronomy, by Herschel, 
3.2; by Pope, 1. 1763 by pomeny, VHT eee Sete i ae ees aes 255 
~-y. 200; by W. Cullen Bryant, vii.. 835} OuTRAM, GEORGE, lyric writer, Vii.._ 179 
Oh, no! we-never mention Him, v... 379 | OVERBURY, Sin ‘THOMAS, prose 
Oh. why left] my Hame? vi........ 8h WTTEOTA EH forced} 0 ores noe tasers gre enare Steet . 44 
pa aa ‘@KEEFE. JOHN, dramatist, vi....... 84} OWEN, DR. Joun, theologian, ii. 28 
— Old and Young Courttier, the, ded? 5.854 OWEN, PROF. RICHARD, naturalist 
~ Old Bachelor, scenes from, ili....... 258 and anatomist ; extracts, vill. a Ath 

~ — Old English Baron, by Clara Reeve,iv 281 Owen, Prof. R., Memoir of, viii...... 292 

he Old English Munor-honse, vi ....... 123 epee SypnEyY (Lady Morgan), 

Spies MOL Familiar Faces, by Lamb, v..... LOSE PVG Ree aie ents Oe Cee Wace. nea 165 

Old Kensington, by Miss Thackeray; Owl and the Nightingale, i........-. 12 

MOR AMtG. VI ce wee oak sie Who ns ae oe 839 | OXENFORD, Mr., dramatist, VI} ce NOL 
~~ Old Man’s Wish, the, by Dr. W. Oxford Gazette started, iti.........-. 134 
yk Seg le eee eta tide wae Wists 234 | OZELL, JOHN, translator, Weave rates cee 

Old Mortality, vi.. ea Re ea Wy 4 

-. Old Red ‘Sandstone, the, “by Miller, Pacific Ocean, Discovery of, by Vas- 

i RV oer ice. catdics <o ees wees ss 2901 co Nunez, by Sir A. Helps, wiif)..: 241 


406 ~CYCLOPADIA OF [GENERAL — Bh 
PAGE. PAGE. Sy 
Pestum, from Rogers's ‘Ttaly,’v.... 120 | Pearce, NATHANIEL, (cnvetion cb Le a 
Painters, Modern, by Ruskin; ex- PEARSON, Dr. JOHN, theologian, iis. 402 
LETC VALL SS, caters tbe atate a vine Hien, Fat - 228 Sees Life, by Malcolm M’L ennan, 
Painters, Sculptors, and. Architects, |. Wil; ss. sm. aes ta aps ce se ee Zs 
Lives of, by A, Cunningham, vi. 22 Peeblis tothe Play, by Jamesi.,i.. 77 — 
Palace of "Honour, by Gavin Doug- PECOOK, REYNOLD, prose-writer, i ees Gy 
LAS) Leisccre Woe eicinas SES ee ene oe 96 | Peebles "described by W. Chambers, x. 
Palace of Pleasure, a coll. of Tales, i. 153 WUT. oa ied ites casas te ay eer 94 ~ 3 AG 
Paleontology, by Prof. Owen, viii... 242 | Pret, Sm Ropert, his Memoirs, — 
Palamon and Arcite, by R. Edw ards, i 262 viii. 50; Life of, by Lord Stan- < 
Palestine, by Heber ; extracts, v. 294 hope, VIE teed ota ee eRe ee 
PaxEy, Dr. WILLIAM, theologian, vi 191 PEELE, GEORGE, dtainatiet: Ti, w'wv posse Ory eee 
PALGRAVE, SiR FRANCIS, historian; Feu inthe Far East, by "Macleod, < 
CXTAGIS, Vilas, ea bese ote Seep 360 (p> YUL. Ene oce Caer, ee eee a ee 166_— 
PALGRAVE, W. G., traveller; ex- Petican Island, the, by Montgomery, aa 
CPACTAS NTL A ec cuivg ceo cae ee eee 348 V. ocrtiseses sage et eee B12 s 
Palissy the Potter, Life of, vili....... 99 | Pen Owen, by Dr. James Hook, vi... - 212792 
PALMER, WILLIAM, Tractarian, viii. 101 Pencilings by the Way, by Willis, vii 88 2 
Pamela, by Richardson ; extracts, iv 245 | Pendennis, by Thackeray, vii........ 25f 
Pandosto, by Robert Greene, i...... 2.7 | Peninsular War, by Hamilton, vi.... 212 
Parables, Expos. of, by Greswell, viii 120 | Peninsular War, by Napier; extr., vi Pits tee 
Paracelsus, by Robert Brow ning, vii. PENN, WILLIAM ; extracts, iii-.... a 
B51 2 Fextentts Wilsaa\ acuta ace 140 | Penn, Willian, Life of, vili--i2sa.8 ACUBE Oe 
Paradise Lost, by Milton, ii. 170; ex- PENNANT, THOMAS, zoologist, iv. mae ao 
37: teh Re | MR SRORY Raat pr ies on Eb eee 160 | Pennitess Pilgrimage ; extract, it... 680 "eg 
Paradise of Dainty Devices, a mis- Penny Cyclopedia, vii........-. yh. 550 
COMANY SIN. . ae. toned. See as 73, 199.] Penny Magazine, vii...........-.7%. 36-5 
PARDOE, JULIA, novelist, vil....s... 284 Pentateuch ang the Elohistic Péalms, ESS 
Paris in 1815. by Croly ; extracts, v. 360 the, by Bishop Brown, viii. 148, 
Parish Register, the, by Crabbe; ex- PrEpys, SAMUEL—his Diary, ‘ieee 115° - 
tracts, eee . 105 PERCEVAL, ARTHUR, Tractarian, viii 101 _ i 


oe « dhe setse tse? 


PARK, ANDREW, poet, Vii.......-+-- 
PARK, MUNGO, traveller; extrs., Vil. 4 


PARKS, B. RAYNER, poet; speci- a 
eo pe) ERE PORE AT Bee . 170 
~PARNELL, THOMAS, poet. iji........ 207 


Parr, DR. SAMUEL, theologian, vi.. 
PARRY, SIR EDWARD. traveller, vi.. 20 
Parson, the Country, by G Herbert.ii 71 
Passages from the Diary of a Late 


Physician, by Samuel Warren, vii. 239 
Passages of a Working Life, vili.... 236 
Passionate Pilgrim, the, i ee 212 
Passionate Shepherd to ‘his Love, iz. 213 
Past and Present, by Carlyle, vii.... 393 
Paston Letters, the; specimens, vi.. 264 


Pastoral Ballad, by Ww. Shenstone, iv 31 
Patchwork, by Capt ain Basil Hall, vil’ 29 
Patient Grissell, by Chéttle, i... 2... 294 
- PATLOCK, RoBeRrn, novelist, iv,..... 248 
PATIIORU, COVENTRY, poet, yii..... 
PATRICK, SYMON BisHopP, iii........ 805 
PAULDING, J. KIRKE, misc. writer,vi 3 
PAYN, JAMES, novelist. Vii.......5.. 
PAYNE, JOHN HOWARD, dramatist,vi_ 74 
PAYNTER, WILLIAM> editor, i:..... 4 
Peace, History of the, by H. Martin- 
Gs e VALI oie tiene ek ovis ae a oe aie one he 28 


Pracock, THOMAS Lovy, novelist, vi 244 | 


Prroy, BisHop, poet, iv........ Peres C:- e oa 
Percy, by Mrs. Hannah More, vi.... 3 2 <i me: 
Percy’s Reliques, i 104 5 
Peregrine Pickle, by Smollett; ex- , 

tract, iv. 257 
Persia, J ourney “Through, ‘Dy Mor- 

ier, Vin... » cringe ee sberes wre eee 
Persia, Travels in, by Fraser, vii.... 
Persuasion, by Jane Austen; ex- 

{TACt, Vi. . 2. ve ape eres 
Peru, Conquest of, by Prescott, vii.. 318 
PrrerR PLYMLEY (Sydney Smith), vi 365 ~ 
Peter Simple, by Captain Marryat,vii 205 
Peter Wilkins and bis Flying Bride,iv 259 
Petrarch. Life of, by T, Campbell, v. 222 — 
be ae Fables of; trans. by Smart, 


Phalaris the Epistles of, iii. 
Phantasmagoria, by M. J. Fletcher, : 
PH oss > pike 36 aie eee 293: 
Pharonnida ; extract, ils: . ie aaesnee 1450 
See Lucan’ er trans. by me 


ee ae ee ee 


Vili 5. V2 5 0a es oe 2 ae 
Phenomena of Organic Nato re, RY: 


Huxley, vill. 7. 05) deg oe eee as ‘ 
Phenomena of the Human Mind, Ane baie 
alysis of, by James Mill, vi........ 824 - 

bp et 


_ iNDEX.] 


> AGE 

- Mhitaster, by Beaudiont and Pletch- 

337 
Philip IL, History of, by Prescott,vii 348 

~ Philip Sparrow, by J ohn Skelton, i.. 64 
PotD van Artevelde; scenes from, 


Cr 2 Ce ee ee | 


2 SRY Se 2 ae ee 89 
aries. AMBROSE, as poet, fii. 225 ; 

PS CMAMAtISt, Mi 5 oo. lose eee ” 972 
PHILIPS, JOHN, poet; specimen, ii.. 225 
PHILIPS, KATHERINE, poet, ii-..... 102 
PHILLIPS, SAMUEL, novelist, vii. 290 


Philosophy, Hist. of, by G. H. Lewes 


(ON SOS aa ae ee 6 
Bs ree Moral and Political, by 
Pye) CXULACL, Vien isicie cw o.0's'v en 42 292 
_- Philosophy of the Humen Mind, by 
Dugald Stewurt, Vi. 2.2... 26. e0en 32 
Philosophy of ihe Human Mind, by 
RIP CTRCOW BSN be Bees! - 6) con's «¥en 
Philosophy of the Moral Feelings, by 
ir... Abercrombie; View... sce. 32 
Phoebe Dawson, by Crabbe, ii....... 105 
Phrenology, by G. Combe; extr., vi. 325 
Physical Astronomy, History of, by 
LESH TA ie op Us JON SEE tea 264. 
Physical Geography, by Mrs. Mary 
MIOMNORGINGS Vile roc) Bcc neSaudeese 259 
'. Physical Theory of Another Life, by 
+ -isaac Taylor: extract, vill.....:.. 155 
PIcKEN, ANDREW, novelist, Williaa 212 
Pickwick Papers, the, by Dickens, vii 243 
- Pic-nic Newspaper, the, v... ....... 330 
Pictorial Histories cf the Russian 
~- War.and Indian Revolt, viii....... 81 
Pictorial History of England, edited 
i uy. Prof. Craik and C. - Macfarlane, 
eS A ey ee ee 23 
; eaves of Domestic Love by Camp- 
< bell py ashe 6 oles marO pie b1el bcs wis dc sow pte se 294. 
Pied Piper of iamelin, the, vii. 135 
— Pierce Penniless, by ‘ihos. Nash, i O75 
Piers the Ploughman, the Vision of.i 20 
7 ae of Compostella, by Southey, 
ae als MM he Vie, oda ala lece gra welanws 176 
- Pilgrinns and the Peas, by Wolcot, v. 53 
Pilgrim’s Progress, the; extract, lii.. 25 
Pindar, Odes of; trans. by West, iv.. 193 
PINDAR, PETER (Dr. John W ole ot), 
BTS PORLTOUIE, Wo ps sso oF oine 


Pindaric Essays, by John Pomfret. ii. 298 
oy ose ag. by Abraham Cowley, ae 
2 


ee 


~-Paxxenton, Br OHN, 


geographer, Vi......-...- Fi ts slain ae 263 

~ Piozz1, Mrs.,(Mrs. Thrale), heap 125 

- Piper of Kilbarchan, by Sempill, ii.. £36 
* Prroarrn, ROBERT, jurist, viii...... 51 

' Pitt, character of, from ‘ Rolliad,’ y.. 88 
Pit, Life ou by Lord Stanhope, viii. 14 


no 
a ho @& 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


407 


PAGE, 
Pitt, Rey. CHRISTOPHER, poet, iv.. 191 


Pirt, Witi1aM, EARL OF CHAT- 


BEAM OUT at tat edicis Spare seine win ea 372 
Pizarro, Kotzebue’ ay vides srt hos sehen 47 
Plague in London, by Defoe; ex- 

ELA TIE, ak O's na apc Aiea are MOR nee 326 
Plain Dealer, by Wycherley; ex- 

BLOCUAIL de st ayrebe Ae s tinea tea NG 267 
PLANCHE, MR., dramatist. vii. .. 201 
Planet Jupiter, is it inhabited ? “by 

Sir D. Brewster. viji....2.....5.... Qi. 
Plato and the other Companions of 

Sokrates, by Grote, viii......... 5 
Plato’s Dialogues, by Jowett, viii. . 159 
Pleas for Ragged Schools, Vilbg tock 164 
ae tes of Hope, the; extracts, 

Sets) a) ee eg ir oe Ce 219. 224 
Heuston of Memory ; extract, v.... 114 
Pleasures of the Imagination ; : "ex- 

RARER Set a le os 9 Daasead oe ea gd 40 


Plurality of Worlds, by W hew ell, vili 260 
Plutarch’s Lives, by Langhorne, iv.. 156 
PococxkEs, the, Oriental “echo! ars, iii 4 
Pos, EDGAR ALLAN, poet: extrs..vii 81 
Poems 'escriptive of Rural Life, v.. 325 


Poesie, Art of, by G. Puttenham, i.. 406 
Poesie, Defence of, by Sir P. Sid- 

WEVA Tc olsck. Yee teen e ctw eeiaide 396 
Poesy, Progress of, by Gray, 54. 
TF oetical Rhapsody, teseuree tie gs ee 222 
Poetical Sketches, by Blake; ex- 

REGO, Moe aes WG leg Dh ks mala Mies cao ots aie 123 
Poetry, History of English, by Thos. 

WH ABR, TV cs ict craceranre contain cos protele. ote 171 
Poets, Lives of the, by Dr. Johnson, 

IW LLG EOXEPAOT, IVE Cis ete os oat 360 
Political Economy, Elements of, by 

James Mill, vi. 3293 by J. R. 

M’Cullock, vi. 330; Principles of, 

by Ricardo, vi. 329; Mustrations 

of, by H. Mariineau. viii.......... 19 
Political Register, Cobbett’s. vi...... 338 


7 olitical State of Great Britain, a 


Miscellany edited by Abel Boyer, iv uh 
E G@LLOK, ROBERT, poet,-Vi oo ieesee ws 301 
Polychronicon, Hit densi its Ue tee “56 
Polyolbion, by Michael Dray tOIk yd 83 
POMFRET, JOHN, poet, 1. ioe aagel tee 
Poor Gentleman, the, scenes from, vi 51 
Poor Jack, by Charles Dibdin. v. 299 
Poor Seay eg from Lamb’s Es- ie 


EERE epics tr ABO er BP Ee cta tes 
Dade wie Richard’s Almanac, by Frank- 
lin, iv 392 
PorE, ALEXANDER, as poet, Iii. 1735 
as prose-writer 5 extracts, iii 
Pope, Memoirs and Editions of, iii. 
1 opr, DR. WALTER, song-writer, ii. 234 
Pope ‘and Dryden; Parallel between, a 


ee 


ee ee 


408 CYCLOPAHDIA OF = | - [eNERAL a8 

PAGE, | : ‘ PAGE. a 

PUES: History of the, by A. Bower, | Promos and Cassandra, t.2........6. a ee ‘of 

aay . 80° | P ophecy, the, by Chatterton, iv....° 98 ~~ 

Bones: History of tlre. ‘by Ranke. vii. 3~5 | a ROUT, PaTHER (Rey. Mr. Mahony) ae 

Popular Antiquities, Brand’s, viii.... 370 maguzine writer, Vili.......... eon ee 

Popular Rhymes of Scotland, viii... 94 Provencal Linguape, ih. resets a 10 

Popular Tales, by Maria Edgew orth, Proverbs, on, by Trench; Stet Witied 72 3 
pM arte oo he etea pag OE Ont eels peat 159 | Provoked Wife, by Vaubragh, iti. 26° 265 2 


Pagainion, by I’. R. Malthus, vi. 328 
Population, Law of, by M..'T. Sad- 


Provost, the, by Galt; extract, vi. - 198 — 
PSALMANAZAR, GronrceE, grammiae | 


OT ORVIS ecsla Phe Sap beaten as 330 rian; IVs =... Seve se ee eee ~ 3 
Population, Lectures on, by N. W. Psalms, the, translation of, by Da- 

SEnlOrsViest cas ce ss ok oe eters 330 vison, i, 222; paraphrase of, by 
Porson, RicwHaRp. miscellaneous George Buchanan, vi. 2565 com 

writer and translator, Vic.......3.. 873 plete version — of, ‘by Dr. ‘Arthur ge 
PoRTER, ANNA MARIA, novelist, vi. 147 Johnston, i. 257; Sandy’s metrical 
PORTER, JANE, novelist, vi.......... 148 version of, i. 234; Francis Rouse’s © 
PortTER, Sir R. Ker, traveller, vil.. 25 Version, Of, I. iA see ee “hae hs 
PorTEvs, Dr. BEILBY. theologian, vi 297 Pseudodoxia Hpidemica, til.. .c. tse 
Portrait, a, by Wordsworth, v-....-. 13¢ | Psyche, by Mrs. Tighe; extr.,v... 68,° ie 
Postal Reform—Anecdote of Coler- Psychology, by Spencer, viliz...... 

idge, by H. Martineau, Viii........ 205 | Psychozoia, by Dr. Heury More, ii. 
PosTANs, CAPTAINGI., “Will... > demcwe 3l | Pablic Advertiser, newspaper, Vos 
Postans, MRs., traveller, viii....... 82 | Public Intelligencer, the, iii.........7 
POWELL, Rey. BADEN, scientific Punch, comic periodical, Vile ase 

WHER, Vill cices hye a> oaSpnat he oly sha 2-4 | PurcHAS. SAMUEL, compiler of = ~~ 
PRAED, WINTHROP M., Poth vii. 46 travels, 1ia.. 3: 6d. Sai ee eee 32 
Prayer, by Montgomery, v Spe oes . 814 Purgatory of Suicides, vii.......... ~ OAs Sg 
Preceptor, the, of Robt. Dodsley, iv. 406 Purple Island, :theyic: vistas ee 234 
Precipices of the Alps, by Ruskin, Pursuits of Literature, by Mathias, y 50- = 
SDES fb A aapa aie, get gecko tie path . 223 Pusry, Rev. Ep. B., Tractarian;viii 101 Bd 
Prehistoric Annals of Scotland, viii. 51] PUTTENHAM, GEORGE, 1....... coos AGB 
Pre-Raphaelites, origin of, vili ..... 223 Ot eae 
Prescort, -W.. H. historian ; ex- Quakers, the sect found-d, iii........ es 

ESET SVT sec foe oi cna rate oe ain ite at 347 QUARLES, FRANCIS, poet ; extrs., Th es 
Prescott, Memoir of. by Ticknor, vii. 34 | Quarterly Magaz-ne, Knight’s,. viii. Ody ho 
PRICE, Dr. Rickarp, theologian, iv 345 | Quarterly Review, thes wile seo eee St 
PRIcE, SIR UVEDALE, misc. writer, A sate Anne, History of her Reign, tae 

Ve Re a eh hc ceo ang OTe, Wg ae eee ee 45 VID aii 2 oe crawl oe sree 14 7a 
PRICHARD, Dr. James C., ethnolo- pales Elizabeth, Giiaraetar of, by epee 

DISH, “Vili. 35 estes Wg'o a alercins eset se eees) SOD ELUIne, ‘TV cs6 saps yet ee oa 
Pricke of Conscience, i.............. 20 | Queen Elizabeth, Memoirs of ‘the Se 
Pride and Prejudice; extract, vi.....153 Court of, by Lucy AIKins Vilisssa.5 Yo eee 
PRIDEAUS, Dr. H., theologi: in, iii.. 398 Queen Mab, by Shelley; extract, Vv 376° 
PRIES TLEY, Dr. JOSEPH, “hat. phi- Queen Marv’s Child-garden, vili.... 245 

TOBODHOD, 1V oir aoa cuteniy ae Mpcemece ..»» 353 | Queens of England. by Dr Doran, vii 235 — 
Primrose, the, ‘by CLARG Wont em esrd 328 | Queens of England and Scotland, by ts 
Prince Consort, Life of, by Martin, Miss Strickland ; oxiagcts, Vil. 2-748 ae 

ae AE, ena gas Ser IRN, acs > 74 | Queen’s Wake; extract, Vii. 3apon Sunk 
Princess, the, by Tennyson, vii...... 118 | Quentin Durward, Vi...........06: -. 18toow 
Princess of Thule, the; extract, vii. 335 ay 
Principia, Newton’s, ice oe - 44] Rab and His Friends; extract, vili.. 245 me J 
PRINGLE, THOMAS, poet, V.......... 359 | Rabelais. trans, by Urquhart, fi ee, 181 E 
PRIOR, MATTHEW, poet, lii......... 149 | RADCLIFFE, Mrs. , Dovelist. vi...... 230 
Proctor, ADELAINE A., poet ; ex- Raz, JOHN, Arctic traveller, viii, ... 35 oy 

(RAGE. Vike ck we ease cans 170 | Rage, THomas, poet, Vic. ee 108 
PROCTER, B. W. ‘(Barry Cornw all), Ragged Schools, Guthrie’s Interest 2m 

as poet, v. 349: as dramatist, vi... 75} in, vill....... 6.5.0.5 ees cee eee ee 
PrRocToR, RICHARD A., astronomer, Rainy Day. a, by Longfellow, Vile. Pee 

A Be SES ARE. cok Cava Care oer 264 | RALEIGH, SIR WALTER, as poet, a 


Prometneus Unbound, by Shelley ; > 212; as historian, i i125 eaeee ae Me 
CXUACE, Vewns csuowsserenvesss¥eeet. 2h0 


te ee een wipe 


= 


PAGE. 
-Bueigh, Sir Walter, Life of, vi. 288 
e RAMAGH, Dr. C, Tart, translator, vii 177 
> Rambler, POPPE RLTACL Ss sAV.~ ot ac vehi 234 
=~ > RAMSAY, ALLAN, poet ; extracts, iii 232 
7 “RAMSAY, REV. E- B.,. author of 
rae . Scottish Life and Char acter,’ viii. 91 
a RANDOLPH, THOMAS, dramatist, x .. 368 
RANDOLPH, THOMAS, poet; extrs.,i1i 232 


~s Rape of Lucrece, by Shakspe*ve,-i... 191 
_ Rape of the Lock, by Pope; ex- 
RB DSS LL. A ial saat So. o.0 o's naies ss 08 17 
= Raseelas, by Dr. Johnson, iv........ 358- 
S ey History of, by Leckie, 
PICS VED Fs a Gaile oes ae es as o's oe me SU 
ee Haren. the, by Edgar A, Poe, vii. 82 
Peas AY, SOHN, DOCANISt, Ti... 0... eee » 806 
.. Reacu, Aneus B., novelist, Vile 6120290 
mote “oe History of, by Clarendon, 
lS SSSR Bren co Rea ao a 320 
= Rebellion, History of, by Dr. R. 
pe eam HAMDETS, Ville .s os os os kn's gece vey e 94 
_- Recruiting Officer, scenes from, iii.. 269 
os READE, CHARLES, novelist, vii...... 301 
READE, JOHN EDMUND, poet, vii.... 45 
~ Recluse, the, by Montgomery, v..... eal: 
» ™ Recollections of a Chaperon, vi. . 228 
~~ Reps, Leman, dramatist, vii........ 201 
' Rees, Dr, ABRAHAM, | eae Py ee ANG 
. Rees’s Cyclopedia, vii............0.. 33 
=.= REEVE, CLARA, novelist. iv.'......... 281 
a REEVES, Dr. Wé., biographer, vili.. TO 
Reflections on the Revolution, by 
2 TLV ere TN ea Aa ic ai hy ae 384 
- Reformation of Religion, History of, 
: ‘by Dr. Gilbert Stuart, iv., 307; by 
edge PAOWHDG NMG Wigs be wes habe Seed cde 65 
_ . Reformation of the Church of Eng- 
® land; wy burnet, lis 2.22025 5) 3s 335 
~ Reginald’ Dalton, by Lockhart ; ex- 
cs Memmearei@te 184 coos. ans sek pec ba es ee tes 207 
Rehearsal, play by Dryden, ii....... 243 


banc REID, CAPTAIN Mayne, novelist, vii 289 

~~ \ REIp, DR. THomas, phWosopher. iv. 348 

— Rejected Addresses; extracts, v 315 

as - Relapse, the, by Vanbrugh, iii... .. 264. 

~- Religio Medici, by Sir T. Browne, iii 56 

_ Religion and Science, by Draper, viii 317 
oon and Theology, by Tulloch, 


seeee 


as ag comes Life; by Caird, 
a Vili. 


Coe eer e nee ne POH Bee eeeve 


Pa are ee ee a oe 


ae ee ee ee ee) 


Reliques of Irish Poetry, iv......... » 283 
~~ Reliquis Baxteriane, ili............. 
a Reminiscences of a Highland Parish, 
= Lby M. Macleod, viii................ 165 


Reminiscences of Scottish Life and 
Character, by Dean Ramsay; ex- 
e+ ; tracts i ctrene 91 


@eteeeerereorererrsaee 


— 


tis ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


409 


PAGE, 
Remorse, by Ooleridge » secue from, 
5) So Ai ycae ry oa wed ates CE PE Se oe pe » 62 


Representative, the, newspaper, viii. 175 
Representative Men, by Emerson,viii 226 
Repressor, the, by Bishop Pecock, itt 
Retaliation, by Goldsmith; extrs., iv. 144 
Return from Parnassus, the, i SS Saas 367 
Revenge, the, by Edward poate iv. 216 


Review, the, edited by Defoe, iii... 272 

Revolt of Islam, by Snelley, v....... 270 

Revolution, History of by Sir J. Mac- 
WItOSN SY Vases ce took nee 

Revolution of 1688-9, from Macan- 
NAVE ND res Reed alo Pelee es 382 


REYNOLDS, FREDERICK, dramatist, 

View Moe ese ein eee et aan 84. 
REYNOLDS, SIR JOSHUA, painter, iv. 387 
Rhetoric, Philosophy of by Camp- 


TSE sa yr SMES he crete wy a ale 247 
Rhetoric and Belles Letters, by Dr.- 
YEAS AY ot at ae So ae Sg 331 
Rhetoric and Logic, System of, by 
Sir Thomas W ilson ; extract, las... 2158 
Ricarpo, Davin, political econo- 
RAG Vl cas cast ow ic pe AY eax oa aearkle 829 
RicuH, CLAUDIUS J., traveller, vil.... 24 


Richard IfI., Character of, by More, i 223 
RICHARDSON, Dr. ROBERT, traveller, 


Wile ae erate tee deen) cher anaes 
RICHARDSON, JOSEPH, satirist. v. 39 
RICHARDSON, SAMUEL, novelist, iv. | 244 
Jtichelieu, by G. P. R. James, “il. os pele 
RippeELx, Mrs., novelist, vii 301 
Rig-Veda-Sanhita, trans. by FM. 

NM Gr Nalbas cote a ae ce esi anae 312 
Rimini. by Leigh Hunt; extract, v.. 322 
RItcuHi£, LEIrcu, novelist, vil...... 281 
Ritson, JOSEPH, antiquary and 

CIC Vd Geos yee nies ans ae 342 
Rival Queens, the, by N. Lee, ii .. . 262 
Road to Ruin, hy Thos. Holcroft, vi. 60 


Roast Pig, Origin of, from Lamb, v. 198 
Robene and Makyne ; extracts, i.... 85 
Robert Falconer: extfact, vii........ 
RoBERTS, EMMA, traveller, vill...... 
RoBertson, Dr. W., historian, iv. 
ROBERTSON, EK. Wn., historian, viii. 
RoBpertson, J. P. and W. P., trav- 
CHers SVT jn Rete site epee ou eagle 
ROBERTSON, Rey. F. W. , theologian; 
OXUPACT Sy Vilis eee etree ba axe eer aeioeis 140 
Robertson, Rev. F. W., Life of, viii. 141 
Robinson, Henry Crabb, Diary of, 
WALD A aie s SNe Rese cc a. cin eae See 
Robinson Crusoe, iii. 323; extract, jii 329 
ROCHESTER, EARL OF, JOHN Wit- 


MOT, song-writer; extracts, ii..... 19T 
Rock and the Wee Picklé Tow, iv... 207 
Rocks Ahead, by W. R. Greg, viii... 247 


Roderick Te don by Smollet, iv.... 269 
Rogers, HENRy, theologian, viii... 112 


. a j oA ae 

= - : > ; TH esrb >a we 

A410 CYCLOPADIA OF = LeENeeet “ 
2 i? ‘ PAGE. PAGE.) 
Rogers SAMUEL, poet, ¥. ... 112 | Saint’s ivertiniine haem by_ Baxter, -_ ‘ 
RocET, Dr. P. M., naturalist, ‘vill... 158 Hi Ss aA 16-2 ee 
SACKVILLE, THOMAS, as poet, Iocey ae a ty Parmge 


Roister Doister, by. Nicholas Udall, i 260 
ROuLLE, RICHARD, i 20 


ee) 


HGiads Che: Vee wascan oes sins Vee 38 
Roman, the, by Sidney Dobell, vii... , 95 
Roman. GENT MROSEs 1s cient ete 10 
Roman dé Rou, by Wace, i..->..... 10 


Roman Catholic Church, by Macau- 
lay, vii 3 

Roman History, by Hooke, ive 283 5 
Roman Republic, by Ferguson, iv. 
402; Rome, History of, by “Ar- 
nold, vii. 354 ¢ by Sir G. C. Lewis, 


vii. 402; by Merivale, vil. 4133; by 

Schmitz, Willis + cs cee aoe 9 
Roman Literature, History of, by BG 

DIUMOP, Vil oa se cerses aera eres 52 
Romeus and Juliet, by ~Arthur 

ISVOORGS a oa ee eae ed ace 0 152 
Rosalynde, by Thomas Lodge, i..... 210 
Rosgciad, the, by Churchill, iv....... 110 
Roscoz, WILLIAM, historian, vi.-... 261 
Roscommon, EAR. oF, poet, ii...... 164 
Rose, W., poet and translator, v.... 3 6 
Ross, ALEXANDER, song-writer, iv...20T 
Ross, Capt. JouHN, Arctic traveller, 

WANS creed see ae, ee rete ath Sede Reon Eee 19 
RossETrTi, CHRISTINA, poet, Vii....- 158 
RossETti, DANTE GABRIEL, poet,vii 158 
Rosy Hanah, by R. Bloomfield, v.. 77 
Rovers, the, by Canning ; extract, v. 

AG FOV cer aie tecie ish vecee eos antares rte a OL 
Row, Jon, historian, ji..........6. 56 
Rows. NicHoLas dramatist, iii..... 247 


Royal Society vf London formed, ii. 268 
Rule Britannin. 1+ 5) 
Rural Lifeof. England, | 
itt; extract. vili.... 
Ruskin, JOHN, art critic; extracts, 


land, hy W. How- 


Pe ee) 


209 


UTM ates ohce to hom: than Mees disse, La ent sm eearotese 228 
RusseL, ALEXANDER, editor, viii... 304 
Russet, DR. W., historian, iv..... 308 
RussEui, LApy "RACHEL: extracts 

from her letters: Tih. .22%cor as Ses ote 129 


RussELL, Lord JOHN, biographer, 
viii 
Russet, WILLIAM H., misc. wri- 
ters vill : 
Russia, Domestic Scenes in; 
tracts, Vill 


ex-=- 


eee eee ee reer eases seer eseee & 


viii 


Pe ee ee ee ee 


iii 
RyMER, THOMAS, historian, i TA Pa be-s 


sees wre wm ee COO eee owmeeei veers teees 


Sabbath, the, by Grahame ; extrs.,v 92 
Sacred Poems, by H. Vaughan, ii... 134 
ve deteseae MicHaEL T., economist, vi 330 


oo) 
bo ‘ 
pe So Sap tans ee, ea a Baal a eed 


Saba, GEORGE AveusTUs, novell 
Vil. os oe he Nie tere ee 
Salamandrine, the, by Dr. GC. Mack- 


BY, AVN ty. cis eee eer ee ae 
SaLF, GrorGe, translator, LV orate ea 
SALE, Lapy F.. journalist, viii...... 31 ; 
SALE, Sir R. H., military bist., viii. 831-5 
Sally in Our Alley, by Carey, iv:...5. 229 % 
Salmagundi, ng CE cy! welt a . $645 5h 
Sam Slick, by Haliburton; extrs., iii. 18)’ a 
Samor, by Milman ; extracts, V ‘te 357 £45 
SANDERSON, BoBert, theologian, i ii, 858 = -->< 
SANDYs, GEORGE, traveller, transla- rae 

torand poet<il-S hee oe op ais ee 


Sappho and Phaon, by Lyly,i....... 265 
Sartor Resartus, by Thos. Carlyle, vii 392° 


Saturn (the planet). by Proctor, viii... 264 ~ 
Saturn and Thea, from Keats, v nce aa DOR 
S:ul, by W. Sotheby; extract, v..... 201. 
SAUNDERS, JOHN, NOY elist, vii...... 341 
SAVAGE, RIcHARD, pcet, lil..... eee & 
Saxon Chronicle, the, i-............. (Prager 
Bar ‘ERS, DR. FRANK, poct, Vo hoe ees net, 
pay nae and Doings, by T: E. Hook, ge at 
jo ode 22 ne eee ares oe O25 “aa 
Beaniet Letter, the, by Hawthorne.vii 293 
Scenes and Legends, by Hugh Mil- ex 
JED, VIA Noche eat oe eee 6522957, oie 
Scenes of Infancy, by Leyden; eXx., V3 Se 
Schiller, Life of, by Carlyle, vii.-.... 390 4x 
Scumrrz, Dr. L., historian, viil.. ee o 
School for Scandal, by Sheridan, vin M4 
Schoolmistress, the : extract. iv...<. 729 7) & 
Science, Progress of, in the Eneyclo- ee 
pedia Britanwicd,; ville: epee eens 950 . 
Sc.entific Writers, vill. .< >. .22.4.2 ‘a 


Scinde, Campaign in, by Kennedy,* 

Seinde, ‘Conquest of, by Sir W. Na- 
pier, vi 

Scipio, Character of, by ‘Dr. Arnold, ~ 


re iced 


Pee ee ee ee ry 


ScorEsBy, W ILLIAM, Arctic travel-. 
ler, *Vils\. ce 255. Dh eae seen ee ee ve 
Scotichronicon, by. Jobn Fordun, i Pes 
Scotland, Antiquities of, by Grose,vi 
Scotland, Church of, by Calderwood, 
li. 565 “by Row, ii. 56; by Spottis- 
Ww oode, Thee cr anceas Pa conto ha ote ein 
Scotland, History of, by Le slie, ii. 60; 
by Robertson, i Iv. d98 : by Dr. Gil- 
bert Stuart, iv. 307; by WwW. Guth- 
rie, iv. 307; by Malcolm ea Se vi. 
+62; by Pinkerton, vi. 263; by J. 
Hill Burton, viii. 46; by Cosmo 
Innes, viii. 48; by H. W. Robert- — 
son, Vili 2 oe coedewes® 


Soe! ; PAGE 
~ Scotland’s Skaith; extracts, vi...... 1 
Bee OLE MAP AZING AV ccs cos sees sev aces 406 
x ‘Scorr, ALEXANDER, poet, i........% 244. 
78 HOOUT, JOHNy POC. 1V..8s oe ce cee 59 
a Scorr, MicHAEBL. novelist, vii.:.... 208 


Scort, Sik WALTER, as poet, Vv. 236; 
’ a noveiist, vi. 1743 as historian, 


Plea suse sD vis.e os str © 0.% 8) 0.8 018 0 Bie.e,¢ 0.6 


a 


Seotsien Bankrupt Law, by Burton, 
vili 
Scottish Chiefs. by Jane Porter, vi. 
= Scottish Christian Instructor, vi.. 
- Scottish Language after the period of 
_the Revolution, by J. H. paens 


Scottish Minstrel, the Modern, vi. c 40 


~ < Scottish Poems, by Pinkerton, vi.. - 268 
Scottish Poets. ii. 48, 76, 236; iii.... 231 
Scottish Rebellion, Dy Walpole, iv, J 39F 


eet Rivers, by Sir T. D. Lauder, 
Scottish Songs and Bailads, maida 
cereus Collection, 1V. 24.0.0. $200 

ecripture Help, by Bickersteth, viii, 
Scriptures, Introduction to the Study 
PGS AVE DT ct eR ELOUTIC, Vo ae.c cccose8 de 
. Scythians or Goths, Origin of, by 
a Pinkerton, vi 
: SEarncu, Epwarp, nom-de-plume 
so, OL Abraham “Tucker, iv:.. oe .ss.3.'. 
Search after Happiness, by H. More, 


ey 


} 15 extract, 
"her ae Me Mae eas ctaisiee Tees cla Wad 402, 


ee Ske Bie Rey. Apa, geologist, 
. viii 
» SEDLEY, Sir C., song-writer ; 
\ tracts, ii 


ex- 


i lc ed 


TEBE tetas thaw ahs Lis wa, Nas wah oe 269 
= Salata FRANCIS, song-w ee iii. 
= SHMPILL, ROBERT, poet,.ji..:...-.. 236 
SENIOR, N. W., polit. economist, vi. 339 
Sense are: Sensibility, by Miss Aus- 
«> BRET VE Aes Nene tS eas 9 levels Shilo 6 156 
Senses and the Intellect, by Bain, viii 282 
_~ Sensitive Plant, the, by. Shelley, v 281 


__. Sentimental Journey ; extracts. iv... 972 
_-- Sepoy War, History of, by Kaye, viii 31 
| ~ SEWARD, ANNA, poet, V..........06. 8T 


_  SEWELL, Ev1zaBeta M_, novelist,vii 293 
~- SHADWELL, THOMAS, dramatist, ii.. 266 
Kise ‘SRAPTE SBURY, EaRu oF, philos., iii 308 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


411 


PAGE. 
SHAKSPEARR, WILLIAM, as poet, i. 


1915 as dramatist; extracts, i..... 297 
Shakspear e, Essays on, by R. Farm- 
Eg A Neste sacoia pints setae aS hepie-e wig RE 891 


Shakespeare Illustrations of, by F. 
OUR; NE a5 Fran wa tsi eee oon 888. 
Shakspeare, Life of, by Halliwell,viii 374 
Shakspearian Forgeries, by W. H. 
PRCIRDG, 101 Fes caice a ies alee ake 
Shakspeare’s Plays, Chronology of, 
viii. 374; Notes and Emendations 
on, by Collier, 1 idee AE Meera eee 
Shakspeare’s Self-r etrospection,from 
H. Hallam, CIES a det AMEE 


287 


Vid patente ca kage trie Mick Macrae: pale PIM 
SHARP, RICHARD, essayist; extracts, 

RSL ReL ats pe. acn) Seca Re a oe oan neg 174 
SHARPE, SAMUEL, historian, vii..... 
She Stoops to Conquer, scenes from, 

Bvt pea Tt 
SHEIL, RICHARD LALOR, dram., vi.. 74 
SHELLEY, Mrs. (M. W. Godwin), 

AVOMGRISES VIL e's oe Cape die patel ole oes Cian es 
SHELLEY, PERCY ByssHE#, poet, Vv... 
SHENSTONE, WILLIAM, poet, iv..... 27 
Shepherd’s Calendar, the, by Spen- 

SEPM dads Sars oh er Pes Oe s o Be 
Shepherd’s Hunting; ex. by Wither,ii 79 
Shepherd’s Week, “the, by Gay; ex- 

CERCLA: ob cae Veen eg eee eo eae ote 3 
SHERIDAN, Mrs. FRANCES, vi. 
SHERIDAN, Ricu. B., dr amatist, vi. 40 
Sheridan, Life of, by Moore, vi y 
SHERLOCK, Dr. W 1LLIAM, theolo- 

STAN AD Sots od ibis Bay sss HS eee eee 470 
Ship of Fools, by Alex. Barclay, i... 62 
Shipwreck, the, by Falconer; exts.,iv 103 
Shipwreck, the, from ‘ Don Juan,’ v. a 
SHIRLEY, JAMEs, dramatist, i....... 
Siam, by Sir J. Bowring; extr., viii. oa 
Siddons, Mrs., Life of, by Campbell, 


SIDNEY, ALGERNON, prose-writer, ii 50 
SipNnry, Sir PHILIP, as poet, i. 156; 

AS POLS WHILETGELs ects s oncie oy e eeole 
pene Biddulph, by Mrs. Sheridan, ay 


SIGOURNEY. Mrs. L. H., post, vil..., 146 


‘Silent Woman, the, by Ben Jonson, = 


Siller Gun, by Mayne, vi 
Silurian System, by Murchison, Vili. 289 
Simms, W. GILMORE, misc. writer, 
viii. 225 
SIMoNnD, Lovis, traveller, vii........ 30 
Simoon, the, from Palgrave, Viii..... 248 
Simple Story, a, by Mrs. Inchbald, y. 58 
Srwrpson, Srr J. Y., as antiquary, viii 96 
SIMPSON, THOMAS, Arctic traveller, 
PGili stom Say coe Boot orale se ae ae 
Sir Andrew Wylie, by John Galt, vi. 


eT 


194 


eC Ce i Ce | 


Socrates, Condemnation and Death 
of, by Mitford, vi 
Soft’ Sawder and Human Natur, by 
Haliburton, viii 18 
Soldier’s Home, by R. Bloomfield, v. 
Soldier’s Tear, the, by Bayly v 
Soldiering and Scrbbling. | by Forbes, 
viii 
Sotitude, by Grainger: extract, iv... 


een othe ne gue ante ere ms 


ee ee ee re ee 


Spring, Ode to, by Mrs. Barbauld, ii. 66 Se 
Spy, the, by J. Fenimore Cooper, vii. 202 
Squire’s Pew, the, by Jane Taylor, v. 364 
St. Colomba, Life of, by Dr. Reeves, 


St. Francis, Legend of, by Caxton, i. 
St. Leon, by W. Godwin: extr., Vi. 
St. Paul, Life and Epistles of, by +5 
Conybeare aud Howson; extr., viil. 
St. Paul’s Cathedral, History of, viii. 
St: Paul’s Manual Labour, - Stan-=— 
ley Vill. w.0s:ds.< «1308. Shee eee 


ai ; tg 

412 CYCLOPAEDIA OF : 
= 

PAGE. PAGE 

Sir Charles Grandison, by Richard- Solomon , by Matthew Prior; extract, ¥4E 

BONS Ve: vs eos emis cues Meare aan 246 TL 6 iy 5. ieee Aig nad Soe ee ee 149:-- Ss 
Sir Courtly Nice, by Crowne, ii...... 2°4 | SOMERVILE, WILLIAM, poet, iii..... 399-o Steg 
Sir Lancelot du Lake, iv.....,....... 112 SOMERVILLE, Mrs. MARY, scientific. ee 
Sir Lancelot Greaves, by Smollett, Iv 262 writer; Vill. s.<ss5hga ape en sea 
Sir Patrick Spens, ballad, i.......... 06} Song of the Shirt, by T. Hood, Vil.) sea a 
SKELTON, JOHN, poet, fb... 2... Siss.3 64 Songs of Innocence, by Blake; extr., i Seams 
Skpne, WILLIAM F., antiquary, Wilk. <197). -WVe.2s ss is eso lon eee eee 194.8 

_ Sketch-book, by W. Irving; extr., vi 359 Songs of Israel, by W. Knox; extr., 
Skétches of Irish Character; extr.,.vii<216'| “GV... 5 ~cckh ae o-oo veo ose eens 369 sf 
Sketches of the History of “Man, by Soplionisa, by Thompson; extract, te Se 

Gord Kamesy iv... .5 a sg save tee ce 349 | Alli, 05.4 ings cee Ola ps OE 
SKINNER, JOHN, poet, lii............ 203 Sarcery andWiteheraft from Doemon- 
Sky, the, by Ruskin, viii............ 229 ology,’ by King James L., li....-... 6S as 
Skylark, the, ode by Hogg, vi....... v1 | Sospetto d’Herode, Marino’s, trans. 3 ae. 
Skylark, the, ode by Shelley, v...... 279 by Crashaw; extract, Il. .«.245 5. <a 106: 
SMART, CHRISTOPHER, poet; extr.,iv. 168 stele Wi ILLIAM, as translator, ~ we 
Smectymnuus, by Milton, iii,....... 30 , 200; as dramatist, Vi......-...% ~ 62 1 
SMILES, SAMUEL, biog’r. ; extr., viii. 87 PE Ske Dr. RoBERT, theologian, ii,. 393 | : 
SMITH, ALBERT, novelist, vii......... 292 | SouTHERNE THOMAS, dramatist, iii. 242 ~ : 
Smita, ALEXANDER, poet,vii.. 97 | SouTHEY, ROBERT, as poet, V, "170; ran x 
Smith, Alexander, Memoir of, vii.... 27 as biogr: AP WEY; Vis. <phase eae eee Qaim Ae 
Smitu, Dr. ADAM, as metaphysician Soult HGATE, Rev. HoRATIO, Eastern lal 

vi., 344, as miscellaneous writer, iv. 400 traveller 5. extract, Wilke : ses eeaeeee 31902 Sara 
Smitu, Dr. JOHN PY#, geo’st., viii... 288 | SOUTHWELL, ROBERT, poet ; extr., 1. 176 <2 
Situ, Dr. WM., thelogian, viii>.... 149 | Spain, Handbook of, by Ford ; extr., : 
SmitH, GEORGE, Assyriologist, vili.. 31S vill. 6 34 ee 
SMITH, JAMES and Horace, Vintner 330 | Spain i in. 183), “by a D. ‘Inglis, vii. ee BO pe: 
SmituH, JAMzs, lyric writer, Vil...... 181 | SPALDING, PRoF., logician, viii. ..» 269 — — es 
SmMiTH, MRs. CHARLOTTE, as poet, vy. Spanish Literature, by Ticknor, vii... 364°. 

Us— AS NOVELS, Wd oes ciera orecees pete tiene 23 | Spectator, the, commenced, iii...... Q74 Soe 
Smiru, Rev. SIDNEY, miscellaneous SPEDDING, JAMES, biographer, vili.. 71 rer 

writers extracts, Wiss oss He sh bandt ies 365 | Speech, Power of, by Huxley, viii... 311 
SmitH, WILLIAM, geoloigist, vill. 284 | SPEED, JOHN, historian, ii.......... 26 or 
SMOLLETT, TOBIAS GEORGE, as poet, SPEKE, JOHN HANNING, African ex- 

iv, 69; as novelist, iv. : . 262 plorer : -OXtTACTH). Willies Sayoeee teres ou 
Suyru, WILLIAM. historian, viii. 51 | Sperman, Sir HENRY, antiquary, ii. 25. 
SmMyTHE, Hon. Mr. (Lord. Strang- SPENCER, HERBERT, scientific writer, = <>> 

LOLA Ys“ POSb Vile i. !c6 Sate seem aan ee 105 Vili © ou, Se ae ee See eee 315 
Snake, Adventure with the, by Water- SPENCER, THE Hon. W.R., poet, v. 315 

LOU AVAL De ec oe eee Me ee coe 187 | SPENSER, EDMUND, poet, i.......... 157 - 

Snob, the, edited by Thackeray, vii.. 254 | Spirit of Hebrew Poetry, the, byes 
Social Intolerance, by J. S. Mill, viii. 270| — Isaac Taylor;-extract, vili....5.... 156 
Society in America, by H. Martineau Spleen, the, by Mat. Green; extr., iii, 381 7 

VAY ies ic esas Loge at meee mae ve SS 203 | Splendid Shilling, the, by Philips, ii. 226 
Society and Solitude, by R. W. Emer- Sphynx, the, by Kinglake, viii....... iB2:> = 

SOMSEOKtPACES: VAll suiv'ges laws « aete orate 226 | SeoTiswoopn, JOHN, historian, ii... 63 0 = 
Socinian Controversy, by Wardlaw, SprRATT, DR. T., phil. and polit. _.  e 

Ad etd ew De eccowle det aee es peseme 58 "|= writer, Ui; 2. hess ote eee ee 294 2 

15 
1 


S St. Serf and Satan, by Wyntoun, i 53 
_Staél, Mme, de, sketch by Simond,vii 32 
“STANHOPE, Earu, historian, viii. 9 
STANLEY, ARTHUR P., Dean ‘of 
Westminster, as historian, viii. 51 ; 
as biographer, villi. 53; as theolo- 
PARAL AWLP. Gah) Paes wes ct wes « sooo. 129 
“STANLEY, HENRY M., African ex- 
proret. Vill. la.5-% 078 Beeson 4357905 
‘STANLEY, THOMAS, poet ; extracts,ii 
~ Star of Bethlehem, by H. K. White,v 
; Starling, the, by Sterne, iv...s...... 278 
Statesman, the, by Taylor; extrs., vii 189 
STAUNTON, Sir G.L., traveller, vii. 1; 27 
ee oor, the, from Muirhead’s 
Pate: Ole W athe VAN ove vice wae v's 0 wee 84 
Steel Glass, the, by Gascoigne, i 
- STEELE, Sir RICHARD, as dramatist, 
iii. 272; as essayist ; extracts, iil. 
STEVENS, GEORGE, misc. writer, iv.. 
STEPHEN, Sir JaMzs,; as historian, 
viii. 514 as biographer, viii... .... 
_ STEPHENS, J. L., Eastern traveller, 


. 273 
391 


STerHens, L., misc. writer, vili..... 249 
Stephenson, Geo., Life of ; extr.; viii 88 
- STEPHENSON, RoBerr, engineer, viii 282 


_ — . Stereoscope, invented by Wheat- 
ie Bip avilisessocer mek? oils sn co peo 283 
STERLING, JOHN, misc. writer; ex- 
SOLS \Valll eee aa keer na aa 233 
STERNE, LAURENCE, novelist, iv. 270 
STEWART, PROF. DUGALD, metaphy— 
BIEIAM ECR EBACES VAs oe on 0 oo Sea ws 319 
STILL, JOHN, dramat 5 {51 RPG era oe ene 
STILLINGFLEET, Ep., theologian,. TY it 
STIRLING; HARL OF, poet, 1. ....0... 249 
STIRLING-MAXWELL, Sir WILLIAM, 
OPO PADNOP, Ville px - opis sod eo eee 56 


Powe, 
¥ 


_ Stokers and Pokers, Highways aud 
Byways, by Sir F. Bonn Head, viii on : 


Sionen THOMAS, poet, i........-.5- 

— Story, WILLIAM WETMORE, poet 
MM OCUIPLON, Vile... tk a0 
Stow, JoHN, chronicler, ii.......... 28 

Stowe, HARRIET BEECHER, novel- 
es. Tig SOR URMOUR SV IL 2 6 fos. cle ete 296 

- Strain at a Guat and swallow a 
Camel, by Trench, Vill... ..ace.. 0% 127. 


Pirate "adventures of a Phaeton, by 
eo Wm, -Black ; extract, Vil... ....5. 37 
eee RORD, "Viscount, transiator, 


i et ae 


Siraw berry Hill, description of, by 


~ “Horace Walpole, LOS Peers IO est 396 
“« Stray Leaves from an Arctic J ournal, 
by Lieut. Osborn; extract, vili.... 351 


~ Srrerton, HEsBA, ‘novelist, vii..... 340 
STRICKLAND, AGNES, hist.; extr.,vili 
StropE, Dr..WILL1aAM, poet; ex- 

RETIN Balla eis d's soe dec'ne cg ac'sesss 1.8 


ENGLISH LITERATURE. 


PAGE, 


Sec Things Are, by Inchbald, “Views 


“Suspicious Husband, the, iv.... ... 


PAGE. 
STUART, DR. GILBERT, historian, iv 307 
Stuart of Dunleath, by Mrs. Norton, 

VIL Sa aeets SEAN? bceaes aire ah EA TITERS 
STuBBS, REV. WiL11AM, historian ; 

ORtrACh VEL s tcc dese haw a gieca obe opts 
Student Life i in Germany, by B. Tay- 

LOB PULLS so we of igs tiwierb rifts spine. See 
Study and Evidences of Christianity, 

by Baden Powell, viii..::......50 264. 
STUKELEY, WILLIAM, antiquary, iv. 405 
Snbjection of Women, by J. S. Mill, 

WI LABS oly cetera Ge cet cas are 272 
a eee and Beautiful, the, by pia 
58 
SUCKLING, Sir Joun, poet; extracts, 

tReet tee oe yeah eeawse 
SULLIVAN, dramatist, vii...... eo 201 
Summer in Skye, by Alex. Smith, 

Vilistiisie.c akg ues ptaet ies CA 98 
Summer Morning , by J ohn Clare, iv. 328 
Summer’s Last Will and Testament, 

by Nash, i 2T4 
SUMNER, DE CHARLES, theologian, 


et ea) 


Wilh Bay ehctcbeles gets ore ete oe 


Po ee 


Susan Hopley, by Mrs. Crow ° vii... 282 


Sutherland’s voyage of the “Lady 

Franklin ’ and the ‘ Sophia,’ Vilt.ces 
Swain, CHARLES, poet, Vllehi eck *. 
Sweden, Tour in, by S. Laing; extr., 


Swirt, JONATHAN, as poet; extracts, 
iii, 158 ; as misc. writer; extr., iii.. 336 
ay te character of, by J. W. Croker, eh 


SC oweewnens Coc eresessaeaseesse oe tered 


Bee - sewers escseree Sp eaencevesbeoe 


vii 
Sw ift, Jonathsn. verses on the death 
of, by himself, Sil... 2... 2. .eses 166 
SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES, 
poet; extracts, vii. 
Switzerland, by Louis Simond; extr., 
vii. MEG Ee PoSe San sign terre Hae ee 


vi.. Be lc Alce sect ae lame eae aa ee 252 
Sword Chant of Thorstein Raudi, vi. 27 
Sypney YENDYs (pseudonym i 

Sydney Dobel!), poet. vii......--+ £29 
Sylva, by John Evelyn, iii......-.-+ 108 
SYLVESTER, JosHuUA, poet and trans- 

LATOR Ss cee. 0s Sat oes aa de eae see 
Synonyms of the New Testament, tae 


by Wrench, Vill...--7,. atts ss 


413 


--219 - 


ss 


Al4 


_ Terra, by John Evelyn, iii... 


“CYCLOPDIA OF 


PAGE. 


Syntax, Dr., his monk: in search of 


ae Picturesque, by. Wm. peers 


ee 


Table Ty raits, by Dr. “Doran, Will eos 
TAIT, PROFESSOR, scientific writer, 

VEL Saee aoe achat oda, siete a ae) eerie 
Tak your “Auld Cloak About Ses i 
Talavera, Battles of, by Croker, vill. 
Tale of a Tub, by Swift: extracts. iii. 
Tales of Fashionable Life, by Maria 

Edgeworth; extracts, vi... a 
Tales of my Landlord, vii.......:... 
Tales of the Hall, by George Crabbe; 

extracts, v Ee COF- 
Tales of the O’Hara Family, vi...... 
PO UES: TH. Noon, ae 

MEA pin aoe Lae Reenter 


vil miplecastig &-ocete, Sia 


enbiriaine, by Marlowe. i 
Tancred, by Disraeli; extract, vii... 
Tancred and Sicismunda, by "Thom- 


son ; extract, G3 ee 
Tanganyika, discovery of, by Burton, 
and: Speke, vili..-2os0..325. Ppossre’ 


TANNAHILL, ROBERT, song-writer, 
Veen ee Lame ok tent 
Task, the, by Cowper; extr ‘acts, V Pe 
Taste for Reading, by Herschel, viii. 
Tatler, the, commenced, iii .3..... 
Tayior, BAYARD, traveller and mis- 
cellaneous writer; extracts.. viil.... 


ee ee ed 


-Taytor, Isaac, Spee igs og : extrs., 


as 


TAYLOR, JANE and ANN, y. Te eee 
TAYLOR, JEREMY, theologian; ext. 
His XR idee a aS oe a:bipiete 
TAYLOR, JOHN, the Water Poet, ii... 
TAYLOR, ROBERT, dramatist, 1..... é 
TAYLOR, SIR HENRY, dramatist, vil. 
TAYLOR, Tom, dramatist, vil........ 


~ TAYLOR, W., traveller, viii.......... 


TAYLOR, WILLIAM, translator, v. 
Tea-kettle, song of the, by A. Taylor, 
Tear, on a, by Samuel Rogers, v. cone 
Tears of Scotland, ‘the, by Smollett, 
TU st chs Ue hg Real Lee oe 


Tea-table Miscellany, iii..... irs See 
Veimora, by ] Macpherson, iv......... 
TEMPLE, Sik WiLLIAM misc. writer, 
Th ee eae agua Re: Sao Na pees 
Ten Thousand a Year, vii.....-.- eas 
TENISON, ARCHBISHOP, ili........3.. 
TENNANT, WM., poet, vi....... Ae: 


TENNYSON, ALFRED, poct; extracts, 
vii . 


eBens ce se acca coweasee ere | 


eereenae 


~ 


; PAGE. — ad 
Testimony of the Rocks, by Hugh 
Millér; extracts, viii..........0. 


THACKERAY, ANNE ISABELLA, Dovel- es aL 
} . ’ ‘hi = i 
Ist.) eXiracte,y Wilssee ae vee iven vee ele << 


THACKERAY, WM. MAKEPEACE, a eae 
novelist 3: extracts; ‘viiw 54.0. a. A aoe 
Thaddeus of Warsaw, by Jane Parte * 
Porter, vi. ioe} 1438S Ke 
Thalaba the Destroyer, v Hid Tuer erate ae > 
‘hanatopsis, by W. C. Bryaut, vii... et 
Thanksgiving off Cape .Trafalgar, e; 
by James Grahame, v-...-.. Peyote ae ‘ 
Thealma and Cléarches, ii..........; 100° — © 
Theatre, the first Licensed, in Lon- + 
don, i.... va Pe whdlasigs nel See 
Theism, by Tulloch, wiht c%25 ene Yi "3 
heodosius, by Nathaniel Lee. ii. 262 
Theology Explained and Defended, 
by Dr. Ts Dwight, visw/. Ce ere i 
Thief and the Cordelier, the, by 2 
Prior, iii. » 0 0 + SPRAT Se Ree ee 
THIRLWALL, ‘Dr. Connor, historian, 
VL ees 
Thirty-nine "Articles, ‘Exposition of, 
by Bishop Browne, vili....... 
THom, WmM., the 


ase ee eee 


a 


147 i 
“Inverary “poet,” < "takes 

VEE yes VT Pe 
THOMAS THE RHYMER, 1. es ee ee 
THoms, W. JOHN, editor, Vili os VRee39 = 
YT HOMSON, Dr. Andrew, theologian, | 3 * 

Visids. «9s wee 7 spas Ay APOE aS 


THOMSON, JAMES, a8 poet ; extracts, — SR ok 


Tin hee ear ae es ee 


weer 


Fi) Careers eet eee ame et 


Tromson, W. ARCHB., theologian, pe 4 
viil. ... 148 
THORNBURY, WALTER, novelist and - 9 
poet, Vil2-% tidy : 
THRALE, Mrs. (Mrs. Piozzi), HPSS “€ 
TVs F Saeak aie aees eee icy a 4: 
Three Fishers went Sailing, vii...... 268 
Three Warnings, the, by J rs. Thrale, 4 
Vice RO ee secacectes eee 196. 
Thrush’s Nest, ‘by Clare. V..cic-sea00 828) 
Thucydides, trans. by Hobbes, 1,335; S: 


Sr Cr i) 


by Dr: Afnold, Vii... 2.5.8 SVR EOoE 
THURLOW, EpwaRp, Lorp CHAN- 

CELLOR,-Orator }- CXtPaChyvinweas.t 
THURLOW, LORD EDWARD HOvVELL, » 

poet; extract: Vi4.0 giy ete se DOSS ee 
Thyestes tragedy by Jonn Crowne, . 
Pree Se ee ey ohh a 
prdicanss RICHARD, satirist, Vogt east eee cae 
TICKELL, THOMAS, poet, ii. oh fs ee 
TICKNOR. GEORGE, historian. Vii.... 364 ~~~ 
TigHE, Mrs. Mary, poet; extracts, 


ee: ay 
Bis Shs 
'T1LLOTSON, JOHN, ‘ARCHBISHOP, pas- “ts 

sages from his Sermons, ii.,...... 4 
Time’s Alteration, i. 
Timour or Tamerlane, Death and | - 

Character of, by Gibbon, iiii....... 318 _ 


sewer eee So 


é ms 


i= 


—_ 


AE etal OyRIL, dramatist, i.... 


mat 


e, 


antry, by Carleton; extract, vi.... 239 

- . Translated Verse, "Essay on} ex- 
MESOIR AE ots. oo, .foos cen. .. 195 
Traveller, the, by Goldsmith. Wises. 131 
TREBECK, GEORGE. traveller, vii. 26 


~ 


-— ~ Rhyier, i 
— Triumphs 


/ TROLLOPE, ANTHONY, 


“Tom Thumb, by Fielding, ING scene ae 


by- C. Maclaren, viii. .............. 04 
-Tottel’s Miscellany, i jivesageeteeig co 66 
365 


~ Traditions of Edinburgh, by Robert, 
_ ptagedy, Origimol, dy eeis oo". bees 


PAGE. 
“Tnpat, Dr. MATTHEW, theologian, 
ROMP! a elk cies odes biota dS kee s bass 30 


“'TINDAL, NrcHoLas, translator and 
historian, TT ae crite ae Sete ener 308 
Tintern Abbey, by Wordsworth, v.. 138 
"Tis the Last Rose of Summer, v.... 212 
_ Vithes, History of, by J. Selden, ii.. 269 
Titles of Honour, by J. Selden, ii... 260 


Titmarsh, Michael Angelo (T hacke- 
REN MEN Ss TOR 6. ial GOR (nb Pei EN OE vine 254 
Tobacco, Farewell to, by C. Lamb, v 194 
TOBIN, JOHN, dramatist, vi 83 
Top, LIEUT-COL. JAS., traveller, Vis x QF 
To-day in Ireland, Tale by Crowe, vi 234 
TOLAND, JOHN, sceptical writer, lii.. 308 
Tom Bowling, by Charles Dibdin, v.. 299 
Tom Brown’s School-days ; extr., vii 281 
Tom Jones, by Fielding: extract, iv 259 
30 
TOOKE, JOHN Horne, philologist, iv 370 

Topography of the Plain of Troy, 
3 


Seosees oar 


own and Country Mouse; extr.,i.. 8&6 
dramatist,iv £30 
103 


TOWNLEY, REV. JAMES, 
Tractarian Party, the, vili..... Ae 

Tracts for the ‘Times, by members 
' of the University of Oxford, viii... 103 
Traditional Tales, by Cunningham, vi 22 


RHA aa tetee W iktare. poste 'a/s curo.e nde a aise 
261 
- TRAIN, JOSEPH, misc. writer, vi 39 


¥raits and Stories of the Irish Peas- 


_Tremaine, by R. Plummer Ward, vi. 229 
“TRENCH. RICHARD CHENEVIX, 
“ARCHBISHOP, as poet, vii. 62; as 
theolocian extracts, Vili. ..0e. 2... 
~ Trevelyan. tale by Lady Daere, vi. 
QREVISA. JOHN DE. prose writer, i.. 56 
~ Trials of Margaret Lyndsay ; extr. vi 2°6 
’ Tribute to a Mother ov her Death, v. 28 
Tristram Shandy, by Sterne 3 ex., iv. 274 
Tristrem, Sir, a tale, by Thomas the 


ee ee ee ae ey 


Hayley, v 
'Privia, or the Art of Walking the 

Streets of London, by Gay; ex., iii 213 
Troilus and Cressida, by Chancer, i. 28 
as novelist 5 


ee ec 2 


extracts,vii .. 
TROLLOPE, Mrs. FRANCEs, novelist, 
212 


_TROLLOFE, TH. AD., novelist, vii... 323 


\ 


“ENGLISH LITERATURE, 


ns 


415 
PAGE. 
Troubadours, the, i........ Pie derth ele 
'Frouveres,cthe; ss. ssa oe. cele hin creme 10 
True Patriot’s Journal, .v .......... 4°6 
TUBERVILLE. GEORGE, sues I ey 207 
TUCKER, ABRAHAM Uy aie ier hat 
Edward Search), theologian, iv.... 853 
TuLLocg, DR. JonNn, theologian, viii 170 
Tullochgorum, by Skinner, iv....... 253 
Turf shall be my Fragrant Shrine, 
Dy AL OORe Veins whose rar wee eee 218 


Turkish and Greek Waters, a Diary 
in, by the Earl of Carlisle, viii .. 
Turks, History of the, by "Richard 


820 


Knolles,; extract, tive. .cekeccees 
TURNER, SHARON, historian, Wee: 252 
'RUSSER.. ‘THOMAS; poet, a. 3... sen:. 74 
“Iwas when the Seas were Roaring; 

Ballad by- Gay. lien: cus ae sae oes) 214. 
Tweedside, by “Crawford, iv....-...s 204 
TYNDALE, WM., translator of the 

PSION S wos vis cae verso tes Pict seer: 134 
TYNDALL, JOHN, PROP., physicist ; 

BRAT MCE Sy VIN vcore See he ae tos dager ore 313 
Typee; a Peep at Polynesian Life, 
~by H. Melville; extracts, vili...... 222 
TYLER, Miss C. C. FRASER, novel- 

RSet Na tric vets rhc hre Gee cis hia etait 841 
TYTLER, PATRICK FRASER, histo- 

rian and biographer, vi.... 270, 288 
TYTLER, SARAH (Miss Keddie),nov- 

LISD SWELL ei ate a SHS Reg Sa Ee B41 
TYTLER, WILLIAM, historian, iv ... 306 
Una, Nicouas, dramatist, i.....- 259 
Uganda, Etiquette at the Court of, 

Vig. fea aie Phe en Sate Pls Sines 354 
Duele Tonrs. Cabin, Vill... sc. os. ses 296 


Undertones, by Robert Buchanan, vii 114 
Undesigned Coincidences, by Blunt, 

Vall ooetes Sk hep Shae eee oae «124 
Dnited States. History_of. by W. "Cs 


Bryant and Sydney H. Gay, vii..,. 871 
United States, History of the > Colont- 
sation, by Bancroft, vii. Ave ve B69 
Universal History. the, i Wig tigaoay = ree . 30T 
Universe, Final Destiny of the, “by 
DroiWhewellf-vill >: oc. taats ss . 260 
Unwin. Mrs., Address to (Mary), by 
Cow pers Va seis lage Ps aos tae Cake tonls 18 
Unyanyembe, Life in, from Grant, 
VAAL Sacsaaren OT aro ON olen eeisl elec etna choad BST 
Uranus, planet, discovered by Sir 
W illiam Herschel, vill, set ene ees £53 
UrQuu ant, SIR THOMAS, translator, io 
TD dicfsere Oe ee, ches, AG Blo aie in elo! ie lea ea 
UsHER, ames, theologian, ii.. . 346 
Utopia, by Sir 'homas More, ee iee 121 
! Vacation Tour, a, ae Tyndall, viii... 314 


ex- 


Prerppesorereprere 


Valerius, by J. G. Lockhart ; 
BEAGLES We srrinwreirs nlaion 


{ 


wr. 


CYCLOPADIA OF 


- bf 
pe 4 
A416 - 
Zor PAGE. 
i tc Sir Joun, dramatist, iii 264 
Vanity Fair, by Thackeray, vii. 257 
Vanity of Human Wishes; ext?. A “iv 120 
“Variability, by Darwin, viii.......... 307 
Vathek, by Beckford ; extracts, vi.. 99 
Vandracour and J ulia, by W orda- 
AMET UE Vite actu an A cle ge eto alee othe bls 185 
VAUGHAN, Dr. C. Joun, theologian, 
SAC nS Ss ae ee Re Sr ee cteer 150 
VauGuHAN, Dr. RoBErr, theologian, 
WL its aac aks os ore ae ee A ean east 
- VAUGHAN, HENRY, poet; extrs., ii... 18 
Vaux, THOMAS, LORD, poet, j.-..... {2 
VEDDER, DAVID, song-writer. vii... 178 
Vega, Lope Felix de, Life anid Writ- 
ings of, by Lord Holland, vi........ 280 
Veiled Prophet of Khorassan,v...... 208 
Velasquez and his Works, by Stir- 
linge-Maxwell; extract, vili........ 58 
Venables’s Domestic mrenes in Rus- 
Bs MORUPACTSS ALL os 0's ee oh oa Sos ee . 831 
Venice—Canaletti and Tur ner, by 
Mrs. JaMesOn, Vill. wie seen 185 
~ Venice, the Stones of, by J. Ruskin, 
FAM hes ck Ct Sea nts arate ree yee oe eee ew = 228 
Venice Preserved ; scene from, ii. 258 
Venus and Adonis, by Shakspeare,i.. 193 
VERE, AUBREY THOMAS DE, poet,vii 62 
VERE, EDWARD, EARL OF OXFORD, 
poet, greg SPe aad Bd Mc ore fo 199 
VERE, S1R AUBREY DE, poet, vii. 62 


y 


Vicar of Wakefield, by Goldsmith, i iv 130 
Vicar of Wrexhill, the, by Mrs. 


MTOM OPCs Vals Saabs tos ictaige es eae nbs 213 
Vicissitudes of Nations, by Finlay,vii 7 
Victoria Nyanza, Discov ery of, by 

Captain Speke, viii ....1.....<4.. 353 
Victory of Faith, by Hare, viii.. 125 

Vida’s Art of Poeir Vv, trans. by ¢. 
RII E Geel Vic sey CN wats dare pluie wir aisles mecb ele 191 


Views Afoot, by B. Taylor; extr.,viii 219 
Village, the, by George Crabbe : ex- 


EPACTSAV see aise eran eee ” 400; 102 
Vindication of Religious Opinions, 
by Doddridge, iv...... Se sea . 336 
Vindicie Gallice. by Sir J. Mackin- 
tose: Extracts. Vit -csenn ac eee 54 
Vigidemi: rium, by Bishop Hall, i... 2.6 
Vireil, Caxton’s Account of, i. wi hls 
Virgil. translated by Dryden; ii. 207 . 
“py C. PAC EAW Stones ok) poms to eee 192 
. > Virgin “Martyr, by. Massinger, Pace 869 
Virginians, the, vii.... 5... weeeees. 262 
Virginius, by 8. Knowles, scene 
‘from, VU Sac cic tars p aut Pitan in eae RES 75 
Vision, Be DY “DUIS Vy iy. fen tate oe 394 
Visions in Verse, by Nat. Cotton, v 6 
Voices of the Night, by Longfellow, 
WY ilccsrsrBiyt hats a Sctncive wets scat aids Brace nee 91 
Volpone, or ihe Fox, by. Ben Jon- 
BONF.11 24 <aas i ae hemsan eas aswena Dee 


~ - 
a eS 


Voltaire and the Lace-maker, v 
Vortigern and Rowena, by W. H. — 
Ireland, vi..... S aenate Mersey tite WARE 


Li Bias Panter, it. 


Sete ee ester ee 


Wae’s me for Bynwe Charlie, vii... 182 
WAKEFIELD, GILBERT, theol.; vi... 298 — : 
W ALDIE, Miss; traveller, vii ; 
Walk across Africa, or 

Scenes from my Nile Journal, by 


ee ed 


Domestic 


nto 

Captain James Grant; extr., vili.. 356 — > 
Wallace, Adventures of Sir William, ae 
by Blind Warrysiteee eee “80° => 
WALLER, EDMUND, pcet; extracts, i146 ~ he 
WALPOLE, HORACE. as ‘novelist, iv. ee 
280; as misc. writer. extracts, iv... 305 -aha 
WwW alpole, Lord. Memoirs of, vi.2..<. 253. > ~ = 
Walpole, Sir Robert, Memoirs of, Vi, 8582 
WALSH, WILLIAM, poet, jili...c0s.1s A9TS 
WALTON, IZAAK, Mee and biogra- “ig 
pher; extracts, Lil >. cies) dea OS yh 
Waly, waly, li... 5) Casuals et REWER ee D ae Oe en 
Wanderer, the, by Savage; ae V7) Cen 
Wanderer of Sw itzerland, the, by: « = = 
Montgomery, v...... Nand A0TK SS 
Wanderings and Essays, by “Water- Ee 


ton, vili vseniten 1862 Sane 
War, Miserics cf, by Rev W Crowe, y 59 Pe 
W ARBURTON, ELIOT, traveller, viii.. 188 
WARBURTON, WILLIAM, BisHop, 

theologian ; extract, iv. :.7s..2....0822" 


ee a ed 


Warp, R. PLUMER, novelist, Views. 229 
WARDLAW. DR. RALPH, theolo., viii 157 
WARNER, WILLIAM, poet, Saye .e Lis. 
Warnings, the Three, by Mrs.~ . 
Phrale; iw Aes . hte abenel SI35 
WARREN, SAMUEL, ‘novelist, vits 0. 2395-2 


Warren Hastings, speech against, by 
RB: Sheridan ; extracts, Viv sem e48nu 
War-song upen the victory at Brun- . 
nenburg, by Hookham Frere, v... 217 
WARTON, ‘THomAS and JOSEPH, po- 
ets; extracts, iv 
Washington, Eulogium on, by Dan- 
iel Webster. vii .. BT4’ 
Washington, Life of, by Bancroft vii 38 


170. 


i a 


ee 


er es 


Wat Tyler, drama. by Southey, v. vane 
Watcaman, the, edited by Coleridge, 
Vreie'ds sre cas be Uwe Cie ame V6e = hee ~ 148" 


WATERLAND, DANIEL, theologian, iii 305 
WATERTON, CHARLES, trav eller ; 7 Oss 
tract, viii 6 

Watson, Dr. RrcHarpD, ‘theologian ’ 

vi. 29 
Watson, 
WATSON, THOMAS, ape i 
Watson’s Collection of Ancient and 

Modern Scots Poems, iii 
Watt, James, Life of ; extracts, vill. ST 


ee ee es 


ee eee ene ae 


\ 


xX 
ENGLISH LITERATURE, 417 
a PAGE “ PaQE. 
- . Warts, ALARIC ALEXANDER, poet, WHATELY, RICHARD, ARCHBISHOP, 
RV aik . OE Pic Sitp cee ce ckdeeeese 69 as political economist, vi, 329; as 
— Warts, Dr. Isaac—his ‘Hymns, iv. THSOIOSIANS Villactiee sss a ce b dedas 113 
4 15; theological works, iv.......... 326 WHEATSTONE, Str CHARLEs, physi- 
Axe hh Watty and Meg, by A. Wilson, iii... 497 cist and electrician, viii............ 283 
~* Waverly. Novels characterized; vi.... 175 | When the Kye comes hame, vi...... 20 
_- Weare Seven, by Wordsw orth, v. 13T | WHETSTONE, GEORGE, dramatist, i.. 262 
. Me met—’twas in a Crowd, by Bay- WHEWELL, Dr. WILLIAM, scientific 
5 VSM ea Seis icact bs Sua wistoie ania eee ie 379 PREICET VIE Cbs TRS cid. eo) wae Soe ee 260 
a = Wealth. of Nations, by Smith ; ont Wacucors, BENJAMIN, theologian, 
ot PRRCHs-TV See ee ase ss ae ees Sir oe 45, 402 Pes Ce Ronee Aor as at eens aS 367 
. WEBSTER, DANIEL, orator oa W hig and Tory in the Reign of Queen 
statesman; extracts from his Anne, by Har] Stanhope, viii...... 10 
: speeches, RU as in os 372 | Whims and Oddities, by Hood, vii... 49 
2 WEBSTER, Dr. ALEXANDER, theolo- WHISTLECRAFT, WM. and Rost. og a 
ae Cbd Coa a a AA arate rep) fictitious name assumed by Hook- 
=" EBSTER, JOHN, dramatist, i....... 3.5 ham Frere in a noted ‘jeu d’esprit; ” 
Wedgewood, Josiah, Life of, by v9.4 i) fo G] Raa PR Be Ve ee, hy oy SS 217 
Eliza Meteyard, viii..........2.... 91} Wuiston, WILLIAM, theologian, iii. 366 
_ ~ Wee Davie, by N. Macleod, viii. . 163 hey HENRY KIRKE, poet, extr., 
_ - Weimar, Picture of; by Lewes. Mr Rae oe a > Sole Re Oh ee RO oe &6 
- — WELDON, SIR ANTHONY, historian, ii 348 Me bis Rey. GILBERT, of Selborne; 
oe Wellington, Duke of, by M olesworth, TIME TALISE «Vici at exe ds eee as 2 
ME ONT Sets rie tihe 2 raps oo Mavely Said oe 72; Wurtz, REv. JOSEPH BLANCO, poet, 
a Wellington, Life of, by W.H . Max- BmiRACt EV scene SR ac eens 169 
MIE REL itt, Se hie Soy s sate Ou smie'o eo i's 304 | WHITE, RoBert, historian, viii..... bl 
be Wellington’ s Despatches, by Lieut.- ee Devil, the, by John Webster, 
eee Ola GUTWVOGU, Vi sare. ae ous are ajar sole ZO be Lee dorivetgi ia eines fs oRE or dececs wink wl Sate 055 
__ WELLSTED, Lrzut. J. R.,” traveller, Waiinseiei, GEORGE, theologian, 
9 ON ES ES ean ee ee BAUER SIS MOE Backes phn age cd oo audowe «a Boke 32T 
Welsh Poems, Date of the, be Skene, Whitesela and the Bristol Colliers, 

SNE pS tle Oe ae eared isa eld by Mrs. Oliphant, viii....°........ 62 
“Welsh Triads, i....... Se tes socetala a8 2 aaa WILLIAM, poet, extr., 
SVWrmsteED-UBONARD, minor poet, li-59S | Gv... e we cet cece ek eu ce ettes . 366 
Werena my Heart Licht I wad dee, W. ITHLOCKE, BULSTRODE, histor., 

>. ~ song by Lady G. Baillie, TVs ease. ZUG MTT aA cock ls yrdhe Sil geese Ea dela uo > 382 
* Werther, Sorrows of, SaaS te Wark Wi1aM Dwieut, philol- 
Seeman Oly Vill. 2c... 2. Pe ets 63 Glacist: Ville a <. tHe Seea ee ook . #16 
~ Wesley, John, Life of, by Southey ; . Wuirtier, JOHN GREENLEAF, poet 

PGRN aay ap ae GR pee ee 283 OXtTacts,-VILAk> canis poenewernet as . AST 
- Wes Ley, JouNn and CHARLES, theo- Wieland, novel by CG. B. Brown, vic. /4@ 

La ee a ener 827 |} Wicland’s Oberon, _ translated by 

West, Ginperr, poet, TV. oa cates 192 ba Sothehy, vi. sdarces acetate tas 200 
~~ ‘West RIcHARD. poet iv........... el OS] Uy: ILBERFOROE, SAMUEL, BIsHoP, 
“West Indian, the, comedy, vi......-. 104 Saji) he weedy naasaae ea ates fe 144 
-. West Indics, the, by Montgomery, v. 3 8 | WiLBERFORCE, “WinitaM, religious 
_- ~ Western World, the, by Mackay , Vili. 338 WET, Vis wie eshte scape ies “ee ae oe » 298 
Westminster Review, 8 6-2) Cafe RTA 36 Wilhelm Meister, trans. by Carlyle. 
as ao Ho, by Charles Kingsley, ee PE AN i ee Boat . 390 
EO eine, SS. as Soe ae vce La aces 267 | WitKIz, DR. WILLIAM, poet, iv..... 7a 
Ese Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea, vi. 24 WILKINS. Dr. J., philosophical 
3 “aber ELIZABETH, novelist, WibOT Lick Beni ottas uae eet vale «92 
EAD Ee te hor ant kD ao ob ow alent ¢ . 311 | Wilkins, Peter, Life and Adventures 
: Whai ails this Heart o’ Mine? v....- 64 / of, by Robert Patlock ; extracts, 
~.. Whatis Life? by John Clare, v..... BOT IY. anne Haba an tg mcseuwes Wet ate o 248 
a a What is truly Pvasticht by Ruskin. WILKINSON, SIR JOHN GARDINER, 
ridin SEs. Ks: Sete e antiqtary. Viil. ...cu tes ecPeew ens 354 
What will he do with it? “by Edward William and Margaret, by Mallett, iv. 39 
| Lytton Bulwer, vii.........-.+. ..-. 227) William and the Werwolf, edited by 


Sir Frederick Madden, i.........+6% 


J oe 
% ee. 
~ ag CYCLOPADIA OF [ouvert * 
‘ AGE PAGE. Dy: 
BN ren a Conqueror, Death of, ie Wy ogue Alte: rs ae the eae as i. 
PEGHVAN | WALLS Sscisercsdioreien eiei ; bere 
Dr. RowLAND, theolo- Junius’s Letters, iv........s.e20s 362 vag 
ger onan CEs Sikes Or er aaae 139 | Words and Places, by Taylor, viii... 157” ay: 
ae Dr. R., Life of, by his tr Ne oneaee Dorothy—her Tour in” a gs: § 
W1dOW, Wilh. ini oso uiereie oe ewe oo. ica 140 | SCOMANG EVE Fis citmal-nies Rom eles > 
W ILLTAMS, H.W.., artist and traveller, Wonpswortt WILLIAM, poet; extr., ‘ i 
OXPPAOU VISA He we biel olarditetararhecs ale ORY pC See Pepe ire He So nor yi nin se pie A 
WinLtaMs, HELEN Marri, poet, v.. 3 8 Work orth, Memoirs of, nas ates 145 — os 
WILLIAMS, SIR CHARLES HANBURY, World, History of cee y 13 ee ees 
satirical poet, il epee PS ar SE rave pe 384 Raleigh; extracts, 1., y Dr. ony 
Wix.is, NATHANIEL PARKER, aie se Gillies, -vi-<. eo gta Tee Bes wat oe 4 
ib fesse Mean cr fey Se ty ese Sipe SPURS, PRU a a gece t 
Wasi, Kai, joa dani, 1°] Wart, the, before the Mood, Ry 4, 
Se ae ae ee te Peeler Me, We Atos ed Bn, 
Wiuson, ARTHUR, historian, ii...... 343 vee gh igen re 3 eee iy a 
EONS ANTES sect arenes i ee at World, the, edited by Dr. Moore, iv. 17) ~~ 
Witson, Prov. JonN, (Christop er Worlds Hydrographical Descrip- — 8. 
porn) as poet, v, 339; as novelist, 90g | <_tion, he Davis, ii adele 
re i ee eee ee ee ee ee ar | . One: be Sir Tae. : : 
Witson, Txomas, rhetorician, i.... 138 eT tein ee ee ea 7 oa R 
WiLson, SELES MAE A gare Worlds, on the Plurality of, by Dr. ae 
Beavellety Valse: soit Count 88 OF, Whewell, Vill. )./%0-4 D.aeet ae ee 260 - 
eh at PRETO 9229 Worsaaz, J.J. A., archeologist, viii 51 — 
witteeteececesceserseerecses B29 | woe ei andthe, ii... - f 
Windsor Forest, by Pope, iii........ 175 wore of England, the, Ms Rouaoes ty, 
Winter Evening in the Country, by 19 WorTon, Sin HENRY, poet, i...--.- 289 ee 
Cowper, v al eRewiake ablansl <a, olevesare epee : : 
WintePs Walk: by Sins, Norton, vil. 5p | W Quien, Sif Henry, Ife of by Pale 
ae and cua he bes Pills no Barge 375 WranGcuam, Rey. FRANCI8, poet, v 383. ns 
Melancholy, by D’Urfey, iil........ 0 | Wreck of the *Halsewell,” by Rev. ah 
Witch, the, by Middleton, i...-...... 360 W.Crowe, Weve so Heoee cee + 59 ‘See 
Witch of Edmonton, the, by Rowley, Wriaut, THOMAS, PRN ogist, BE ope ol 3 ae 
Dekker, and Ford, i Licnkesthwecen ge o5 | Wyarr. Sin THOMAS, poet, i..+. v +s. - 
WITHER, GEORGE, poet, ii.......... 299 | WX¥CHERLEY, WILLIAM, dramatist, ii 266 Ss 
Witness, newspaper, Viii.......... WYcLIFFE. JOHN DE, prose writer, i 56 © 
Woffington, Peg, by Charles Reade, 301 | Wycliffe’s Bible, i.....:... 57. 
At Wee, agian ge Ne Re LOL, a 3 
Woxcor, Dr. Joun (Peter Pindar), e WxNTOUN. ANDREW, poet, i.... 52, 142° 
poet, Extracts, Voce. <sas mast ueee a. 6 ; 
REIS y sa ik | Nope tenors 
Lander. nia. wacee eyes. PLS 211 ; 
Wolsey, Cardinal, verses on, by J. ! vaivg Charmer, Collection of Scot- 
Skelton, 2 Nihang age thal Sys aioe Ee ai 65 tish Songs; iV ..4. dense «ee 199 
Wolsey, Life of, by Storer, i...... 200 Yardley Oak, from Cowper's “Task ;? 
Women as They Are, by Gore; extr., Extracts, Wiis nk wckee cgteleet aa ae 24 
Mle. = poe WS wate eens aie elab el ee EE ee 211 YATEs. EDMUND, H., nove-ist, vii... 30) 
Women beware of Women, by, Mid- . | Ye Mariners of England, °V osele. “pani cals 227 
dleton, j of eale ee. eta e Sie ahd here. ed Me o Ww sree 3°0 Yellow-haired Laddie, by A: Ram- 
Women, by Maturin; extract, wild & 172 aay; dii.. 2.250 beaters eel 335 
Wonder, the, by ] Mrs.8. Centlivre. iii. 272 YeLLOwPLusnH, CHaneal (Thacke- 
Wonders of Geology, the, by Mantell, ERY) 5: VAL 2s a rales deem laangditle tater Gene 
ig tHe Deas As ON de a OL VALS ag Yat 288 Yes and No, a tale of the Day, by the 
Wonders of the Universe, by Dr. |” Marquis of Normanby, vi....-:.+.. 207-7 
MVE WELL, VILIS bieaionin Sb cel antencs hae erlay) Yea erd ay in Ireland, by E. Ek. Crowe- oe 
Woop, ANTHONY A., antiquar Ys, iL... 344 Vil wees eats lan Ce 324 
Woop, Mrs. Henry, novelist, vii... 800 Yona CHARLOTTE MARY. novel- * 
Woo’d and Married and a’, by Ross, ist, Vii... Of eae bot as og Ree 
iv eeere Ce ee i ee ars 208 Vorvanive Tr. agedy, the, i hyudiantet ~ b 299 ‘ 
Youne, ARTHUR, agriculturist, vie. 886 
a ‘ Pood « 
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ie 3S Seesth 

1G; EDWARD, a8 poet. fii....... 838 
Duke, the, by B. Disraeli, vii 231 
England, or ‘Tractarian Po- an 

Sond So eee i) 

and Age, by Coleridge, Vent Ith 
ind Dtenhdad of Cyril ‘Thorn- 

‘t. Hamilton, Vie... Soetc nee Sat 

ey 

; Discovery of, by David 

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Tahtes: By Dr. J et Reon extr., vi 115 
Zincali, or an Account of the Gy pes ee 
sies in Spain, by. G. Borrow, viii.. 338 
Zoist, the. a periodical established Dye ye e-3 es 
Drrd. Milotson, Vii. ses e0s.2 nas BOG, ge 
Zoonomia, or the Laws of Organic oer 
Life, by Dr. Erastus Darwin, v...\ 82° <=)" 


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